Chapter 8 #2
Superintendent MacDougal saved her from needing to respond by continuing.
‘There is one blessing to your distant marriage. It kept you away from men like Damien Sinclair. It might be the only thing yer husband seemed to have done right. Yer brother will have a fit when he finds out abou’ this.
If Lord Burrows’ weren’t already dead, Thomas would kill ’im for exposing you to such danger.
’ Superintendent MacDougal’s heavy sigh communicated far more than his words ever could.
‘I would prefer he didn’t know all the details.’ Cynthia’s gaze flicked to Helena and a blush burned her cheeks.
She had just exposed the shameful truth of her marriage, and Helena Blair knew all of it. The prickling heat of embarrassment covered her, a blanket designed to stifle and itch.
Whatever strange moment they shared before the superintendent arrived was forever gone. Helena would only see a pitiful creature now, and Cynthia hated herself for caring.
She was used to being admired by the women in her set. Envied for her wealth, poise, sharp tongue, wicked wit, and advantageous connections. Yet she got the distinct impression none of that mattered to Helena Blair. And that mattered to Cynthia.
She wished the woman would leave. Exposing weakness in front of Helena was dangerous.
She needed to pull the focus away from her broken marriage and bring it back to the case.
‘I only wish I could be of more help in finding Hubert’s killer.
If he had nefarious dealings with this Devil of Seven Dials, it doesn’t bode well. ’
‘No’ for the investigation, but it does help in clearin’ your name, Lady Burrows. One thing’s certain: if Hubert owed Sinclair money and did no’ repay his debt, tha’ bastard has risen to the top of our suspect list. We couldn’t find a more worthy candidate.’
MacDougal’s words should have created a ripple of relief to run through her, but her unease only grew.
‘I suppose knowing destitution awaits me upon his death removes any possible motivation I had for killing him to become a wealthy widow. But an argument could still be made that I did it out of spite or anger for his actions. The letter certainly leads us in a new direction, but we can’t jump to conclusions about this Devil without more evidence. ’
Helena crossed her arms over her corseted chest. ‘Are you arguing against the guilt of a known criminal? A man who could clear you of a murder that, if you are found guilty, will end in your death?’
When she put it that way, it did seem prudent for Cynthia to shut her mouth and be quiet. But Cynthia was tired of shutting her mouth and being quiet.
‘Yes. I am.’
Helena’s grey eyes widened, and she shook her head. ‘I can’t decide if you are barmy or brave.’
Cynthia shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’m both. I want to find Hubert’s killer.
Not just to prove my innocence, but to make sure justice is achieved.
Blaming this Sinclair fellow out of convenience hardly accomplishes either of those goals.
You said yourself we need evidence. If someone is going to hang for Hubert’s murder, I want to ensure they actually committed the crime. ’
Helena exhaled, her gaze searing Cynthia’s soul. If the fox was being truthful – the fox cannot be truthful! It is an animal – Helena couldn’t hear Cynthia’s thoughts, but it appeared she was seeing all of her secrets. Cynthia felt bare and vulnerable.
A shiver of something unexpected raised the fine hairs at her nape. Why was it suddenly difficult to breathe?
Because she sees me. Not the marchioness. Not society’s carefully curated lady. Not the obedient daughter and dutiful wife. She sees me.
Superintendent MacDougal ran a hand through his messy curls.
‘Well, you’ll excuse me if I do no’ throw away a perfectly good suspect in this case, Lady Burrows.
We’ve been tryin’ to get something on Sinclair for months.
This is as good a chance as any to arrest the bastard and hold him for questioning.
He might no’ have killed your husband, but I’ll bet all the whisky in Scotland he knows who did it.
And if he does no’, at least we’ll have reminded him we’re watchin’. ’
‘What about the necklace?’ Cynthia asked triumphantly, holding the locket out.
‘This is more compelling than any glittering frippery.’
Cynthia narrowed her gaze on the Scotsman. ‘But if he didn’t kill Hubert, you’ll be wasting your time following the wrong man.’
Superintendent MacDougal smiled. A mercenary glint hardened his soft eyes into unyielding oak.
Cynthia imagined this was the face soldiers saw when MacDougal fought on the battlefield, fierce and bloodied.
‘Yer husband was in his pocke’. Sinclair was threatening him.
And the Devil of Seven Dials is a killer. ’
‘Yes, but we don’t know that he is Hubert’s killer.’ She leaned into her frustration, making it easier to ignore whatever emotions Helena inspired. Emotions as confusing as they were intoxicating.
‘Catching him is the best way to discover his guilt.’
‘One would assume discovering evidence, or perhaps, talking to the man, might be more productive.’
‘I can talk to him much better when he’s in shackles and can no’ escape.’
Cynthia exhaled, using her practised social skills to paint a veneer of calm over her features.
There was no point arguing when Superintendent MacDougal’s mind was already set on a course.
‘Can I assume that your investigation into me has concluded?’ It would be the one benefit to this new development.
And if Superintendent MacDougal wasn’t watching her any longer, he wouldn’t see her completing her own investigation.
‘What do you think, lass? Is she lying?’
Helena’s pale skin flushed strawberry red. Cynthia wondered if she could feel the heat of her blush. She looked away from her uncle. ‘No. A-at least, I don’t think so.’
Frowning at his niece, the superintendent straightened his jacket. ‘Well, then. I suppose tha’s our answer. You are no’ a suspect, Lady Burrows. At least, we don’t think so.’
Cynthia narrowed her gaze at Helena. ‘Hardly reassuring.’
Your hair is dreadful, your magic is silly, and you are the dullest woman I know.
All blatant lies. Also, all insults that would ensure a reaction from the woman if she could hear them.
Nothing. Not even a blink.
Helena might be here to detect Cynthia’s hidden thoughts, but she was the witch with a secret. Perhaps she could read other people’s minds, but she couldn’t detect a thing going on in Cynthia’s head.
Damnation. The fox is right.