Chapter 15 #2
Cecilia had been correct, James mused some ninety minutes later as he looked around the throng in his house and spilling out across the terrace and into Cecilia’s garden.
The parish had come to honor Mrs. Jones and give condolences to the vicar and to Hope and Faith Jones.
He almost wished Inglewood was present to see the attendance and the stories exchanged about her many kindnesses.
Then again, not, for then the stories of his family and his perfidy would not have been shared.
And his perfidy was being shared. He saw it in the faces of those who learned of it, the frowns, the anger.
He walked through the rooms of his house and out onto the terrace, exchanging solemn nods and condolences.
He felt pleased with the appearance of the house after its two years of renovations.
It did not have ornate rooms like the earl had in his manor; nonetheless, it was beautiful. They’d done well.
Per prior agreement with Cecilia, neither he nor she mentioned the diary or what they knew. They let those they had told ahead of the gathering carry that torch forward.
He knew their plan had been successful when the Earl of Mortlake approached him on the terrace.
“A word, Sir James,” Mortlake said, coming up to him, a mug of ale in hand. “I heard you have possession of a diary of Miss Inglewood’s.”
“It is actually Lady Branstoke who claims the diary,” James corrected.
“Are you certain it is hers and not something planted to cause problems in Mertonhaugh?”
“We are confident it is authentic,” James replied.
“Why have you not returned it to the family?”
James stared at him for a long moment. “You know we have it, but not its contents,” he finally said.
“I did not stay to listen. I want to know what this is about. It appears people are gossiping about it and not thinking of Mr. Jones,” the earl complained.
“I assure you, they are doing both. I have heard them. Come. I will let you see for yourself.”
He led Mortlake to his modest library and shut the door behind them.
Only a single lamp, turned low, sat in the room.
James brought it forward and turned up its light.
He then walked to his desk and unlocked a drawer to draw out the book.
“Here,” he said. “I suggest you start on April 23rd. It shouldn’t take you long. ”
Mortlake looked at him, frowning, but sat down in a wing chair by the fireplace. James walked to the beverage sideboard. “Brandy?” he asked.
Mortlake nodded.
James poured the brandy for each of them, then sat in the chair opposite Mortlake to enjoy his brandy and wait.
Fifteen minutes later, Mortlake looked up.
“Did you know,” James asked, “Mrs. Jones was not satisfied with the coroner’s verdict of iliac passion for Miss Inglewood’s cause of death?”
“Yes, she told me. I advised her to let it be. The poor girl was dead, and there was no sense in stirring things up now.”
“Mrs. Jones did not take your advice. She took on an investigator’s role and proceeded to question everyone and everything, as Cecilia and I have done. When she spoke to Mrs. Hester, she learned how Miss Inglewood actually died. She concluded that Inglewood was responsible. She confronted him.”
“What?” Mortlake said, sitting straighter.
James nodded. “That much Mrs. Hester does know, but not what went on between them; however, two days later, Mrs. Jones went over the cliff from Haughton Meadow.”
Horror dawned on Mortlake’s face. “You don’t think…”
“We do.” He spread his hands out in front of himself. “But we have no proof.”
“He’ll never be brought to justice,” Mortlake said.
“Why not?” James asked. He retrieved the brandy bottle from the sideboard and offered the earl another glass. Mortlake accepted.
“People are afraid of him. He has too much on them.”
“Like he has on you?” James asked calmly. He took a sip of brandy and then sat back down.
“What are you talking about?”
“You have been protecting him. You have turned your head away from his actions that hurt others, like claiming unpaid taxes and excess taxes due from the district. Those, by the way, are some truths that have come out since people took to talking about the diary. The only time you confronted Inglewood was when he arrested Vernon. That hit too close to you. How much did you pay Inglewood to make that false accusation go away?”
“Fifty pounds,” Mortlake admitted.
“I’d call that cheap. You knew, didn’t you, that he beat his daughter. Kendell told you. He’d seen the bruises.”
“Yes, but there was nothing I could do about that.”
James shook his head. “Nothing you chose to do about it. Because he knew something about you that you did not want revealed.”
Mortlake’s jaw clenched. “Yes, damn, you.”
“Something from your university days.”
“How did you know?”
James shrugged. “I don’t. I’m merely surmising based on what I know and have witnessed.”
Mortlake laughed harshly. “It is no wonder people say you are a good investigator.”
“I have never set out to be an investigator; unfortunately, I have an incurable curiosity about the world around me, as does Cecilia. You should ask her sometime how we met,” he said with a half smile. “Now, what does Inglewood have on you? Perhaps I can help.”
“We shared one year at university together and became friends—if you can believe that. I was wild—first time out from under my father’s thumb.
We decided to steal things, not for money, but to prove we could get away with it.
We left what we stole elsewhere to be recovered.
Most of the time, the items were recovered.
A few times, they were not, for someone else took them.
One of the items we took was the chalice cup from the university chapel.
It was later found in the possession of Lewis Martin, the illegitimate son of the Earl of Harleigh.
He was subsequently expelled, though he protested his innocence.
Said he had found it and was going to return it. ”
“Lewis Martin!” James half rose out of his chair.
“You know him?”
James laughed. “He was a Bow Street agent for many years. Our paths have crossed.”
Mortlake looked at him with surprise. “He always was a smart devil, though much younger than the rest of us,” he mused.
“So that is what Inglewood has over you? That you let an innocent man take the blame for a theft you committed and be expelled for it? I’m sure it has never bothered Inglewood.”
“No, but it has bothered me, and it is something I’ve never wanted Clementina to know.”
“So you let Inglewood hold that over your head. You’re a sapskull, Mortlake. You did not harm Mr. Martin by your failure to tell the truth. You probably did him a favor, and I’d wager he knows who committed the thefts. He was later reinstated, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He went on to study law. He had a desire to be a barrister; however, since he was illegitimate, he was barred from that profession. That’s why he joined Bow Street.
Tell Lady Mortlake, and dissolve this fear you carry.
We need your assistance to make Squire Inglewood as uncomfortable as possible.
Our plans won’t work if the highest-ranked citizen in the area doesn’t take a stand against this man and what he does. ”
Mortlake picked the diary up off his lap and handed it over to James. “I can’t let that young woman’s death, nor Mrs. Jones’s death, go unresolved.”
“Lady Branstoke and I thank you. As he did not come to this gathering nor allow any of his family to attend, we expect Squire Inglewood to learn of the gossip at church tomorrow. –And speaking of what will be learned tomorrow, the Archbishop has approved a curate for the parish. As penance, you are expected to build him a residence.”
“Penance?”
“For tolerating Inglewood’s behavior.”
Mortlake bowed his head. “Accepted.”