Chapter Thirty-Two

Gabriel and Julia arrived at Linwood the day after Maria’s burial in the family plot, and the first few days of their visit were given over to the shock of the news that greeted them. At the end of the first week after their arrival, however, everyone in the family was beginning to become tentatively accustomed to the sudden, shocking tragedy and to turn their thoughts to the happy circumstance of Gabriel’s nuptials. Sir Gerald and Lady Clarke were delighted with the sweet-tempered Julia, with Sir Gerald wondering aloud how his frivolous, wandering son had managed to win such a prize.

Aaron had spent the week after Maria’s death immersed in necessary business, including posting letters to her parents and uncle. Adding to the sadness of these duties was the weight of guilt that had settled on him. The arrival of Gabe and Julia gave him only a brief respite from his remorse and self-loathing. In his mind, he and he alone was responsible for Maria’s death. He had withheld not only consortium from her for the first several months of their marriage but also affection and respect. He had driven her to the arms of Jeremiah Whetherton, and her knowledge that the child was Whetherton’s had made her days with Aaron a penance too painful to bear.

He reminded himself Maria had chosen her own path and the evil she had done to Hannah had brought evil on herself. But this logical reasoning did not lessen his misery. Maria’s wrongdoing did not make amends for his own.

Aaron’s misery was not lost on his brother. “Surely,” Gabe said one evening when the brothers were alone, “you do not blame yourself for Maria’s death.”

Aaron was standing by the fire with a glass of port in his hand, and he tossed the contents down in a gulp. “Let it be, Gabe. I have no wish to discuss the matter.”

“Very well,” replied Gabriel with a shrug. “On another matter, Aaron, I want to drive to London tomorrow to visit several bookshops. Will you accompany me? Julia has some sort of engagement with Mother.”

Aaron agreed to the scheme, and they set off after breakfast in their father’s carriage. Julia was to spend the morning visiting about with Lady Clarke, and they were taking Andrew with them. Sir Gerald and Aven were embarking on a fishing expedition with several neighboring gentlemen.

When the phaeton entered the road to London, Gabriel pulled the horses to a walk and turned to Aaron.

“My dear brother, you’re moping about in a manner that’s very disconcerting. Pray confide in me—I’m afraid you’re blaming yourself for Maria’s death, and that would be foolish indeed.”

“Of course I blame myself, Gabriel. Whose fault would it be, if not mine?”

“Her own.”

Aaron sighed. “You don’t know all. I was cruel to her.”

“Drivel! You’re not capable of cruelty.”

“I was a fool to think I could bargain her into marriage and then expect her to accept being treated like…like…an unloved sister.”

“Aaron, you’re still somewhat under the spell of the woman! She lied in a court of law and was willing to sit smirking in the parlor of her uncle’s home while the woman she defamed was hanged! How can you possibly feel any consideration was owed to her?”

“How can you ask that? When I made that hellish bargain with her to marry, I promised her uncle—and herself—I would be a good and faithful husband to her. But after the wedding, I—”

“You don’t need to explain. Your marriage started out in difficulty, I’m sure—how could it not? But she was bearing your child when she died, and so I must conclude things became better after a time.”

“She was not bearing my child. She told me before she died the child was not mine.”

Gabriel drew in a breath. “But until then you believed the child to be yours?”

“Yes.”

“Dear God,” Gabriel said slowly. “There was no end to the treachery of the woman.”

“Gabe, don’t speak so! I turned her from my bed! What woman would stand for such treatment?”

“But you thought the child was yours?”

“Yes, but that was because we came together one night…but after that night, I was unable…”

“You were unable to lie with her?”

Aaron threw back his head and breathed the fresh air of the country. “Not physically unable, but if I thought of being with her…in that way, I’d remember Hannah. I’d see the gallows as it looked that night in the lantern light, and I couldn’t go to her.”

Gabriel clucked to the horses, and Aaron shifted his long body in the seat.

“I thought the situation might improve,” Aaron continued, “after we moved to the cottage.”

“And did it?”

“A little, but Maria was unhappy to a degree. I wonder if it was perhaps her nature to be unhappy. Nothing seemed to bring joy to her heart.”

