He shook his head fervently. 'No, sir.'
'A perfectly understandable wish. Sutcliff is a nasty bit of goods. He puts himself above the other lads. You wanted to show that you did not. I comprehend your motives, but it was a rather dangerous way to go about it.'
'Yes, sir.'
'It stops, Ramsay,' I said, giving him a stern look. 'Reptiles in beds are one thing. Settings fires is dangerous. Not meaning to hurt someone and not hurting them are two different things. Never forget it.'
'Yes, sir.'
I could not know whether my words had impact, or whether he thought me just another adult giving a lecture. I had not come here to reform him, in any case. I'd come to wring information from him.
'Let us speak of the night of Middleton's murder, Ramsay. Or, rather, the morning when he was discovered. I believe you rose very early that day.'
Ramsay probably thought I knew everything there was to know about him. He nodded without denial.
I went on, 'At daybreak, it was quite misty and gray. You were near the lockkeeper's house. You saw a barge come up the lock, and you hid. Am I close?'
Ramsay nodded, eyes round.
'I must ask you, Ramsay, what were you doing out here? Going to start another fire?'
Again, Ramsay nodded. He swallowed, his face paling. 'I was going to light some rubbish near the lock. Make lots of smoke.'
'So people would come panicking to put out the fire. I will tell you, Ramsay, that if I catch you doing such a thing, or even believe you have done such a thing, again, I will certainly thrash you. It will be worse than anything Rutledge can give you. I know quite well how to do it so that you will never forget.' I'd learned from my father, who'd been a master at beating his son.
Ramsay's gaze fell on my sword stick with a flicker of fear. 'Yes, sir.'
'I will take you at your word,' I said. 'While you were skulking by the lockkeeper's house, you saw the boat. Tell me about it.'
'It was the Roma, sir. No mistaking it. There were three men on the deck, all smoking pipes. And two dogs and a goat.'
'Where did they stop?' I asked him.
'Right in front of the lock. I thought they'd come and rouse the lockkeeper, but they just stopped the horse and backed up the boat until they could turn it around.'
I watched him intently. 'Anything else?'
Ramsay nodded. 'Sebastian got off. He came out on deck with a woman and kissed her. One of the men said something to him I couldn't understand. Sebastian ignored him. Just walked away without a word.'
'Where did he go?'
Ramsay shrugged. 'Down the path, toward the stables. The woman went back inside, and the barge floated back the way it had come.'
'Did Sebastian stop at the lock, look in it, or anything?'
'No. Just walked toward the stables. He walked fast, like he wanted to get as far from the canal as quick as he could.'
I exhaled slowly. Megan was an observant woman. Only she had seen the shadow skulking about the lockkeeper's house. And with that slender thread, I'd concluded that she'd seen the prankster, not the murderer. The murderer had no reason to stay near the lock; indeed, he'd want to be elsewhere as quickly as possible. That left the prankster, up to no good, fearing to be caught. Timson I'd dismissed as being too cocky. Ramsay, on the other hand, as Fletcher had once told me, walked about with an air of innocence. Ramsay, who had friends in both houses. Ramsay, who'd easily climbed a tree, snake in hand, unseen and unnoticed.
'You might have told the magistrate all this,' I said. 'And saved Sebastian much trouble.'
Ramsay frowned. 'Didn't Sebastian tell him?'
'No. Sebastian was foolishly trying to save another from scandal. Besides, a magistrate is not quick to believe a Romany, no matter what he says.'
Ramsay conceded this. 'But could Sebastian not have killed the groom, anyway? Earlier?'
'Perhaps. Indeed, several people could have killed the groom that night-Sutcliff, Sebastian, the stable man, Thomas Adams, who probably invented that argument, and you.' I turned to the lockkeeper.
The big man blinked in astonishment. 'Me, sir?'
'You are the correct height and build. You could have overpowered Middleton and cut his throat. We have only your word that you heard no one come to the lock that night. And who would be better placed to dispose of a body in the canal?'
The lockkeeper's rather florid face slowly drained of color. 'Why should I kill 'im? Never knew 'im.'
I made a placating gesture. 'Do not worry, I do not believe that you did. I said only that you could have.' I turned back to Ramsay. 'Would you be willing to tell a magistrate what you just told me?'
'The magistrate would not listen to me. Not in Sudbury. He pays Sutcliff, too.'
I closed my eyes briefly. Damn Sutcliff. 'Another magistrate has arrived, a friend of mine, from London. He would be most interested in what you have to say.'
Ramsay eyed me doubtfully but nodded.
Bartholomew regarded Ramsay in curiosity. 'What does the magistrate pay Sutcliff for?'
'He has two wives,' Ramsay said promptly. 'One here and one in London.'
'Good Lord,' I said. 'Well, Sutcliff did not exactly keep that secret, did he? The magistrate should demand his money back.'
Ramsay shrugged. 'Sutcliff didn't tell me. I found out the same as he did. I was with Sutcliff in London when we met the magistrate's London wife.'
Much later that afternoon, Bartholomew and I walked home from Sudbury on the towpath. The rain had ceased and a bit of blue sky shone between the clouds. Spring flowers poked yellow heads from the clumps of grass beside the path.
Ramsay had told his tale to Sir Montague. The Sudbury magistrate, the one calmly practicing bigamy, had remained doubtful. I let Ramsay go after that and left it to Sir Montague to argue with the other man. I even whispered the magistrate's secret into Sir Montague's ear. Sadly, I was not above a little blackmail myself.
'Little bleeders,' Bartholomew muttered. 'Poisoning each other, blackmailing each other. Goes to show what happens when you try to get above yourself, doesn't it?'
'Greed, fear, and ambition can be a terrible combination,' I remarked.
Bartholomew scowled. 'They think people will regard them as gentlemen because they've got buckets of money.'
'And many will, Bartholomew.'
'That ain't right, sir. Mr. Grenville, now, he's a gentleman through and through and always will be, even were all his money to go away. You too, sir.'
'You flatter me.'
He shook his head, his blue eyes sincere. 'No, sir, it's the truth. You're more a gentleman living in your two rooms above a bake shop than Mr. Sutcliff ever will be in a gilded palace. Don't matter how many gold plates he has, he'll never have what you have. He'll always be the son of a banker's clerk.'
Marianne had said much the same thing. The Rothschilds had copious amounts of money and power, but they would never be received in many houses of the ton. And yet, banker's clerks were beginning to rule the world.
'Me mam has the right of it,' Bartholomew continued. 'If you keep to your place and be your very best in it, you'll know happiness. You try to move outside, you'll never fit in, no matter how much money you have. You try, you'll just get misery.'
The philosophy of a nineteen-year-old, I thought cynically. Bartholomew's place at present was footman to one of the wealthiest and most generous men in England. He might not be talking about keeping to one's place so complacently if he worked for a miserly gentleman who enjoyed beating his servants.
I understood Sutcliff's need to blackmail, however. I thought of his rather shabby suits and his willingness to take handouts. His father, as wealthy as he was, kept Sutcliff in straits, for whatever his reasons. Sutcliff, the
