'Perhaps you, Lacey, simply do not understand the reality of being headmaster of a school. To keep fifty boys disciplined, to make them actually learn something, for God's sake, to placate their boorish fathers so that they will continue to send their money, is a continuous and mountainous struggle. Forgive me for not foreseeing the death of a criminally minded groom and a Latin tutor equally as criminally minded. Their greed brought about their own ends.'

'That is essentially true. But there is unhappiness here, and fear, and you have chosen to bluster your way over it. Your prefect, Frederick Sutcliff, is an exploitative little monster, but of course, his father provides much money.'

'What I decide about Sutcliff is my business,' he growled, 'and the school's. Other boys fall into his power only because they have something of which to be ashamed.'

I stared at him, amazed. 'So you let him be your substitute bully to keep order?'

'His methods work.'

'You're a bloody tyrant, Rutledge.'

'It no longer matters. Fletcher was a weak fool, and Middleton was tied to unsavory characters. I will simply find a better Classics tutor and a groom. I am amazed at you for letting the Romany go. I still believe he killed Middleton, and the woman must have killed Fletcher.'

I smiled an angry, almost feral smile. 'No, it was not that easy. If I tell you who I suspect, you will stop me, and I will not allow that. But I warn you to lock your door at night.'

He glared. 'I do not believe you. You can have no evidence, or the magistrate would have arrested him already.'

'The magistrate is no more intelligent than you are, nor any safer.' I made a bow. 'Good day to you.'

'Where are you going?'

'Back to my place,' I said coldly, and left him.

Rutledge, after that, left me to my own devices. He said not one word about finding me with Belinda. In the polite world, a man found alone with an unmarried young woman could unleash great scandal, often hushed up by a hasty marriage. Rutledge, on the other hand, decided to pretend it never happened, much to my relief.

Rutledge would have been apoplectic with fury if he'd seen me meet Belinda the next afternoon on the path to the stables and lead her to the canal and Sebastian.

I had arranged the meeting for the dinner hour, because I knew that Rutledge would be in the hall scowling at his students. Belinda, on the other hand, always took her meals in their private rooms, so her absence would likely not be noted. She had wanted to go in the dead of night, but I had talked her out of so foolish a course.

I had chosen a place halfway between Lower Sudbury Lock and the next bridge. Sebastian stepped out from behind a tree as we approached, and Belinda, like a heroine in a novel, ran to him.

I, the chaperone, stood back out of earshot and let them have their little romance.

Sebastian took Belinda's hands in his and began to talk. I saw Belinda falter, saw her shake her head. To all appearances, he was keeping his word and telling her they could not be together.

They made a pretty tableau, Sebastian with his dark hair and tall body, Belinda with her fair skin and sun- dappled hair. I envied them the intensity of their infatuation, but at the same time, I was relieved that I had left such things behind me.

Or had I? I thought of Lady Breckenridge and her smile and the feeling of her hand in mine. A man could still be a great fool at forty.

After a time, I spied a shadow moving near the lock. I knew it was not the lockkeeper going about his duties, because I'd seen him enter his house as we approached. Stifling a sigh, I turned and strolled back down the path, leaving Belinda and Sebastian alone.

Sutcliff rose from his hiding place next to the lock's gate as I passed it. He stayed in the shadow there, arms folded, and waited for me.

I exaggerated my limp as I moved to him, but when I reached him, I took a step back, unsheathed the sword from my walking stick, and put it to his throat.

'Put it down.'

He looked startled, then he gave an I-do-not-care shrug and dropped the pistol he'd hidden in his hands into the tall grass.

'This is interesting,' he sneered, looking in the direction of Sebastian and Belinda. 'Are you a procurer now? Selling Rutledge's daughter to the Romany?'

'Miss Rutledge will return to the school with me,' I said. 'And you will say nothing.'

'Why not? Because you will run me through if I do? I think not, Captain. You are not a murderer.'

'Others have thought so,' I said, my tone suggestive.

The light of fear that entered his eyes pleased me. In all of Sutcliff's plans, I was the one unexpected puzzlement. He had never known what to make of me.

'I know what you have done, you little tick,' I said evenly. 'I know all of it.'

He smiled, as I'd expected he would. 'What you know does not matter. You have no evidence. No magistrate will charge me.'

I moved the tip of the sword closer to his throat. My walking stick was new, and this was the first time I'd used the sword within it. I found it well-balanced and quite suited to my purpose. 'I have something better than evidence,' I began. I did not want to give myself away, so I damped down my rush of temper. 'You sent Jeanne Lanier away, did you not? You sent her to the Continent, to smooth the way for you.'

He faced me down the length of the sword. 'Then you know nothing. I am not flying to the Continent in shame and fear. I gave her enough money to settle down and enjoy herself. I will visit her from time to time.' He snorted at my look of surprise. 'Why should I leave England? Everything I have is here. When my father dies, I will be a rich and powerful man, one who will be able to crush you underfoot in a trice. I look forward to it.'

I gazed at the uncaring coldness in his eyes. I had seen that coldness before, in the eyes of James Denis. 'There are men out there more powerful than you,' I said. 'I have met them.'

'If you like to think so.'

I ignored that. 'I believe I understand you now. It is not simply the money you enjoy from blackmailing others. You like their fear that you will tell their dirty little secrets. You like gentlemen handing you money while you quietly swindle them. You must have enjoyed sniggering behind your hand the entire time.'

He smiled again. 'You are a fool, Captain. No, it is not the power. Only you, with your swagger because you were born to a gentleman's family and your pride that you have the most popular man in England to back you, could think it was power. You are a pauper, you can have no idea. My father believes I am not clever enough to handle money. But I am clever. I can turn anything into money-an idea, a secret, anything. I play the game so well that soon I will own the game. My father will come to understand that I am as ruthless as any aristocrat ever was. He will know that I can run his business better than he ever could. You will never know what that is like.'

He was no doubt correct. 'Greed is all-consuming,' I remarked.

He laughed. 'You poor idiot. The day of the gentleman is over. Only those with money will matter, only those who can pay will command respect and attention. You are puffed with pride because of your so-called honor, but your honor will disappear. Wealth will become honor, and I will have all of it.' His smile widened. 'You are not answering, Captain? What is the matter?'

My voice went cold and hard. 'I have no wish to waste time lecturing you. You are a fool, and soon you will learn how much of a fool.'

I eased the sword from his throat but held it ready. 'Go back to the school. You will say nothing to Rutledge, or to Miss Rutledge.'

He took a step back, making no move to try to retrieve the pistol. 'I will say nothing because it suits me. For now.'

My temper fragmented. The point of the sword went to his throat again, dug in a little. 'I know what you've done, you little swine. And you will pay for that with every breath you draw, from now until the day you die.'

His lips parted as he observed me and my sword. He did not know quite what to do, and I liked that. My sergeant, Pomeroy, had used to claim that I was mad. “You get that look, sir, like you'd do anything,” he used to say. “The lads would rather ride out and face the Frenchies and their muskets than you when you look like that.”

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