The Notorious Widow (24 page)

“Suggestions first uttered by the same man who is attacking Mrs. Parrish.” He kept his voice light with difficulty. Though he’d known that Jasper would try to undermine his credibility, the reality still hurt.

“But why?” Hawkins sounded bewildered.

“Longstanding habit, fury at anyone who opposes him, and fear that his earlier actions might come to public notice.”

The squire frowned. “I presume you have evidence.”

“Not as much as I’d like, though I am finding more each day. The culprit is crafty, but his actions form clear patterns that I find quite disturbing. His purpose is to avenge insults and repay anyone who annoys him.”

“Are you saying that she annoyed him?”

“Definitely, though his retaliation far exceeds her insult. He fears her, for she recognizes his fundamental character and made the mistake of telling him so. The result is an unfounded attack on her credibility that is so pervasive few people note that not one shred of evidence supports it.”

“Preposterous! A host of witnesses have stepped forward.”

“Name one,” he said in challenge.

“There’s the man who found her with Lansbury—”

“What is his name?” Blake demanded.

“I— Well— I don’t—”

Blake let him flounder a moment longer before interrupting. “Forget rumors for the moment and examine facts. Until last month, Mrs. Parrish was a respected, even beloved, member of the community. She ran her brother’s house, chaperoned their sisters, ministered to the poor, and was welcomed everywhere. I’ve heard tradesmen refer to her as Saint Catherine.”

“Not anymore.”

“True. She is shunned by all classes now. But each class avoids her for a different reason. Society condemns her supposed misdeeds, but the lower classes know the tales are false. They avoid her to save themselves from similar attack.”

“You jest.”

“Not at all.” He shifted to a more comfortable position. “The rumors sprang up almost overnight, accusing her of unspeakable deeds, reprehensible behavior, and the deliberate ruination of innocents. Some of these purported acts date back years. One supposedly took place when she was fourteen.”

“I know. But it was her success at hiding so much debauchery that is causing such a furor now.”

“No one is capable of hiding such longstanding excess,” he snapped. “Certainly not a woman like Mrs. Parrish. She lacks the social power to ostracize loose lips. She lacks the physical power to intimidate others into silence. And she lacks the fortune that might purchase a blind eye.”

Hawkins frowned.

“And who revealed the tales?” he demanded, pressing his point. “She has no personal maid who might talk in a moment of pique, nor has any servant been with her for the entire period, so who would know so many details?”

“Once one person speaks up, others add their stories.”

“But the more people who know a sensational tale, the less likely it will remain secret. And that is merely one reason I disbelieve the rumors. You are not the only man incapable of naming a witness. Not one gossip can identify a liaison. Not one gentleman has participated in even the least of her crimes or knows anyone who has.”

“By George, that’s odd.” Hawkins sat up straight.

“Exactly. We have an enormous body of rumor, but it contains no names, no dates, no places, and no one can produce a living witness to any of it.”

“You claimed habit, fury, and fear were behind this. Explain.”

Blake let out a deep breath. “The culprit is Jasper Rankin,” he began, then held up a hand to halt any protest. “Even a brief investigation turns up a long history of malicious attacks against anyone who irritates him. Tradesmen and tenants live in fear of his wrath. He is disliked in both Plymouth and Bath. His former schoolmates cite numerous incidents of misconduct, many requiring disciplinary action. In the end, he was sent down in disgrace. Guests at house parties he has attended report attacks on servants and threats against hosts. My own opinion is that he is unbalanced but cunning.” He described a dozen of Jasper’s local revenges.

“That proves nothing,” objected Hawkins. “Those were youthful mistakes that he has long since rectified.”

“Inadequately.” He glared at the squire. “I would believe you if there were fewer cases, but even a heedless fool does not cause this much damage unless he does so by design. While I cannot climb into Jasper’s head to prove his motive, I find it curious that every victim was someone who had embarrassed or insulted him. In every case Jasper threatened to make them pay. And every one of them suffered disastrous harm. The lower classes accept his guilt without question, which is why they are shunning Mrs. Parrish. They know from bitter experience that failure to follow Rankin’s lead will draw his wrath onto their heads. They have watched him hand out this sort of justice since he was a child.”

