Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Sofia noticed the furrows on Mr Gentry’s brow from her vantage point in the dim taproom. His shoulders slumped as he fought to maintain his composure. Something weighed heavily on his heart and mind.
How much longer could he keep up the pretence?
How might she persuade him to confide in her?
His scruffy companion trembled as if an army of marauders were about to storm the inn. He continued to shake his head, even when Mr Gentry grabbed him by the upper arms and whispered through gritted teeth.
The messenger pointed to the yard.
The doctor’s gaze snapped to Sofia, tension hardening his chiselled features. Suspicion crept into his eyes like a shadow at dusk.
Mr Gentry marched towards her, closing the gap between them and looming over the table. “You neglected to mention who brought you to the inn.” His blade-sharp tone failed to hide a trace of panic. “Why the devil didn’t you tell me Aaron Chance was outside?”
Sofia gathered her nerve and rose to her feet. “When was I supposed to mention it? When you demanded we kiss? When I bared my soul and confessed my worst fears?”
“You should have told me before we left the bar.”
“When you pressed your finger to my lips and refused to let me speak?” When he’d whispered to her like they were lovers and his gaze lingered longer than it should?
He stepped back, dragging his hands through his hair as if anger and desperation battled inside him and he didn’t know which side to choose. “I should have known you would interfere. I should never have hired you.”
The words cut deep.
A civil war erupted inside her, too.
Women were supposed to be quiet and obedient, not voice their opinions or pry into a man’s affairs. Sofia had always been different. An inner defiance simmered beneath the surface.
A passion for life is a potent aphrodisiac.
Lady Berridge’s words entered Sofia’s mind.
Never be afraid to fight for your beliefs.
Sofia swallowed her nerves and rounded the table. Laying her hand on Mr Gentry’s arm caused a wave of warmth to flood her body. “Let me help you. You need a friend to confide in. This burden is too great to carry alone.”
His eyes met hers, the artic blue irises thawing. “I have friends.”
“Men think differently from women. They often fail to notice emotional cues and subtle details. I’ve already proven I’m a help, not a hindrance.”
He stared at her but said nothing.
“You coming here is not a secret,” she informed him. “Aaron Chance had you followed. Mr Daventry mentioned your nightly antics to him three months ago. As the owner of London’s best enquiry agency, I suspect Mr Daventry has spoken to the coroner and read the files.”
The veins in Mr Gentry’s temples bulged.
He bent his head, his mouth an inch from her ear. “You need to leave here now,” he whispered. “You need to find Lady Berridge and have her coachman drive like the devil is at his heels.”
Sofia turned her head to look at him, panic rising. Not because his mouth was so close or because she ached at the thought of never feeling such pleasure again. “You’re in trouble. What’s happened?”
“The less you know, the better.”
She dared to lay her hand on his chest. “That’s the worst thing you could say to a lady with an inquisitive mind. I mean to help you, whether or not you agree.”
He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, the gentle pressure a warning. “The man who’s out to hurt me may hurt you, too.”
Sofia gave a faint snort. “Many men want to hurt me, and they’re willing to pay a high price for the pleasure. Besides, I might be forced to leave England in a few days. At least let me help you until then.”
He hesitated but did not release his hold on her arm.
She pressed her case by offering her own opinion of the evidence. “The coroner’s report into Mrs Beckman’s death suggests a fall from the lower steps, which is why the victim hit the newel post. Yet the bruise on the bridge of the foot suggests someone dragged her down the stairs by her arms. Livor mortis may have masked the bruises on her abdomen.”
Mr Gentry stared at her, the subtle arch of his brow a sign of respect. “I see you’ve given the matter much thought.”
“We should visit the coroner and demand a more thorough examination,” she added. “Having suffered similar bruises in the past, I could present a convincing argument.”
“Someone hurt you?” he growled.
“It’s not important.” When Judith’s bed wasn’t creaking like a ship in a storm, she sobbed for hours or flew into a violent rage.
