The Thames River Murders (26 page)

I agreed with him wholeheartedly.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Mrs. Bennett—her Christian name was Ella—let us come in out of the night but no farther than the vestibule. Her son Mark hovered nearby as though ready to launch into us if we made any move toward his mother.

Two more children lingered upstairs, peering down through the railings. So much for the theory that Bennett was impotent.

“I would like to talk with Mr. Bennett,” I said after I’d recovered my powers of speech. “Is he in?”

“He’s not. His work took him off again. Ye still haven’t told me what you want.”

The woman was comely, and her eyes, though now full of anger, could be soft, I sensed. Bennett had set himself up a nice little nest here.

Was he married to her in truth? Or had he fooled her as I’d suspected he’d tricked Judith Hartman?

I cast around for some excuse to have called. “I need to pass on a message. About his work. Where would Mr. Bennett be tonight?”

Ella’s brows remained lowered. “Well, I’m not certain. He travels about. Ye leave your message with me, and your name, and I’ll see he gets it.”

“Ah.” No one had ever assumed me a quick thinker, and I found it difficult to be anything other than painfully honest. “Yes, well, please tell him that Mr. … Ah …” I floundered.
 

“Brewster,” Brewster said quickly. He poked a thumb at me. “He’s Mr. Brewster.”

“Yes,” I said. “My name should be enough. When do you expect him to return?”

“Couldn’t say. Call back in a couple of days.”

The dismissal was evident. I gave her a polite bow, and made for the door. “My apologies for disturbing you,” I said. “Have a good night.”

Ella looked slightly appeased at my courtesy, but she folded her arms and waited for me to leave.

We got ourselves outside into the lane, and I slapped on my hat. “Bloody hell,” I muttered.

“Very cozy,” Brewster said. “Not that I’d try it. My Em would find me out and come at me with a hatchet.”

“That is a point.” We headed into the busier realm of Soho Square, undiminished even at this late hour. “This house is not that far from Cavendish Square—a different world, but he ought to have put much more distance between them.”

“Mayhap he likes to stay in an area what he’s familiar with. Oi—Look sharp, Captain.”

A small body darted in front of me, the boy who had Andrew Bennett’s eyes. “Ye leave me mum alone.”

I tipped my hat to him. “I do apologize, Mr. Bennett. I did not realize it was so late to call.”

Young Mark kept his fists clenched, clearly not knowing what to make of me. “When ye see me dad, tell him to come home. Me mum is missing him.”

“He stays away often does he?” I asked. “His work, no doubt.”

The lad scoffed. “I know what his work is, don’t I? He’s a card sharp. Must be. He comes in, gives mum plenty of money, and he’s off again. He has to spend days in the gambling dens, I warrant, to come with so much. So why do you really want to see him?”

“Not about anything to do with gambling,” I said. “I promise you. Do you have any idea where he goes? I could find him and send him home.”

Mark deflated. “Nah. I tried to follow him once, but got lost. He doesn’t like us going very far from the house, so I don’t know my way about. ’Tis dangerous ’round here, he says.”

“He is right.” I took a coin from my pocket and handed it to him. “I will look for him and send him home.”

The coin was snatched from my hand and disappeared while my fingers still felt its imprint. “Thank ye, sir.”

I touched my hat again. “Good night.”

“Night.” Mark skimmed around me and was gone, running hard back to the lane.

 
Brewster and I were left alone with the denizens of Soho.

“Well,” I said, my spirits rising. “At last, I have something to arrest the bloody man for.”

***

I returned home and slept, confident that Denis’s men would not let Bennett out of their sight. Tomorrow, I would speak to Pomeroy and have Bennett charged with bigamy.

In the morning, after a refreshingly dreamless sleep, I ate breakfast with good appetite, refraining from whistling a sunny tune. I was closing in on Bennett, and would get him one way or another.

I penned a note to Grenville, telling him of the night’s adventures and where I was off to, and sent one of the footmen running to his house with it. Bartholomew was up in the attics, snoring away, and I’d let him sleep. He’d had a bad night.

I found Brewster outside the front door when I emerged. He was taking his job as watchdog seriously.

