alone in the world. I am not a fool. A magistrate will have no sympathy for me.'
'He will,' I assured her. 'He has promised this, as a favor to me.'
She gaped. 'Why? Why should you ask him to spare me?'
'Because,' I responded, my voice hard, 'Frederick Sutcliff stabbed Grenville and I want him arrested. And I believe that you helped him because you were dependent on him and had no choice.'
Her gaze fell, her dark lashes brushing her cheeks. 'I had a choice,' she said softly. 'I could have left him, or betrayed him.'
'Then where would you have gone?'
She would not look at me. 'I do not know. I do not know where I will go now. You have narrowed the choices for me.'
'He is a murderer,' I said.
She lifted her head, and I saw a hardness in her eyes that matched the hardness in Marianne's. Both women had to grasp for their survival; Jeanne Lanier simply did it with more grace. 'If I will not speak, then I face possible arrest for helping him. But if I betray him, then I betray myself. What man will hurry to protect me if he knows I will not remain loyal?'
I allowed myself a smile. 'Gentlemen, madam, can be amazingly obtuse.'
I remembered sitting in the shabby parlor in Hungerford while she conversed with me. In that hour, she had made me feel as though I were the only person in the world who interested her, the only person with whom she wished to be. She had a gift for making any man she faced believe that. I was willing to wager that she could make a man believe that however much she'd betrayed Sutcliff, she'd never betray him.
She met my gaze but did not return the smile. 'Well, Captain, I will see your magistrate. I do not love Frederick Sutcliff, and what he has done is abhorrent to me. I will speak.'
'Thank you,' I answered with sincerity. 'I will see to it that you do not regret it.'
She smiled at me then. I was struck again by her gift, and I found myself wishing that I could personally ensure that she never regretted anything in life again.
Instead of saying anything so foolish, I bowed to her, then left the room to summon Sir Montague.
Sir Montague Harris seemed to be enjoying the novelty of an invitation to the house of James Denis.
He limped into the drawing room and seated his bulk in the chair a footman brought forward for him. The footman arranged a footstool for his gouty leg, then poured out a glass of port to place at his elbow. The footman poured port for me as well, and offered Jeanne a glass of lemonade, which she declined.
The same footman also assisted Matthias and Bartholomew in settling Grenville. I'd known Grenville would be furious if I did not let him attend the interview with Jeanne Lanier, and so I'd sent for him. I also believed that he deserved to hear the truth. Sutcliff would have killed him if he'd been able.
Grenville sat back in his chair, I supposed calling upon his sangfroid to hide the fact that he was in pain. Dark patches like bruises stained the skin under his eyes.
Denis himself arrived last. He nodded coolly to me, took the port his footman handed him, and sat in a straight-backed, armless chair, the least comfortable-looking seat in the room.
'Mr. Denis,' Sir Montague beamed. 'I compliment you on your lovely home.'
Denis gave him a nod, irony glinting in his eyes. Sir Montague turned his gaze to the paintings and other objects of artwork in the room, clearly speculating on whether they had been procured by not-so-legal means. Denis ignored him.
He sent a cold nod in the direction of Jeanne Lanier, who watched him, apprehensive. 'Captain, please ask your questions.'
I moved uncomfortably. I had hoped that Sir Montague would interview Jeanne Lanier, but the magistrate merely drank port, a smile on his face, and motioned for me to carry on.
'You told me,' I began, addressing her, 'that Frederick Sutcliff came to you the night of Middleton's death at a little after ten o'clock. I do not believe that is true. What time did he actually arrive?'
Jeanne plucked once at her skirt, then she raised her head and looked at me with clear eyes. 'He arrived at a little before midnight. I let him in through my bedroom window. He climbed the tree outside.'
I remembered the thick tree growing near that window; Jeanne had waved at me through its branches one afternoon.
She went on. 'He was laughing and shaking, nearly half-crazed. He had blood on his hands and quite a lot on his coat. Blood was splattered over his face.'
'What did he say to you?' I asked.
'He said, 'I've done it. Now the money need be shared only two ways.''
Sir Montague nodded thoughtfully. Denis remained cold and still.
'What did he do then?' I prompted.
'He removed his clothes and washed himself. He asked me to hide the clothes for him. He kept a second suit in my room. I do not know whether he'd put it there for this purpose or simply to have it on hand.'
'Did he tell you he'd killed Middleton?'
'Not then.' Jeanne flushed. 'He was in quite a buoyant mood, laughing and talking feverishly. He did not quiet until very early morning, and then he rose and left me. But the next day when I saw him, he was calmly triumphant. 'None know who killed the groom,' he told me. 'And none will know. The magistrate is a fool.' Since that day, he often boasted to me how cleverly he'd done it.'
'He was not ashamed at all, then?' I asked softly.
'No, Captain. He was proud.'
Denis gazed at her, his face unmoving, but I saw the anger in his eyes.
'What happened was this,' I said for Sir Montague's and Denis' benefit. 'Sutcliff runs after Middleton the night of the murder. He might have seen Sebastian leaving the school as well, and had the idea to push the blame for the crime onto the Romany. He probably paid Thomas Adams to pretend to overhear a quarrel between Sebastian and Middleton.'
Grenville broke in. 'Middleton must not have seen Sutcliff as a threat, if he agreed to go with him to the place where you found the knife.'
'No,' I said. 'It was foolish of him, but he'd been a man feared for his strength for so long, he likely did not think a nineteen-year-old boy could best him. Or perhaps he'd had the thought to thrash Sutcliff himself. But Sutcliff takes him by surprise and cuts his throat. Sutcliff drops the knife in the dark and bundles Middleton in the rowboat he's secured there for the purpose. It is late and dark; the bargemen would have moored for the night or gone to find a pint in the nearest tavern. Sutcliff dumps Middleton's body into the lock, hides or abandons the boat somewhere down the canal, and races to Hungerford to meet with his mistress.'
'A moment,' Grenville said. 'If Sutcliff did not arrive until twelve, what about the landlady, who claimed she heard the bed frame squeaking and all that, well before midnight?'
'It was Marianne who'd told me that,' I said. Grenville flushed, although he did not look very surprised. 'But, she could not swear she heard both of them. How difficult would it be for Jeanne to shake the bed and make the expected noises? One does not like to listen to such things; one is embarrassed and tries to ignore it. You were alone in that bed,' I said to Jeanne, 'until Sutcliff arrived near to midnight.'
'Yes,' she said simply.
'Did he ask you to destroy his clothes?' I went on. 'Either by burning them or tossing them over the railing of a ship heading for France?'
'He did not specify. He only told me to get rid of them.'
'And did you?'
She pressed her lips together a moment, then answered. 'No. They are still hidden under a board in the Hungerford house.'
Sir Montague Harris took a long gulp of port. 'Ah, excellent. You are a clever young woman.'
Jeanne shook her head and sent Sir Montague her winsome half-smile. 'Not clever. I could not decide how to destroy them without calling attention to myself. Cloth burning in a fireplace smells foul, and I did not want to risk being arrested in Dover carrying a man's suit with blood on it.'
'Most excellent,' Sir Montague repeated. 'I will dispatch a Runner to find them. Do you believe, Captain, that your former sergeant Pomeroy would be interested in such a commission?' His eyes twinkled.