After a few tense seconds, he said, “Follow me, Miss Moorland. It seems you’ll get to examine a cadaver after all.”
“Someone is dead?”
“Say nothing more until we’re in the yard.”
With his hand pressed to her back, Mr Gentry led her through the taproom, beckoning his lean friend to follow.
Outside, clear skies brought a biting nip to the air. Stars glittered like silvery pinpricks. The night was serene, yet it had borne witness to a heinous crime. Mr Gentry hadn’t mentioned a cause of death, but the messenger had swiped his finger across his throat like a blade.
Aaron Chance’s elegant black coach stood in the yard, facing the Barking Road. The coachman sat bolt upright, gripping the reins as if anticipating trouble. Sensing the tension, the horses pawed the ground, their breath fogging the crisp night air.
“This way.” Mr Gentry guided her to the stables.
They passed the rows of stalls lining each side of the cobbled walkway, the smell of hay and leather and damp earth flooding her nostrils.
An ostler nodded to Mr Gentry, asking if he wanted his horse saddled and brought into the yard.
Mr Gentry flicked the man a coin. “Settle him down for the night.”
Aaron Chance appeared like a wraith in the darkness, his clothes black like his hair and expression. He jerked his head towards the path leading to the rear of the stables and the coppice beyond.
“Leave the lady here if you’re looking for O’Connor,” one groom cautioned. “He often takes his exercise against the oak tree, if you get my meaning.”
An image of a bare behind entered Sofia’s mind. She’d likely heave, reminded of Mr Merrick’s habit of dropping his trousers whenever she passed the open door of his chamber.
“Did you see O’Connor’s companion?” Mr Gentry asked, avoiding words that might offend a lady.
The groom chuckled. “He has a different partner most nights and never asks their names.”
“Have you seen Doyle?”
“Last I saw, he was walking along the Barking Road. Probably meeting a man about a dog, though he’ll be quick to sell it on.”
Mr Gentry laughed, the hollow sound so unlike the warm, husky chuckle he gave when Sofia had asked to see his implements. “One day, the dog will bite him.” He snatched a lit lantern from a hook outside the end stall and held it aloft to light the way.
They found Aaron and Joanna looming over the body of a man slumped against the wall of a stall like a half sack of grain.
“I believe this belongs to you.” Aaron thrust a blood-stained calling card at Mr Gentry. “Sadly, your man isn’t entirely illiterate and read your name. I had the pleasure of prising the card from his hand.”
Mr Gentry snatched the card and cursed under his breath. “Later, you’ll have the pleasure of explaining why the hell you had me followed.”
“You’re lucky I did. Miss Moorland is your alibi.” Mr Chance gestured to the dead man. “The lout was breathing half an hour ago. We heard his bawdy banter in the yard.”
Blood soaked the upper half of the victim’s clothing, which might have looked like a claret chemisette were it not for the red rivulets running down his waistcoat.
Mr Gentry placed the lantern on the ground and crouched beside the body. He grabbed O’Connor’s lank hair and raised the man’s head a fraction. “It’s a clean cut. A determined strike made with some force.”
The gory sight had Sofia inhaling sharply. “The killer must have surprised him, or the stable workers would have heard his cries.”
“Or they thought O’Connor was up to no good in the woods.” Mr Gentry rifled through the deceased’s pockets yet found nothing but a few coins, a bit of twine, a knife and a small pot of wax. “What made you search for O’Connor here?” he said, his tone accusatory as he beckoned the messenger forward.
The lean fellow averted his gaze. “I—I can’t say in present company.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the countess said. “We’re women of the world. I suspect you thought O’Connor was in the woods and thought to spy.”
“It ain’t a crime to look. Besides, I set a trap and came to see if I’d caught a rabbit. I thought O’Connor was napping, till I saw the blood.”
For a few silent seconds, everyone gaped at the body.
“Mr Rowe is the local justice of the peace,” Aaron informed them, “but based on the nature of the crime, we should alert the magistrate at Bow Street. The area falls under his jurisdiction.”
