The Wicked Truth

“Hang it, Lindy, that was coldly done! Get my medical bag, upstairs, second room.” Neil knelt by the woman as Mac-Linden went for the doctor’s satchel.

When he returned with it, Neil offered her a few sniffs of a bottled substance—something awful, by the way her nose twitched—and brought her around.

She woke still muddled, but her memory returned almost visibly. The lost look rapidly transformed into the same shocked expression of very real grief he’d seen earlier on Neil’s face.

The woman—by association with Neil—was innocent. Lindy was relieved he didn’t have to take her in now that he’d seen her. A pity that his own decision to declare her guiltless wouldn’t extend to his chief. Nope, MacLinden knew he wasn’t going to be able to handle this one by the book. And God help them all if he couldn’t turn up a killer. So much for professionalism.

MacLinden watched patiently as Neil did his doctor tricks. There didn’t seem to be quite enough intimacy in their words or touches for there to be a real affair. Yet. The attraction was there, though, at least on Neil’s part.

Unusual, that. In the four years they’d been friends Lindy had never seen Doc show any real interest in a woman beyond an infrequent tumble. Tumbles quietly accomplished and never bragged about… at least not by Neil. The women weren’t quite so noble, but then women did love to talk. The man was legendary and didn’t even know it. Hadn’t a bloody clue.

If Neil didn’t know about this girl, though, he ought to be warned before he got in over his head. An ass for an arm was a fair trade. Ought he to save Doc’s ass for him? Lindy wondered.

No sooner had the girl’s sobs ceased than MacLinden launched his questions. He found that insensitivity was the key to being a good investigator. “So, Lady Marleigh, do you shoot?”

“No, I do not,” she answered, visibly shoring up her composure. Her chin lifted and she took a deep breath.

“Were you in love with his lordship or not?”

On the last word, he glanced pointedly at Doc, who looked ready to kill him on the spot. Obviously didn’t care to have his ass saved. Hmm. “I repeat, were you in love with young Havington?”

She answered in a near whisper, “No, I was not.”

“You were to marry him?”

“No, I was not.” Her response was defensive.

“What was he to you then?”

She shuddered, expelled a long sigh and looked out the window, doubtless seeing little through her tears. “He was the only friend I had left.” Then, almost inaudibly, she added, “The only one.”

Doc stood it longer than MacLinden imagined he would. “See here, Lindy, you can do this later. You can see she’s overwrought. I’ll just take her to her room and give her something.” He reached for his medical bag.

“Not if you mean to sedate her. We must get to London tonight, and all the questions must be asked before then if I am to help you both.” It felt strange giving orders to a man he’d once thought was God in a uniform. Rather bracing, in fact.

“What do you mean, help us? I swear to you she had nothing to do with this. You don’t mean to arrest her anyway?”

“No, not if I can help it, but we’ll have to do some tricky dancing to avoid that until we find the real murderer. My position’s too new to carry that much influence with my superiors, and they’re absolutely convinced she’s guilty. You’ll both have to do exactly as I say.”

They nodded in unison. Power was a heady thing, Mac-Linden thought with an inward grin. He’d really have to watch that it didn’t puff him up. Doc and the woman had no choice but to trust him to get them out of this mess. At least it should prove a lot more interesting than simply hauling the girl in and going on with a new case. And Lindy would be able to discharge a portion of his debt to Neil Bronwyn, the man who had kept him whole when no one else would have. He rather looked forward to the whole thing.

Elizabeth tried to climb out of the numbness, but it persisted. Poor Terry. Gone in a flash of powder. She’d never see him again, never be touched again by his gentle optimism.

There was nothing to do now but sit by while the red-haired, freckled-faced Scot chewed on his pipe and decided her fate. Her father’s gun had done the deed—one of the gift set of dueling pistols, she supposed. Those were the only weapons she knew of except for his hunting guns, which were in Co-lin’s possession. One didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that she was the prime suspect.

