I stared at Bickley, wondering if he were confessing to murdering his own son.
The man drew a breath and continued as wind brought us the sharp smell of the sea. “The fault is mine for my wickedness. Joshua died for my sins.”
I was relieved he spoke metaphorically. “The guilt is not with you, sir. An evil man has done this, and I intend to discover who.”
Bickley studied me with empty eyes. “How will that matter? Then another will lose his life, his family will be ruined, and none of that will return my boy to me.”
His words gave me a pang of uneasiness. Murderers were hanged, but that never stopped more innocents from being killed. What did we achieve?
Then again, I would not let whoever murdered that poor lad get away with it.
I thought Bickley would say more, but he only gazed at me and then beyond at Peter. A profound sadness came over him, the stiff breeze tugging his coat.
I had no idea how to comfort him. Any words that came to me sounded inadequate in my head, so I kept them confined there.
Bickley’s focus drifted back to me. “After the inquest, I will leave Brighton and go to Chichester. My half-sister has agreed that I will dwell with her.”
I gave him a nod. “I hope you find peace there.”
“I was supposed to find peace here,” Bickley said. “Good afternoon, Gabriel. And good-bye.”
He held out his hand, and I shook it. Bickley’s eyes welled with tears as he clung to me for a few seconds.
Then he released me, turned abruptly, and marched across the shingle, making for the main part of town.
“Poor bugger,” Brewster said, watching him go. “A strange cove, but I feel that sorry for him. Can’t be easy, having his son murdered like that.”
“No.” I glanced at Peter who had returned to skimming rocks into the ocean. He was not the son of my body, but I was growing to care for him as though he were my own.
“He never mentioned Miss Purkis,” I said. “The Quaker woman who has also gone missing.”
Brewster nodded. “Noticed. You think she’s dead too?”
“I sincerely hope not.” I called to Peter. “Come, lad, let us go back. Your mother should be awake by now.”
This aspect did not excite Peter, but for my part, I was anxious to speak to Donata.
Jacinthe did not wish to allow me into Donata’s chamber. I planted myself solidly in the doorway and stared her down. As I was now head of the household, I could bodily move her aside if I chose and be considered justified doing so.
None of this disturbed Jacinthe, who’d been looking after Donata since Donata had been a girl. Donata’s own mother was not as fierce.
“Let him in,” my wife said wearily. “He will only stand there if you do not, and he is creating a draft.”
Jacinthe’s expression told me she considered me the loser of the battle, but she opened the door deferentially. As I entered, Jacinthe fetched a mending basket and walked sedately out.
Donata said absolutely nothing. She sat at her dressing table, peering into the mirror as she arranged curls of her hair with her fingers.
The windows giving to the sea were open and I moved to them. I gazed out at the beauty of the gray ocean, breathing in the clean air.
After the silence had stretched between us, I turned to her. “Grenville told me I ought to go down on my knees before you. But this one doesn’t bend well.” I tapped my leg with my walking stick. “So I will have to remain standing.”
Donata kept her eyes on the mirror, lifting a strand of gold to test against her throat. “Absolute nonsense,” she said in a quiet voice.
“The truth of it is, no lady can hold a candle to you.”
Donata at last glanced at me, but the spark in her eyes showed she was not appeased. “I did rather coerce you into marrying me, I admit. I remember not giving you much choice.”
I regarded her in amazement then returned to my contemplation of the sea.
“It astonishes me every day,” I said softly, “that you condescended to notice me at all. A most beautiful lady with a swift and intelligent mind, and you chose to favor me. I have been, all this time, humbled, and grateful.”
Another silence. When I turned again, she gazed at me, her mask of studied sangfroid gone. We regarded each other—anger and remorse, frustration and regret wafting through the space between us.
“Well, you are rather handsome,” Donata said lightly.
I went to her and peered around her into the mirror. I saw my hard face, too weathered by the sun, a long nose, unruly dark hair, and wide dark eyes.
“I will never believe you on that score,” I told her. “I married you before you could come to your senses and pass me over.”
Donata flushed, but instead of answering, she waved her hand at a folded paper on the dressing table. “Grenville sent me a note this morning. He told me what happened to you last night and why you fled.”
I would have to thank Grenville profusely for his intervention. “Then you know what a fool I was acting, confused and going off in all directions.”
Donata’s coolness vanished. “Good Lord, Gabriel, someone tried to shoot you. I have no doubt they were aiming for you, as you were alone at the time.”
“True,” I said. “Mrs. Gibbons only hailed me as Brewster and I chased after the scoundrel into the streets.”
“That was not what I meant.” Donata squarely met my gaze. “You need to have a care. Mr. Denis should assign three or four men to guard you—obviously Mr. Brewster cannot do it alone.”
“Mr. Denis is here in Brighton. He commandeered Brewster’s lodgings and sent for me last night, at midnight, if you please.”
