Chapter 16 #3
Eyes wide, she looked up at them, flitting her gaze from Electra to Gideon.
“That’s when I ran. I scrambled out of the carriage, and he got down after me.
I actually feared he’d give chase, but I ran away as quickly as I could.
I found another carriage, stepped into it, and went to Soho Square. To Lance’s.”
“Was Lance Pennington there?” Gideon asked.
“No, but I needed him. I was in quite a state. Angry. Frightened. Sick with myself for what I'd done.”
“And did you see him that night?” Gideon had bent forward. Electra could sense his anticipation. As if he had finally found the thread that he could follow in order to unravel the murder.
“Yes, he eventually came, and he was strange. Shockingly affectionate, almost giddy. But I felt so ugly for what I’d done, and I feared telling him truth. I knew it would break his heart.”
Miss Mahoney offered the kerchief again, but Mrs. Devlin seemed not to notice, so lost in her retelling. Tears flowed freely, and she was doing nothing to dry them.
“But I didn't want any more lies.” Mrs. Devlin’s cheeks had reddened, and her voice had become ragged. “I sat with him on his bed and took his hands in mine, determined to tell him the truth, whatever the consequences.” She lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. “That's when I saw the blood.”
Electra stood from her chair and went to sit on the other side of Mrs. Devlin, offering her a dry handkerchief from her own pocket.
Mrs. Devlin took the square and dried her tears, then Electra clasped her hand, uncertain how she might respond.
Mrs. Devlin clung to her. “He told me that he had seen me arguing with his brother on Mount Street, and he insisted that I go away with him.” She squeezed Electra’s hand harder and faced her, green eyes locked on Electra’s.
“So Lance Pennington was at Mount Street that evening?” Gideon asked.
“He must have been.” Mrs. Devlin glanced at Electra. “I was so frightened, Miss Poole. I did not know what he had done, but there was a mad glint in his eyes.”
Electra saw flashes, not images that played out before her like a memory.
Just flashes. Like photographs being displayed and then fading in her mind.
The face of Lance Pennington, the handsome young man she’d seen at the inquest. He looked as Mrs. Devlin described.
Frantic and with a maddened kind of glee.
She tried to focus the vision. Even closed her eyes. A man’s hands. Blood covering them until they were stained crimson. Blood on his shirt cuffs.
“I asked what he had done,” Mrs. Devlin whispered, pulling Electra from the images. “He told me not to worry and that Percival would never trouble me again.”
“What did you do then?” Gideon asked.
“I lied.” She notched up her chin as she said it. “Said I had money saved and vowed I would leave with him. I urged him to collect his belongings and said I would go to Regent Square to do the same. We agreed that he would come to me that night.”
“But you didn’t return to Regent Square,” Electra said softly, knowing it somehow.
Mrs. Devlin shook her head. “I went to Victoria Station and boarded a train. I bought a ticket to Brighton, but the next morning, at a café, another traveler had a London newspaper. I saw the headline about Percival’s murder, and I realized what Lance had done.”
“She came back out of fear for me,” Miss Mahoney said quietly.
“I feared for Nell and Mrs. Earnsley. For anyone Lance knew who was connected to me. I was certain he would search for me.”
“I insisted she go,” Miss Mahoney said. “I wanted to find a way to help her hide, but I was having trouble letting her go. I felt I could protect her better if I knew where she was.”
Gideon drew his shoulders up and assessed Mrs. Devlin. He was, Electra sensed, attempting to determine what was true and what might be a performance to obscure her own culpability in Pennington’s death.
Electra didn’t think Mrs. Devlin was performing. Not anymore.
“Did you ever see a weapon on Lance Pennington?” he asked, tone even, despite the fact that both Mrs. Devlin and Miss Mahoney were both weeping now.
“No, but Lance had a penknife that he carried with him all the time. He liked to write with quills, you see.” Almost wistfully, she added, “His fingers were always stained with ink.”
“Describe the penknife.” Gideon had his pencil poised and Electra knew he meant to search for it at Mr. Pennington’s lodgings.
“Silver. Etched. I believe his name was engraved on the side.”
“Will you arrest him, Inspector?” Miss Mahoney asked.
Gideon rolled his head on his shoulders before facing the lady again. “I have no evidence, Miss Mahoney, beyond your sister’s recounting. But if I can find that penknife, or…” He slid his gaze to Electra. “Or find a way to compel Lance Pennington to tell the truth, then yes. I would arrest him.”
“I…could possibly compel him to tell the truth,” Mrs. Devlin whispered.
“No, I don't want you involved.”
Gideon gazed at Electra, almost hopefully.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Maybe there is a way for us to use your assistance, Mrs. Devlin.”
Miss Mahoney shot up off the settee. “I will not allow it. I do not want my sister anywhere near that man.”
Gideon lifted a conciliatory hand. “Without you having to be near him, Mrs. Devlin. We could speak to him. You say how devoted he is to you. If he believed that we were going to arrest you…”
Electra saw a spark in his gaze. The spark of a detective who knew the final piece of a case was within his reach.
“I will be sending a constable to take your formal statement, Mrs. Devlin, and to remain here with you until we’ve spoken to Mr. Pennington.”
“You won’t reveal that she’s in London, will you?” Miss Mahoney asked in a pleading tone.
“No, I have no intention of telling anyone where she is. If you've been safe here with your sister, Mrs. Devlin, then I suspect you will remain so.”
Electra let go of the lady’s hand, but it took a moment for Mrs. Devlin to release her hold.
“You believe me?” she whispered to Electra.
“I do.”
“I am not faultless. I am a harlot in the eyes of many, but I am not a killer.”