The messenger went into a panic. “I’ll not speak to the magistrate. They’re still hunting for the poacher who made off with Lord Carstairs’ prized stag.” He raised his calloused hands and backed away. “It weren’t me, but I reckon they’ll blame anyone to keep his lordship happy.”
“The magistrate needs to know you were here,” Sofia said, wishing he’d not found the calling card. “You discovered the body.”
The poacher hardened his tone and stance. “Listen here. You ain’t pinning this on me. What about Doyle? He fought with O’Connor last night over that serving wench with the big—” He paused, his hands making round shapes in the air. “Annie. That’s her name.”
“There’s not a speck of blood on your clothes. I’m confident that confirms your innocence,” Aaron Chance reassured him. “Perhaps you should make yourself scarce. If you want to keep your tongue, you’ll not discuss what you’ve seen with anyone.”
The poacher edged closer to the woodland path. “Happen I need to check the trap before the magistrate and his men are crawling all over this place.” With that, he slunk into the blackness and disappeared into the woods.
“As a peer, I’ll act in the magistrate’s stead until he arrives.” Mr Chance spoke in his usual commanding tone. “Gentry, examine the body while I alert the innkeeper. I’ll send my coachman to report the crime. He’ll summon Daventry first, of course. We need a man we can trust.”
Joanna spoke up. “I’ll remain here and witness the examination. Heaven forbid the coroner accuses Mr Gentry of tampering with evidence.”
“I swear, when I find the devil who did this, I’ll make sure he rots in hell.” The tremor in Mr Gentry’s voice was a barely contained storm.
“Had we not arrived when we did, you could be facing a murder charge,” Joanna said, watching her husband leave. “Does Rothley know you’re out playing the vigilante? I assume that’s what you’re doing here. I cannot believe a surgeon of your standing would risk his reputation.”
“Rothley is my friend, not my keeper.”
“He’s your dearest friend. One wonders why you haven’t confided in him. I doubt he would let you risk your neck for—What is it you’re doing out here, sir? I suggest you tell me now so my husband can persuade the authorities you’re on the right side of the law.”
“You’ve known me for ten years,” he argued, avoiding her question. “Have I given you cause to believe I’m anything but a gentleman?”
The countess narrowed her gaze. “Only once.”
She spoke of the time her brother, Justin, went missing from Cambridge a decade ago, and his friends—Rothley, Gentry, Rutland and Dalton—had to provide an alibi. They found the body, but no one was charged.
“You know I would never hurt Justin,” he said, his plea carrying the weight of a past pain. “We were like brothers. All of us were.”
Joanna’s eyes softened “If I thought you were responsible for his death, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Why are you here?”
Joanna looked at Sofia and smiled. “Because I care about Miss Moorland, and she cares about you. Because my brother would want me to assist you in his absence. You’re a good man and don’t deserve to hang for this.”
Mr Gentry released a slow breath. “I made a mistake hiring Miss Moorland.” He turned to Sofia, knowing the comment would hurt her. “I’ve placed you in danger, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. Were it not for your desperate plea …”
One could not undo the past.
Finding a way forward was all that mattered.
“Perhaps you were meant to hire me, and I was destined to help you.” Surely none of this was a coincidence. “The person who left your card in Mr O’Connor’s hand won’t stop until you’re charged with murder. I’m sure you’ve asked yourself who despises you that much. But often outsiders have a clearer picture of the situation.”
Mr Gentry’s head fell back. He gazed at the scattering of stars in the night sky. Whatever he saw there gave him the courage to speak.
“Four of my patients died suddenly, one a month since early December, though their ailments were not life-threatening. They were all widows of the same age, which suggests their deaths are not random.”
He spoke in the detached way he did when giving a lecture to ladies who preferred to watch, not listen. Yet the fact he had neglected his work and befriended criminals said he was deeply troubled.
“What has their deaths got to do with this coaching inn?” Sofia asked.