“I know,” she said. “Bartholomew told me—that is, he told Jacinthe. What is Mr. Denis’s opinion of all this?”
“That a person from my past plans to end me.” I pulled a delicate chair next to her and sat down, rested my arms on my knees, and related my conversation with him. I ended with a weak smile. “Denis also ordered me to reconcile with you.”
“Ah.” Donata’s expression shuttered. “So that is why you were so eloquent.”
“I meant every word of it.” I lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I hate that I distress you because I can be a dolt. I hate that my past is rising to plague us. I hate that you believe my affection for you could ever wane.”
Her fingers tightened on mine the slightest bit. “I was raised to never show what I felt, no matter the circumstance,” she said softly. “You are happy to let the world know your true feelings.”
I tried a laugh. “I was raised badly, as you know.”
“I wish I could convey what you do so easily.” Donata’s mouth turned down. “I can only express myself in barbs and witticisms.”
“In public, yes.” I took up her other hand and laid both against my chest. “In private, you may pour out your heart. I will treasure every word and repeat them to no one.”
Donata bowed her head. When she looked up again, her eyes were wet.
She did not, however, unleash her soul and shower me with expressions of love and devotion. She only sighed and moved closer to me.
Soon we occupied the same chair, but I feared it collapsing, so I lifted her and moved with her to a sofa. There we ceased speaking, finishing the conversation without words. By the time Donata sent for Jacinthe again, I considered us well reconciled.
When I went downstairs, Donata still dressing, I spied Mr. Quimby approaching the house across the empty square. I bade Bartholomew show him in.
“What news, Mr. Quimby?”
The man somberly removed his hat and gave it over to Bartholomew. “I’ve come from the coroner. May we speak?” He glanced into the sitting room.
I gestured him inside and shut the door behind us. “Joshua Bickley?”
“Indeed.” Both of us remained standing, uneasy, in the middle of the carpet. “The lad did not drown in the boat. You were correct that he was killed, strangled from all appearances, and then placed there. That is the coroner’s opinion.”
I balled my fists. “You mean they tried to make it look like a boating accident? Josh didn’t like boats, according to Miss Farrow.”
“The coroner believes the man who strangled him was quite strong, with large hands.” Quimby glanced at the one resting on my walking stick. “Like yours, Captain.”
I took a step back. “I did not kill the lad, Quimby. I promise you that.”
Mr. Quimby did not seem to hear my declaration. “The inquest will be later today. You will be called to give evidence.”
“I assumed as much.” I calmed myself. “I will answer any questions put to me, but I do not have much more information.”
Quimby sighed. “Death by violence is a great horror for the Friends, but I know they do not believe in hanging murderers either. It is why they have invented such frightening jails. They believe they are being kind, but those places result in the death of souls instead of bodies, in my opinion.”
One of Mr. Denis’s men had described these reforming places to me—stark buildings built in a circle, monotonous exercise, men always watched, and menial and unrelenting tasks. The man had not told me whether he’d been in such a place himself, but he’d spoken of it with horror.
“Then we are looking for a strong man with large hands,” I concluded. “Unfortunately, I imagine we’ll find any number of candidates.”
“It could have been a hired murder,” Quimby pointed out. “A ruffian brought in to do the deed, who will be miles away by now.”
“True, but why would anyone wish to kill Josh Bickley? From what I have heard of him, he was a harmless young man, a friend to many.”
Quimby shrugged. “One never knows. He was a Quaker, but could have become discontented with that way of life, perhaps left them to fall in with a bad lot. Or he simply met a villain who killed him for whatever coins he had in his pockets.”
“Or he might have been trying to do a good deed and came to misfortune,” I said. “A Quaker woman, older than he, has also vanished, and I wondered if Josh had gone to discover what became of her. I fear harm has come to her as well.”
“Indeed.” Quimby looked unhappy.
“There is an opinion that these things are happening as part of an attempt to ruin me or take my life,” I said, carefully not mentioning Denis’s name.
“An interesting theory.” Quimby looked thoughtful. “Sir Montague has mentioned that you are quick to anger people.”
“Only those who are brutal to others. Though I suppose I put my nose into much business that doesn’t concern me.” I touched the offending appendage.
Mr. Quimby gave me a tolerant smile. “I will see you at the inquest, Captain. It will begin at two of the clock.”
“I will be there,” I promised.
Mr. Quimby took his leave. I saw him to the door, and we parted cordially. Brewster turned up as soon as Quimby was gone—he’d likely been waiting until the Runner departed.
“His Nibs wants that list of your old enemies,” Brewster said. “He sent me to remind you.”
I made a noise of exasperation “I haven’t had a moment to do it. He can wait an hour, can he not?”
“I’ll not be delivering that message.” Brewster sat down on a chair in the hall. “Only the list. I’ll wait.”