Southby talked as though the gallows were hanging over someone else. Jack let him prattle on. He knew he was wrong about Southby. Fortunately, Axwell had paid no heed to his warnings about him. Now he was no nearer to discovering the identity of the murderer, or escaping the town that had become his prison. The walls that had been built to keep the Scots out were now keeping him in.
With a contented sigh, Southby pushed his platter aside and fumbled in his coat pocket. Out came his battered snuffbox. He took a large pinch, which made him snort. ‘I will not offer you any. I know you do not really like snuff, even of this high quality.’
Jack stared hard at the snuffbox. ‘That is what gave you away.’
Southby was mightily perplexed. ‘My snuffbox?’
‘No, the snuff. I recognised that sickly sweet smell in Acorn’s parlour the night he was killed.’
‘You would have had difficulty. I have only had this particular snuff a few days. It is far superior to my ordinary pinch. I cannot normally afford this fine blend of tobacco. ’Tis specially made.’
‘Where did you buy it?’
Southby gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘You cannot buy this.’
‘Then how did you come by it?’
‘I was given it.’
Though Jack still asked the question, he already knew the answer. ‘And who gave it to you?’
‘Mr Bowser. He is a connoisseur of snuff. He has his made in Sheffield to his own specifications. He is particularly fond of cinnamon-scented snuff. He was most generous. He knew I was partial to a pinch, so he gave me some.’
‘It cannot be… it just cannot.’
‘Oh I tell you true. It was only…’ Southby stopped. Slowly, he put the snuffbox on the table. ‘Now I believe I know what you are thinking.’
‘Bowser,’ Jack whispered in disbelief. ‘It cannot be Bowser. He had no reason to kill Acorn. Quite the contrary. I cannot make any sense of it.’
Suddenly, Southby snapped the snuffbox shut and put it back in his pocket. His face creased into a wide, flabby grin. ‘I am much relieved to hear it is not me.’
‘You?’ Jack’s thoughts returned to Southby. ‘I realised it was not you earlier. You did not know enough to have been the murderer. Acorn was hit on the back of the head and the box with the letter was not in the bureau because there is no bureau in the parlour.’
‘Ah, I did not lie well.’
‘Very badly.’
‘I wondered why you kept referring to a letter and a box. Are they important?’
‘Yes, but too complicated to explain at the present moment. Anyhow, why did you confess so readily to the murder?’
‘I thought someone else had done it. Someone I hold in great esteem.’
‘Mrs Trump?’
‘The delectable Mrs Trump. I would have gladly gone to the gallows to save her from death, especially for murdering such a loathsome creature as Acorn.’
‘A most honourable action, but one that would have been wasted as she did not do it either.’
Southby fingered the ample folds of saggy skin around his neck. ‘Then it would have been an empty gesture.’
‘What made you think it was her?’
‘After Acorn’s battle with Thirsk, and we had that musical interlude, I followed Mrs Trump from the theatre. I do not really know why. Maybe because I could sense she was agitated. Also,’ – and he coyly toyed with the rings on his fingers – ‘I had half a mind to ask her to marry me. Oh I know it sounds ridiculous, but I do admire her devotedly. Of course, my nerve failed me as it always does in affairs of the heart. Anyway, I thought she had gone out to get some air. Then I saw Acorn coming round the front of the theatre. I saw Mrs Trump accost him, but he brushed her aside most rudely. He appeared to be in a hurry. She went after him. Disappointed, I headed to the tavern opposite for a quick drink before returning to finish the play. Only later did I suspect it might have been her. She was the only one who showed genuine sorrow at his funeral. I thought it might be guilt. I assumed that she had followed him to his house and, in a fit of anger or pique, killed him for his rejection of her.’
‘Did you not ask her? It would have saved you a lot of unnecessary grief.’
‘One does not ask a lady such questions,’ he rebuked Jack. ‘Besides, by trying to protect her, I seemed to have established her innocence. In your eyes at least.’
‘Well, no one suspects Mrs Trump, so you have nothing to fear.’ Unless Axwell had changed his mind, though that was as likely as King George completing a sentence without a swear word in it.
‘That is worth another drink. Landlord! Replenish our tankards if you will.’
Jack was so bewildered by his discovery of Bowser that he even half suspected Southby again. By his own admission, given without a fight, he had cleverly drawn Jack in, feigned ignorance of Crindle and the letter to confuse him, then used his Mrs Trump story to establish his innocence. Yet to Jack, Southby was not a devious man. His approach to life was rumbustious and unsubtle. What he had said about Mrs Trump rang true.
‘And have you plucked up the courage to propose to Mrs Trump?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. I paid her a visit at her lodgings the other afternoon. I managed to have some moments alone without her frail companion, Miss Puce. Fortunately, Miss Puce felt the approach of a headache and had to retire. Mrs Trump was greatly surprised, though I fancy rather flattered by my proposal. Not that I am a wonderful catch. No, no, I know I am no Adonis, but I can offer her things that no one else has ever given her before – true respect, total loyalty, and genuine affection. I think she understands that.’
‘Did she accept?’
Southby pursed his lips wistfully. ‘Not exactly. She said she was so caught unawares that she could not make an instant decision. She needs time to think. I am hopeful that she will come round to the idea.’
‘I am sure she will.’ Jack sincerely hoped she would.