He explained two victims met a man from Barking at the Hare and Hounds. “Another one of my patients used a false name when she visited the inn last week. I only pray she’s still alive.”
“And you have no idea why the villain is targeting you?” Sofia asked, doubting he would confess to past mistakes, and she was right.
“No reason I can think of.” He turned to Joanna. “Unless this has something to do with Justin’s death and I’m the next target.” He dismissed the notion as soon as the words left his lips. “It makes no sense. Why wait a decade?”
Few people were patient enough to wait a year to exact revenge.
Now was not the time to debate the issue.
“We can draw up a list of suspects later.” Sofia swallowed past her nerves and crouched beside Mr O’Connor to examine his hands. “Once we’ve studied the body, we must question the witnesses and look for clues.”
Suppressing a shiver, Sofia gathered the victim’s hand. The chill of death was already upon him. His hand felt unnaturally heavy like it was made of unfired clay. She pushed up his coat sleeves and examined his wrists.
“There are no defensive wounds,” she said.
Mr Gentry crouched beside her. “I see no signs of a struggle.”
The hairs on her nape stirred, his presence charging the air with an excitable energy. Her pulse quickened. The quiet ache returned, the one she fought to ignore whenever he was near.
“The murderer positioned the body like this,” he said, forcing her to focus on the dead man. “Based on the sudden slash to his neck, I would have expected O’Connor to fall forward.”
“Someone added your card after staging the scene.”
Mr Gentry raised the man’s eyelids, smelled his mouth and clothes. “Someone fed O’Connor laudanum to subdue him, though the motive is unclear. I barely know the devil.”
Joanna moved towards the woodland path and peered into the eerie blackness. “Whoever killed O’Connor came through these woods. We’ll know for sure once we’ve questioned the ostlers.”
Mr Gentry rifled through Mr O’Connor’s coat again but found nothing. “He must have consumed laudanum an hour ago, though I see no flask or bottle.”
A sudden commotion brought Mr Chance and the barrel-bellied innkeeper. The latter looked at his deceased employee and swore until the air was blue.
“I’ve told the fool a hundred times. The married ones might be willing, but you’ll have a fight on your hands when their husbands find out.”
Mr Chance was quick to agree. “O’Connor is renowned for his amorous antics. It will be impossible to narrow down the investigation to one suspect.”
That’s when the innkeeper made a damning statement. “Happen it was that doctor what killed him. The rogue was having it away with the fellow’s wife.”
Sofia’s heart lurched.
Someone wanted to ensure Mr Gentry paid the price.
What other surprises awaited them?
Mr Gentry glared at the innkeeper. “Who in God’s name told you that? The man died less than an hour ago.”
“Freddie told Pete the Piper. He said O’Connor had a price on his head. Pete told Mildred, the wife, and she told me in bed last night.”
“Did anyone tell Mr O’Connor?” Sofia said.
The innkeeper shrugged. “I said he should watch out for a doctor named Gentry, but O’Connor thought he was a cat with nine lives. I’m surprised the killer sliced his neck and not his ball?—”
Faint whispers drew their attention. A few people had gathered thirty feet away—a stable boy, a coachman and a curious traveller—staring with morbid fascination. More men came, some craning their necks and standing on tiptoes, the whispers growing to a cacophony of shocked gasps and worried speculation.
Aaron Chance stepped forward, and the throng stepped back.
“There’s nothing to see here,” Mr Chance said sternly, shooing the crowd away like they were stubborn sheep. “Wait inside until the magistrate arrives.” He turned to the innkeeper. “No one leaves until we can establish their whereabouts tonight, including those working in the stables.”
While Mr Chance managed the scene, Sofia approached the subdued Mr Gentry. She touched him gently on his broad back, the need to comfort him being her priority. “Take heart. Mr Daventry is an excellent enquiry agent and will help to clear your name. And as you know from attending the boxing bouts at Fortune’s Den, everyone wants Mr Chance fighting their corner.”