“Lady Marleigh, do you know anyone who might have wished Terrence Bronwyn dead?” This question was kinder, as though the inspector were trying to placate Dr. Bronwyn. She sensed the camaraderie between them. Ah, they were friends, then. Good friends, apparently, for MacLinden to overlook the evidence of her guilt on the doctor’s word alone.

“No, everyone liked his lordship very well,” she said. “Since we’ve known each other, I only saw him cross once. That was at the theater just last week. We always came late and left early to…avoid crowds.” She looked from the inspector to the doctor and nodded when she saw they understood. Then she continued, “A man approached Terry’s box during the second act and called him into the corridor. I tried not to listen, until Terry’s voice became rather heated. That was so unlike him, you see.

“Terry said something to the effect, ‘Not one more bloody damn farthing until I have it all. Do you hear me?’ When he returned, I asked him about the matter. He laughed and said it was merely a small venture he was looking into that was proving more difficult than he had anticipated.”

Inspector MacLinden listened intently, writing all the while. “This person he spoke with was unknown to you?”

“Yes, but then I know very few people in the city. I had only a glimpse of the man. He was rather tall and slender, with long side-whiskers. About fifty I should say, with a distinctive voice.”

“You’d recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Very possibly. I’m certain I would know the voice. Rather deep and sonorous.” She began to get excited. “You think this man might have killed Terry, Inspector?”

MacLinden sighed. “Anything’s possible. He could very well be only a business acquaintance. Did his lordship speak of anyone else with whom he might have had recent dealings?”

She paused to think, toying with her rings. “No, we rarely spoke of his day-to-day affairs. We mostly talked of…my problems and his ideas for a solution to them.”

“Do you think there might be any connection between your relationship and his death?” MacLinden asked. “He did pro-pose marriage, according to his boasts at White’s.”

Elizabeth thought about it. Everyone would have hated the idea of Terry taking a wife like her. His uncle, Neil Bronwyn, certainly did. Such concern would hardly be a motive to kill the prospective bridegroom, though. More likely, someone would try to kill her.

In fact, someone had! She tensed as the possible connection dawned. Should she tell the inspector? Would he believe her or think she was simply trying to throw him off track?

“Something has occurred to you, my lady?” he asked.

“There have been three attempts on my life,” she said calmly. It wouldn’t do to shake and tremble as she’d been doing or the inspector might think her mad. Or even worse, guilty.

“How and when did these attempts take place?” Mac-Linden asked, his pen poised over his small notebook.

“The first, three months ago at our family estate in Kent,” she said. “I took the rowboat across Penny Lake to visit my old nurse, who has a cottage there. It’s a weekly trip, always on Tuesday, whenever I’m in the country.” She paused. “Someone tampered with the boat. I nearly drowned.”

“You swam out?” he asked, scribbling idly.

“I sank like a stone. Then I shed everything but my shift so I could swim to shore.” And be ogled by Colin’s guests, she thought, wincing. That part of the story was hardly a secret.

MacLinden nodded. “And the second attempt?” he prompted.

“That would be the knife, two weeks later. A bumping noise in my chamber woke me. I rose to light a lamp and a dark shape rushed at me. A long blade flashed in the moonlight coming in the window. I ran for my dressing room, which has a stout door that locks. There was a swishing sound when the intruder struck at me. I slammed the door and locked it.”

She brushed a hand over her face, hoping to wipe away the spine-prickling memory.

“And so you escaped. Are you certain it was a knife?”

She swallowed heavily, feeling sick. “It—it cut off my braid.” With nerveless fingers, she gripped the nape of her neck.

“Good God!” The doctor brushed a hand over her cropped curls. She recoiled automatically, noting his look of horror.

Eager to have done with the questions, she rushed on. “The third time took place a week ago. My maid, Maggie, sent my breakfast up with one of the kitchen girls. I allowed Ruby—that’s the girl’s name—to drink the chocolate. She began to act very strange afterwards, reeling about and clawing the air. She screamed nonsense about snakes and demons as though she were mad.”

“And then?” the inspector asked calmly.

“Colin rushed in with Thurston and Maggie. Before they could subdue Ruby, she ran to the balcony and dived off.”