James leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “What exactly have you learned?”
Abernathy pulled something from his coat pocket. “The runner is investigating everyone, including Lady Bettina and his grace’s valet. Here is his card.” He tossed a small piece of paper on the desktop.
Kate sat up straight, her gaze shooting to James’s. “Runner?”
Abernathy nodded. “Yes, Mr. Horton, the Bow Street runner Lord Medford has hired to investigate your case.”
Kate braced her hand on the arm of her chair. The room felt as if it were twirling. “You hired a runner?”
James nodded once and returned his stern gaze to Abernathy.
Abernathy spoke in a measured tone. “Mr. Horton has spoken to the servants multiple times and gone to Lady Bettina’s town house twice. He’s indicated he has some interesting news to share when next we meet. I have an appointment scheduled with him in London on Friday.”
Kate’s breathing was coming in fast pants now. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. Interesting news? What did that mean? Friday was far too long to wait.
“Has there been any information about the grand jury?” she managed to choke out, twisting her skirts in her hands.
Abernathy regarded her down his long nose over the rims of his ever-present spectacles. “It’s to be convened after the holidays, your grace. Right after the new year, after Twelfth Night.”
James nodded. “So we have only until then to gather the rest of the evidence and complete the investigation?”
“Yes, my lord, but Mr. Horton has agreed to work day and night, even over Christmastide if he must. With the amount of money you’ve given him, he—”
James cleared his throat and gave Mr. Abernathy another stern glare. Abernathy snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat too. “Yes, well, quite right, all of that is neither here nor there.”
Kate glanced back and forth suspiciously between the two men. James was spending a fortune on her defense? Oh God. The thought made her elated and completely anxious at the same time. She’d had no idea he’d hired a Bow Street runner to investigate. And apparently he hadn’t wanted her to know. He hadn’t mentioned it to her. Perhaps he did believe in her after all. She bit her lip. But what if Mr. Horton didn’t find anything? Or what if after his investigation was complete, he came to the conclusion that she was guilty? She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What exactly does Mr. Horton hope to discover?”
Mr. Abernathy turned to face her. “Why, the identity of your husband’s murderer, of course.”
CHAPTER 22
Themis had been retrieved from the neighbors’ house in London, placed inside a coach, and sent to the country. She was now lying curled up on the floor at Kate’s feet while Kate made her own little comfy spot in the estate library that had become her new workspace. She stared at the scribbled-on pieces of parchment that lay strewn all over her lap and the sofa.
She’d made a vow, a vow to finish the pamphlet as quickly as possible, and today she was feeling quite proud of herself for she’d made headway. She’d decided to write from the heart. Be honest. Write the truth. And the truth was that while she’d felt hurt, rejected, and scared, while she’d been angry with her husband and unhappy in her marriage, never, never in all of her imaginings had she ever thought about killing him. That was the truth, and she meant to tell it, and the devil take the consequences.
There was a sharp knock just before the door opened, and Kate glanced up to see James stroll in. Her heart melted. He took her breath away, so clean-shaven and straight-backed. His close-cropped dark hair perfectly in place and an always pleasant look upon his face.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked, and Kate had the urge to toss her quill and parchment aside and shout, “Absolutely not.”
“I can come back later,” he continued.
“No, don’t leave!” The words escaped her lips with a bit more emphasis than she’d intended. How unfortunate. She pinched her arm.
He moved forward into the room. Themis lifted her head and wagged her tail. James called the dog over to pet her. “You’re writing?” he asked Kate.
“Yes.” She swallowed. “James, I—”
He put up a hand. “No need to—”
She pushed the quill and paper aside. “There is a need. Please let me say what I must say.”
“Very well.” Still standing, he propped a booted foot on the stool in front of her.
Kate screwed up the courage that had been flagging ever since the fire. “I’m sorry, James. So sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you. I’ve turned your whole life upside down and—”
“We’ve been over this. There is no need to apologize.”
“I must,” she said, glancing down at her hands. “I was the one who insisted you take me in. I should have just agreed to write the pamphlet in the Tower, not put you in danger. You offered me money and a venue to tell my story. That should have been enough.”
“Kate, I cannot blame you for wanting to be free.”
“I didn’t need to insist upon going to the farm. That was foolish of me. Someone saw us returning. I heard you tell Lord Colton. I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done, hurting you.”
“Kate, if anyone is at fault here, it’s me. I should have been more aware that afternoon when we returned from the country. It’s my fault you were seen. I agreed to your terms, knowing the danger. The pamphlet is something I wanted, something I asked for. You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
She hung her head. “Yes, but how much money will the pamphlet have to make you to pay for the cost of your ruined town house?”
“You let me worry about that. I just want to keep you safe.”
His words tugged at her heart. This man, he trusted her. He believed in her. He’d … “You hired a runner for me,” she said softly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Pulling his boot from the stool, he shifted on his feet, bracing them apart. “You didn’t seem inclined to do so on your own.”
“You think I’m innocent?”
His jaw was tight. “I want to have the answers. Mr. Horton will see to it that the truth comes out.”
Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “But you wouldn’t have hired him if you were convinced I was guilty.”
His voice was low. “I don’t think you’re guilty, Kate.”
She glanced away, uncertain how to respond, biting the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “I’m nearly done with the pamphlet.”
He nodded.
“I just can’t help but think—” She stopped and twisted her fingers.
“Think what?”
“You’ve such an opportunity, James. To help people.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “What do you mean?”
“Your press, the pamphlets.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m privileged. I’m famous, well, infamous. All of London wants to know what I have to say. I’ve been given the chance to tell the truth, share my story. But I can’t help but think of all the others.”
“The others?”
“Yes, all the other prisoners who’ve been wrongly accused. There must be scores of them, hundreds. No doubt Newgate is filled with them. Especially women who’ve been accused of something they haven’t done. They’ll