“I have memories also, Aaron. What I remember of Maria is that her cruelty to Hannah gave her a great deal of joy!”

The brothers rode in silence for a time. As they neared the outskirts of London, Gabriel resumed the conversation. “Aaron, you must promise me to do your utmost to recover your spirits. Father and Mother are dreadfully concerned about you. What’s done is done. It’ll be well to look forward and not back.”

“Fine words, brother,” Aaron replied with a sarcastic smile.

“Promise me.”

“Very well. I promise to do my best. But—”

“But?”

“But nothing. I will do my best.”

Aaron wanted to call on Morrill Gatwick, so Gabriel set him down in the environs of Scotland Yard, agreeing to meet him later for luncheon at the Hare & Harrow.

Aaron had not told any member of his family what Stitch had told Gatwick and himself on the day of Maria’s accident. “A man jumped from the hedgerow and frightened Ladybird!” Gatwick had attended the burial service for Maria, and they had spoken hastily of the circumstance, agreeing to keep it to themselves until more information had been attained.

Aaron found Gatwick in his tiny office seated at his worn oaken desk and studying a paper before him. Piles of papers and books filled the room, as they had during Aaron’s previous visit. Glancing into the room through the open door, Aaron wondered if the piles ever diminished. He guessed not.

Gatwick looked up at Aaron’s knock on the doorway. Motioning Aaron to enter, he tossed a pile of papers from a small chair onto his desk and placed the chair for his visitor.

“What brings you to town, Clarke?

“My brother invited me to ride in with him—for the purpose, I quickly learned, of lecturing me on my melancholy demeanor.”

“You’ve recently lost your wife. What does he expect your demeanor to be?”

“He feared I blamed myself for her death.”

“Did he? Your brother surely knows you very well, and therefore I must assume he had reason for his fear.”

“Be that as it may, I did not interrupt your labors this morning to discuss myself. I want to know what you’ve learned of this circumstance of someone frightening Maria’s horse.”

Gatwick shrugged. “I spoke with the neighboring gentlemen, but no one had seen a stranger about. The villagers in Weirwood said a roving fiddler had been playing for pence in the town square and sleeping in barns and stables, but that’s not unusual in the summer.”

“Aye,” Aaron replied, “that’s true, but—”

“But it seems an interesting coincidence.”

Aaron nodded. “Is anyone searching for this fiddler?”

Gatwick sighed. “I’ve requested such a search be made. However, the accidental death of a young woman who rode dangerously close to the edge of an embankment is not high on the list of cases here. I tell you this in frankness; it may not be possible to situate this case as a murder requiring intense scrutiny.”

“You spoke with Stitch, Gatwick. He’s convinced the man deliberately frightened Maria’s horse.”

“He is, but he’s an old man and was some distance away.”

Aaron stood up and paced the small room.

Gatwick leaned back in his chair and pulled his timepiece from his waistcoat pocket. After a glance, he turned to Aaron.

“Clarke, let us speak candidly. There were two persons with a grievance against your wife. One is Hannah Winstead, but I am not of the opinion that that young lady leapt from a hedgerow dressed in men’s clothing and frightened Maria’s horse.”

“Good lord, Gatwick—”

“Hear me out. The other person is yourself.”

Aaron stared at him.

“My dear fellow, don’t look so shocked. I’m no stranger to the details of your marriage to Maria.”

“How did you—?”

“Besides working on the case of the murder of Eliza-Jane Dawkins, I’ve been peripherally involved in the investigation of the murder of Clarence Barlow—otherwise known as Lord Earling—which took place in America. I believe the murderer in both cases to be Caleb Worth.”

Aaron sat down and looked directly at Gatwick. “And in the investigation of Earling’s death, you of course learned of the hellish bargains I made to free Hannah Winstead.”

“Indeed. Therefore, if Maria’s husband had been any bloke but yourself, he would have been my prime suspect.”

“But I am not?”

“No, you are not. How could you be? I was with you when the event occurred.”

“I might have hired someone to frighten her horse,” Aaron replied sarcastically.