He looked at her, his blue eyes dull, though they were no less remarkable. “I’ve spent months searching for clues but always come back to the same question: Why hurt innocent women to punish me?”
“I’m sure you’ve done nothing wrong.” What crime had she committed to be auctioned like meat at the market? “Mr Daventry is the best person to advise you. He knows how devious minds work. I will help any way I can.”
“You have troubles of your own.”
“In giving, we receive. Perhaps the Lord will look upon me graciously and rain a plague down on the Merricks.”
One could live in hope.
He didn’t smile. “I’m trained to deliver a dose of optimism with every diagnosis, yet something tells me to prepare for the worst.”
Tension clawed the air as if something dark and inevitable was about to unfold. “Think positive thoughts.” It was easier said than done. “What lifts your spirits?”
He snorted as he glanced at the eerie woodland behind. “Is this where I’m supposed to follow my own advice and walk in the verdure?”
“I merely want you to focus on what gives you pleasure.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “If I do that, Miss Moorland, we’ll find ourselves in a wealth of trouble. Best we concentrate on escaping our burdens and not the power of one simple kiss.”
Simple?
Yes, kissing him came as easy as breathing.
There was nothing complicated about the touching of mouths.
Yet in that breathless moment, she’d become a slave to her desires. Excitement still thrummed in her veins, lingering like the tug of addiction.
“Our kiss was anything but simple, sir.”
He seemed to drink her in, his gaze piercing through her spectacles. “All the more reason to remember I’m your employer, and it wouldn’t have happened if you’d stayed at home.”
The sensible comment brought a mix of sadness and relief. Soon, survival would be her only concern. Knowing they would never kiss again felt like a brick wedged in her chest.
“As you say, it’s of no consequence now.”
An awkward silence ensued.
The crowd dissipated as the innkeeper ushered the patrons back to the taproom. A task made easier when Mr Chance insisted on paying for their drinks.
Mr Chance returned to the crime scene and drew his wife aside. They spoke in hushed voices. Then he captured her chin, kissed her tenderly on the lips, and assured her all would be well.
The couple looked solemn when they faced Sofia.
“You being Mr Gentry’s alibi causes a slight problem,” Joanna said, pursing her lips. “Constables are open to bribery. If the crime is mentioned in the broadsheets and your names appear together, the Merricks will easily find you.”
Sofia felt the blood drain from her cheeks. There had been nothing to tie her to Mr Gentry. No reason for Judith to visit the doctor’s practice. She had used a different apothecary and not bought dried herbs at the market.
“It won’t matter,” she said, determined to remain calm. “I can take the coach to Southampton and find temporary lodgings there.” She had her mother’s brooch and earrings and would sell them if necessary.
Mr Gentry’s resigned sigh left a puff of white mist in the air. “You cannot leave London. The magistrate will demand you remain in town while he looks for evidence to prove I’m innocent.”
“It could take weeks, maybe months before they exonerate Gentry,” Aaron added.
“Months!” Sofia clutched her throat and heaved a breath. “I doubt I’ll survive a week. You saw the list of names. At least ten men are willing to buy me at auction. Judith will put a bounty on my head.” She racked her mind to think of a solution. “What’s the penalty if I abscond?”
Joanna reached for Sofia’s hand and clasped it tightly. “You entered the inn around the time of death. If you run, they will presume you had a part to play and may issue a warrant for your arrest.”
“We’re at fault,” Aaron said dourly. “We encouraged you to come here, although none of us could have predicted the shocking turn of events.”
Sofia hung her head, closing her eyes against a sudden tidal wave of tears. Despite every effort to find a way forward, she was trapped.
Mr Gentry spoke then, his voice tight. “There’s nothing to fear, Miss Moorland. Being a gentleman, I’ll do what’s expected.”
She raised her head, her eyes meeting his. “What’s expected?”
“We’ll marry. I’m sure the Earl of Berridge can persuade the bishop to process the paperwork quickly and grant us a common licence.”