Chapter 32
The inquest into the death of Alison Cross was held later that morning out at Chalk Farm.
The murder of a simple country tavern keeper drew predictably few spectators from London. But a second killing in their normally peaceful neighborhood had understandably alarmed the local inhabitants, who braved the cold, damp wind to once again descend on the tavern.
“Think it’s finally gonna snow?” said Tom as Sebastian turned his horses into the tavern’s yard.
He squinted up at the heavy clouds pressing down on the surrounding hills. “Looks like it might, doesn’t it? But hopefully not before we get out of here.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Tom, scrambling forward to take the reins.
Sebastian grunted as he hopped down to the cobbles, then paused at the sight of a familiar, roughly dressed figure standing beside a distant outbuilding.
Sid Diamond was deep in conversation with a dark-haired young woman clutching a knitted blue shawl over a white muslin gown.
As Sebastian watched, she shook her head, fisted her free hand in her skirts, and ran toward the tavern without looking back.
The highwayman lowered the brim of his hat and was turning away when he noticed Sebastian.
For a moment Diamond hesitated, then altered his course to cross the yard.
Watching him, Sebastian found it hard to believe this was the same man he’d met just—what?
Three? Four days ago? The rollicking insouciance, the devil-may-care jauntiness, the dashing aura of danger were all gone, leaving the man looking disheveled and defeated.
Even his stride was stiff, as if simply walking took more focus and concentration than he could somehow muster.
“Who did this?” demanded the highwayman, his voice hoarse as he planted himself in front of Sebastian. “You know, don’t you? Please tell me you know.”
The former cavalryman was unshaven, his face gray and haggard as if he hadn’t slept in days, his eyes bloodshot and glassy with the kind of grief that’s like a silent, never-ending howl of despair.
Sebastian shook his head. “I wish I did, but I don’t. Do you?”
“Me? You think if I did, I’d be here, rather than out doin’ somethin’ about it?”
“Was Alison Cross your lover?”
Diamond’s head jerked back at the question. He hesitated a moment, then pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded.
Did you know? Sebastian wondered, watching the other man’s throat work as he swallowed.
Did you know she was carrying your child?
But all he said was, “I take it she was also your informant?” It wasn’t uncommon for rural tavern keepers, barmaids, and ostlers to pass word of a promising target to local highwaymen.
Diamond glared at him. “And if I said she wasn’t, would you believe me?”
“It might help explain what happened to her.”
“It doesn’t. Apart from which, I ain’t hit a carriage around here in months.”
“No? And yet you claimed to have been working Saturday night.”
“That was the plan. But the bastards had a bloody guard with a blunderbuss sittin’ up next t’ the driver. They’d no notion I was even there, watchin’ ’em go by.”
“So how many months are we talking about? Since you were last successful, I mean.”
“Hell, I don’t know. Sometime in late August, it musta been. What difference does it make? Don’t you understand? This has nothing to do with me. It’s all mixed up somehow with those nasty little sons of privilege who are being killed.”
“Why would someone interested in killing the sons of a baron, a baronet, and a knight want to murder a simple rural tavern keeper?”
“I don’t know!”
“She never said anything—anything at all—to you about something she might have overheard or seen? Something that might have put her in danger?”
“No.”
“Would she have? Said something to you, I mean.”
“Of course she—” Diamond started to say, then broke off, his chest lifting on a sharply indrawn breath.
“She wouldn’t, would she?” said Sebastian, watching him. “Not if she thought you might try to do something about it—something that could end with you either dead or in prison, waiting to be hanged.”
“Bloody hell,” swore Diamond, swiping a trembling hand across his eyes, his voice a torn whisper. “Bloody, bloody hell.”
The inquest was predictably anticlimactic.
Alison Cross had last been seen late in the afternoon on Tuesday. She’d been laughing with some drovers at one of the tables as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Then she’d asked her young barmaid to take over while she stepped out for a moment.
She never came back.
The barmaid was the first to testify. A pretty young woman, she looked to be no more than sixteen or seventeen, with a heavy fall of dark hair, a creamy complexion, and winsome features.
She wore a simple white muslin gown with a blue sash at its high waist and a modest scooped neckline, and even if he hadn’t seen them together, such was her resemblance to the knight of the road that Sebastian had no difficulty identifying her as the highwayman’s sister even before she gave her name as Jenna Diamond.
She was obviously badly frightened, and she cried silently throughout her testimony, the tears coursing down her cheeks so that she had to keep swiping them away with the flat of her palm.
“It took me a while to realize just how long she’d been gone,” said Jenna in a quiet, broken voice.
“It wasn’t till an hour or two went by that I realized something must be wrong. ”
“Do you know why she would go out to that disused barn?” asked the coroner.
“No, Your Honor. I’ve no notion at all. She never went there before that I knew of.”
The ostler who had found the dead woman’s body gave evidence next, followed by Lovejoy and Gibson. Then, after a quick whispered consultation, the jury returned a verdict of homicide by party or parties unknown, and that was that.
“The Palace is apoplectic,” said Lovejoy afterward as they stood together on the tavern’s wide front veranda and watched the first flakes of snow begin to fall on the wet, dreary countryside. “Sir Nathaniel Conant is determined to have someone remanded into custody by the beginning of next week.”
“Have they selected their scapegoat yet?” asked Sebastian.
“They have, I’m afraid. I did suggest the arrest might be a bit premature, but…”
“But?”
“I was told the orders come directly from the Home Office, and that if I have any concerns, I should address them to Lord Sidmouth himself.” Lovejoy tightened his jaw.
“They’re going after one of the Spenceans, of course—perhaps more than one.
The idea is to portray these deaths as part of some vile revolutionary plot to bring down the monarchy and slaughter the aristocracy.
The men will be charged not only with murder, but with sedition and treason.
The Crown intends to seek the full ancient penalty. ”
Sebastian looked over at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“I wish I weren’t. They’re to be hanged, drawn, castrated, disemboweled, and beheaded.”