The air inside the hackney we took to Bow Street was as stuffy as ever, but today it did not bother me. A breeze wafted outside, the sky was blue, roses bloomed in the public gardens, and all was right in my world. The nagging worries about Gabriella and the army of suitors that would descend upon our house I pushed firmly aside.

Pomeroy was in. In triumph, I presented my findings and suspicions about Bennett and said I wanted to bring suit against him for bigamy.

Pomeroy only looked at me and raised his large mug of coffee to his lips.

“He’ll not be the first gentleman who has himself a second so-called wife tucked somewhere, sir.”

“Using the same name as his first wife? I mean his legitimate wife?”

Pomeroy shrugged. “Happens. Mayhap he likes to pretend his mistress is his darling wife, especially when his legal darling wife is a shrew. Who knows? He might have these ‘Mrs. Bennetts’, all over London.”

“He has children with her. I wager this Ella does not know she is not his wife.”

“Possibly not,” Pomeroy said. “Don’t mean he’s a bigamist. Just crafty. Bring me evidence he’s married both these women in a church with a vicar, all laid out in the parish register, with banns or a special license—then I can take a case to the magistrate. Otherwise, he’s no different from your gentlemen of the town what maintain houses for wives and however many mistresses they can afford.”

“Bloody hell, Pomeroy.”

“Captain, you cannot have a man arrested, tried, and hanged because you don’t like him. Laws of England were made to keep that from happening—in theory. If not, every blessed one of us would be dead.”

“I believe him a killer,” I said in a hard voice. “Twice over now—who knows how many times? We must stop him.”

“Aye—I don’t much want a man who disposes of wives in such a cavalier manner running about the streets. But I need something more to arrest him on than you
think
he killed a woman fifteen years ago. I need a murder weapon with blood on it, blood on his clothes, a witness …”

“Any murder weapon and bloody clothes will have been destroyed years ago, and you know it. I wager the crowbar that struck her is at the bottom of the Thames, his clothes long since burned. What witness will remember exactly what he did or saw on an exact day fifteen years gone?”

Pomeroy shrugged again. “Until such a one comes forward, or this Mr. Bennett breaks down and confesses all, there’s nothing to arrest him for.”

“Very well then.” I was angry, but I knew Pomeroy was correct on all counts.
 

I could not drag in a man on suspicion alone. Ella might have taken Bennett’s last name, but it did not mean he’d married her in truth. That he’d legally married Margaret, his current wife, I believed—I imagined Captain Woolwich had made damn certain of it.

“I also
think
he did another murder,” I said. “Last night. Of a man employed as a footman in his house. Jack … I don’t know his surname.”

Pomeroy’s brows rose. “Jack Tyler? Known as Jack the Fox? He was a thief. The Watch thinks he was struck down when he tried to rob someone in the street.”

“It was Bennett,” I said with conviction. “Jack was working more or less for me, keeping watch on Bennett and his house. He followed him last night, and then Jack was dead. Bennett must have found him out and killed him. I’m certain of it.”

“Well,” Pomeroy said cheerfully. “You find me a witness and a bloody murder weapon, and I’ll happily arrest him. My patrollers are running around Oxford Street in quest of such things even now, so they might beat you to it. Meanwhile, don’t let the man arrest you for having him followed about, all right, Captain?”

***

I did not believe Grenville would be awake so early, but when I returned to South Audley Street, I found him there, waiting for me in my study.

“Pomeroy is right, I’m afraid,” Grenville said, after I told him what had transpired at Bow Street. “About the bigamy. I once knew a man who required each of his mistresses to call themselves Marie Antoinette. He went through a string of them, all Maries. Lavished such gifts and riches on them I’m certain they’d have called themselves Nebuchadnezzar if he’d asked.”

“You said you would question friends about parish registers to discover whether he legally married Judith Hartman,” I reminded him. “I believe we should check
all
the parish registers, to find out if he’s had any other marriages we don’t know about.”

“I don’t know all the vicars in England,” Grenville warned. “Though I know a good many. I have the feeling I will be swimming in punch before the week is out.”

“Thank you,” I said, pulling myself from my thoughts to fix my gaze on him. “Your help is invaluable.”

Grenville waved that aside. “Do not make me blush, Lacey. You know I am happy to assist—I’d have fled London long ago in ennui if not for you and your nose for trouble. I look forward to seeing what you will dig up in Egypt, so to speak.”