“Yet society knows nothing of it.”

He saw the struggle in Hawkins’s eyes. The man wanted to believe his high-ranking visitor, yet the images of a benevolent Jasper and a venal Catherine were firmly fixed in his mind.

“Society’s ignorance arises in part because Rankin always has a logical explanation for the damage, but most of it comes from his carefully fostered perceptions. Rankin’s reparations impress the upper classes, for they are not required. Too many gentleman ignore any injury they cause their inferiors. Thus society considers him kind and generous. In reality, his payments are far less than he claims, and his threats warn his victims that complaints will bring further disaster. So few are willing to talk.”

The squire’s face paled. “But what grievance does he have with Mrs. Parrish? Her birth is nearly as high as his.”

“True, yet she often works with members of the lower classes. She has helped them cope with Rankin’s attacks. Thus she knows his ways. They argued last month. The subject is unimportant, but in a temper she revealed her knowledge. Knowing her birth was high enough that she could tarnish his reputation, he took the precaution of ruining hers.”

Hawkins drummed his fingers on the desk. “He is destroying her because she might tarnish his image? No one would believe her in the face of his charm. This makes no sense.”

“True, though he is remarkably sensitive. He can find insult in the most innocuous comment, and he cannot tolerate even one of his peers holding suspicions of him. Yet you are right that his charm could prevent most damage. Society cares little for the travails of the lower classes, and Mrs. Telcor would soon halt any talk.”

“Yet you still think him guilty?”

“Definitely, though not because of the cases Mrs. Parrish suggested. I thought at first he might be mad, but that is not true either. It wasn’t until yesterday that I found the true answer. During their argument, Mrs. Parrish had claimed to know
all
his crimes. He believed her, though she actually knew only a few of his more innocuous revenges.”

Hawkins frowned so fiercely that for a moment his corpulent face resembled a hawk’s. “He did something he can’t explain away,” he murmured.

Blake nodded. “Exactly. Nor can he buy his way out of it. One of his plots went awry. Not only did he kill a lord of the realm, but there were witnesses.”

The blood drained from Hawkins’s face. “Are you imp-plying—”

“Think back, Squire. You stopped at the White Hart taproom two years ago. Lord Seabrook chastised Jasper for fleecing Nigel West that night. What did he say?”

His face turned even whiter. “He was in his cups – they both were. I was shocked when Seabrook spoke out, for he never humiliated people, even those who deserved it. But I passed it off as too much wine. Yet there was more to it than wine, or even the game with West.” He frowned, drumming his fingers on the desk in an apparent effort to think.

“Was Parrish there?” asked Blake softly.

“That was it.” He nodded several times. “Parrish had burst in half an hour earlier, in the devil of a hurry. He tried to drag Seabrook away immediately, but the man insisted that he explain his business while they finished the wine. I was across the room, so I’ve no idea what they said, though Rankin probably heard. He was at the next table.” He shook his head. “Seabrook glared at Rankin several times as the tale progressed. He’d drained his glass and was rising to leave when West suddenly shouted that he was ruined. Seabrook exchanged a comment with Colonel Bangor as West stumbled out – Bangor was also rising to leave.”

“Had he been at Seabrook’s table?”

“No. He’d been playing cards with Rankin and West, though he’d declined to join that last hand.”

“Did he win or lose?”

“I’ve no idea.” Hawkins topped off their glasses. “West had barely shut the door when Seabrook jerked Rankin to his feet and tore strips off of him for continuing play when he knew West had a mother and sisters to support. The lad had buried his father the day before and was in no condition to think clearly.”

Blake grimaced. “He actually laid hands on Rankin?”

Hawkins nodded. “Rankin was furious,” he admitted. “I thought we’d have a mill for sure, but he only clenched his fists – Seabrook was older and respected. He murmured something we couldn’t hear, then left.”

“Did you see any evidence that Rankin cheated?”

“Certainly not!” The squire was clearly scandalized. “He and West had been playing for hours before Seabrook arrived, with no complaint, though West looked rather sickly.”