My heart beat faster. “You are putting the plans in place, then?”

“Of course. We will begin the New Year voyaging to the sands of the desert.”

The prospect sent a pleasant sensation through me, though I was not certain now I wanted to leave my family, especially when Donata would have her child not long before that.

“What does Marianne say about you running away?”

“Quite a bit.” Grenville sent me a wan smile across the desk. “But she also says that by then she will be happy to see the back of me. I assured her it is only for a few months—we do not want to stay longer than the first part of April, when the temperatures begin to climb, especially in the driest regions. I believe that will be enough time for us to explore the wonders and not become too used to them.”

“I look forward to it,” I said with all sincerity.
 

“As do I.” Grenville rose. “Now I am off to speak to vicars. Imagine what rumors
that
will start.” He sounded weary, but I saw a sparkle in his eyes. He enjoyed baffling the
ton
.

When he’d gone, I was restless. Donata and Gabriella were not home yet—I imagined they’d sleep well into the afternoon. Then they’d linger to have a good gossip about the events of the night before.

I longed to rush back to Cavendish Square and shake Bennett, but I stopped myself. I did not want to alert him that I was closing in on him. I trusted Denis’s men to keep him pinned down, but Bennett was cunning. Grenville had the right of it—if he knew I was onto him, he might find a way to bolt past even Denis’s diligent guards.

Meanwhile, I contained my restlessness with a ride in Hyde Park.

The day was truly delicious, the grass bright green, roses blooming, the Serpentine sparkling under the sunshine. The Rotten Row was nearly deserted, and I set my horse into a fast canter, letting his speed clear the fogged thoughts in my brain.

I saw as I neared the end of the Row, close to Hyde Park Corner, the red Irish hunter who had tried to run down Peter, being quietly ridden toward me. I halted in surprise.

On its back was none other than Emmett Garfield, my daughter’s would-be suitor.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I nudged my horse forward. The hunter coming toward me trotted evenly, Mr. Garfield rising and falling expertly with its pace.

I guided my mount directly into Mr. Garfield’s path, halting and turning to put the breadth of my horse in front of his.

Garfield pulled up and blinked at me from under his tall hat. “Sir?” He remembered his manners and bowed in the saddle. “Good morning.”

“Where did you get that horse?” I demanded.

Mr. Garfield cast a startled look at his mount as though for a moment, he couldn’t remember. “From Lord Compton. I sometimes borrow him.” He patted the horse’s neck, its rich coat gleaming with care. “Lord Compton and my father are old friends.”

“Did you borrow the horse on Thursday last?” I went on remorselessly.

Garfield looked puzzled. I noticed he was behaving less the conceited man-about-town as he had in the ballrooms, and more an ordinary young man confused by his elders.

“No, sir. Thursday last I was in Surrey. All day. I did not return until the next morning.”

His answer displeased me. I could easily verify where he’d been by asking his friends and family—or having Grenville do it—so he had no reason to lie. I remembered now, that at the supper ball on Friday, when I’d met him, he’d spoken of an uncle in Surrey and his visit to him.

Logic told me that Mr. Garfield would not profit by hurting me or Peter. He might believe that laying me up or killing me would prevent me from objecting to his marrying Gabriella, but it would not benefit him to hurt Peter.

Nor would it help Mr. Garfield if I were ruined, as the blackmailing letters threatened. A disgrace to me and my family was a disgrace to Gabriella. I doubted Garfield’s father would condone him bringing home a bride with scandal attached to her. If my antecedents were publicly called into question, so would hers be.

I let out a long sigh that stirred my now-nervous mount. I calmed him with a hand to his shoulder. “Does Viscount Compton lend his horse out often?”

Garfield considered. “I suppose so. He knows a great many people.”

Bloody hell. And this might not even be the horse in question. The hunter housed at the park’s stables, gone missing during the day of the attack, was the likelier culprit.

“I beg your pardon for my abruptness, Mr. Garfield. I am out of sorts today. A horse like that was ridden at my stepson last week, nearly knocking him to the ground.”

“I heard about that, sir.” Mr. Garfield looked appropriately indignant. “Miss Lacey told me. I understand your agitation then, upon seeing a similar horse.”