“How much did he lose?”

“A few thousand guineas. He might have survived that, but he’d also wagered his estate. Rankin lives there now. It runs with his father’s property. He will likely combine them when he inherits.”

So Jasper had acquired an estate of his own where he could be uncontested master, and he had expanded the family holdings in the process. For such a gain, he might well have cheated. He would have thought nothing of forcing West to remain in the game until he won what he wanted. A threat to ruin one or both of the lad’s sisters would have done it.

He ran through the scene in his mind. Catherine claimed that Harold had known much about Jasper. He might have discovered a new incident, one that would allow a magistrate to move against him. If stubbornness was a Seabrook family trait – William certainly displayed it, as did Catherine – then the baron would have demanded every last detail before acting. No matter how low they’d kept their voices, Seabrook’s glares would have suggested that they were discussing Jasper.

So Jasper had felt threatened even before Seabrook had laid hands on him and embarrassed him so publicly. He’d decided to take immediate steps to intimidate them into silence.

“What did Seabrook do after Rankin left?” he asked.

“I don’t know, for I also left. Rankin was just ahead of me. I expected him to forgive some of West’s losses, or at least offer an extended payment schedule to protect West’s family – that would have fit the image he cultivates. But West was gone. Rankin headed for the stable instead of calling for his horse – restless, I suppose; Seabrook’s lecture had been brutal.”

“He said nothing?”

“He was cursing under his breath – and who could blame him? He rode out a short time later.”

Blake straightened. “What were his words?”

“What you would expect in that situation.” He rubbed his chin with one hand. “He was humiliated by Seabrook’s lecture and clearly angry. He made a few derogatory remarks about Seabrook’s ancestry, his interference, and his high-handed arrogance. He might have said something like
He’ll be sorry
, but I was not attending. It was late. I was anxious to be home. The yard was noisy. The colonel was just behind me, shouting for his horse. It had rained heavily, leaving water everywhere. A coach crawled in, its driver lamenting three hours lost digging free of mud.” He shrugged. “I paid little heed to Rankin. He left before the lads brought ’round my carriage.”

“Which way did he go?”

“South.” His eyes widened. “That’s odd. He should have headed out High Street if he was going home or following West.”

“Instead he took the road to Seabrook Manor.” Blake’s heart raced. At last he had a real piece of evidence. His exploration of the area had proved that the few lanes connecting the south and west roads would have been heavy going for a horseman after a rain. There was no reason for Jasper to take the south road unless he had business there.

“But that means nothing,” insisted Hawkins. “Perhaps he stopped at the Golden Stag. He often plays cards there. He may have muttered about making Seabrook sorry, but I thought no more of it than if he had cursed the rain for ruining the hay. No man of reason would kill someone for embarrassing him.”

“But Rankin’s reason is doubtful, and we don’t know why Parrish was so anxious to take Seabrook away. The attack may have meant to silence the vicar.”

“Dear Lord!”

“That is speculation, of course. And if it eases your mind, my evidence does not suggest murder. According to George – the groom who overheard the whole of Rankin’s muttered plans – he meant to injure Seabrook’s horses as a warning to leave him alone. Parrish’s last words support that theory.”

“That would have been an effective revenge,” admitted Hawkins. “Seabrook set great store by that team. Bragged about them until many a man imagined strangling him. But Rankin must have known that he could never intimidate Seabrook. The man was a baron, not a tradesman, and would have struck back.”

“I agree that it was a poor plan, but Jasper was half seas over that night and not thinking clearly. Mrs. Parrish is convinced that Seabrook would never have confronted him publicly if he hadn’t spotted something havey-cavey about that card game, so Rankin probably had a guilty conscience to begin with. He had to protect himself from exposure, so he struck out in the same way he had done so often with others.”

“If he attacked at all.” Hawkins drained his glass. “Rankin might have been on the go, but Seabrook was three sheets to the wind that night, barely able to stand. And he was angry. The road was wet, with fog forming along the coast. Even a top sawyer would have trouble controlling a spirited team under those conditions, and Seabrook was no Corinthian.”

“What about Parrish’s dying words?”