“You might have, but I am actually very sure that you did not.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

Gatwick shuffled some papers and then seized the entire pile and tossed it on top of another pile lying on the floor. He pulled forth a pipe but did not light it. “Clarke, it’s not my way to interfere in the affairs of other men. However, I’m going to give you some advice. But first I must tell you a story.”

“Gatwick—”

“Pray indulge me. It’s a short tale.”

Aaron settled himself in the chair and smiled grimly. “Very well. Tell me your tale.”

“When I was a young bobby, I attempted to break up a dispute between two men who had more than a little grog in them. One of them came at me with a dagger in his hand, and in order to defend myself, I struck him with my billy. I swung at his shoulder, but he unexpectedly ducked down in such a manner that the club hit his head. He died.

“He was little more than a lad. I suffered the pangs of hell over his death, but one day, old Captain Wigger said to me, ‘Gatwick, pull yourself together. When a man attacks you, he puts you in a place where you must make a decision—but no decision you make will be a good one. However, you must make one. You did not put yourself in that place; no, the attacker put you there.’ ”

Aaron shifted. Gatwick regarded him carefully.

“Clarke, when Maria lied on the witness stand and caused a jury to find Hannah Winstead guilty of murder, she put you in a place where you had to make a decision, but no decision you made would be a good one. You did not put yourself in that place; she did.”

Aaron started to speak, but Gatwick waved a hand.

“Don’t regale me with nonsense of how you flirted with Maria and raised her expectations, so she therefore had a right to be angry! Do you think every disappointed young lady is capable of causing another to be put to death?”

Aaron rose and paced again. Gatwick watched him, shaking his head, but when Aaron turned, he was smiling thinly.

“You know more than you’re saying, do you not?”

“I’d be a pathetic and ineffectual inspector, Clarke, if I’d been unable to decipher the fact that you loved—I should say love—Hannah Winstead.”

Aaron turned again and stared out the one small mud-streaked window in the room, so that Gatwick had to lean forward to hear his words. “You’re correct. I love Hannah Winstead. And because I do, I betrayed Maria in my heart every hour of the day.”

“You’re ignoring my lesson. Maria put you in a place of few choices. Like a soldier in a war who must choose to fight or die.”

“That may be true, but my conscience tells me I’ve no right to ever be happy.”

“Do you recall your schoolboy Shakespeare? Do you remember The Merchant of Venice? ‘If justice be your plea consider this; that in the course of justice, none of us would reach salvation.’ Clarke, no person has the right to be happy, for we’re all flawed beings struggling with the demons in our minds. But a man who does not seize happiness when he has the chance is a fool.”

“And I’m such a fool as you describe?”

Gatwick shrugged. “I don’t know. Your wife has recently perished, and you can’t be expected to instantly recover from such a tragedy—even if your marriage wasn’t perfect.”

“That’s the torment,” Aaron said, standing before Gatwick. “That’s the torment, that my marriage made me miserable, and it’s now over because Maria died. I’m free to seek happiness. But Maria paid the ultimate price for my freedom.”

“And if she hadn’t died, would you have continued to be her husband and make the best of the bargain?”

“Yes.”

“Then you committed no wrong. She might perhaps have died in childbirth or of sickness. Your unhappiness didn’t cause her death, even if you sometimes became angry and wished her in hell.”

Gatwick pulled out his watch again. “Come, I’ll accompany you to the street. I have an engagement and must be off.”

Aaron picked up his hat and followed the tall inspector down the dark narrow hall and out into the bright light of day. Hailing a cabriolet, Gatwick jumped in and waved farewell.

“Life is brief, Clarke! I’m sure Shakespeare had a great deal to say about that, but I’m quite out of quotations!”

Aaron waved as the cab rattled briskly down the busy street. As he walked toward the Hare & Harrow, his mood, he found, was unaccountably lightened.

****

While Aaron Clarke was walking toward the Hare & Harrow, Caleb Worth was in another part of town haggling with a pawnshop proprietor over the price to be paid for his latest collection of stolen jewelry and silver plate. The bargain made, Caleb returned to the dank cellar flat where his red-haired wife awaited him.

“Hannah, my lassie, ’twas a tough bargaining session with old Skinner, but we have the passage now, and we’ll soon be lounging about on our own plantation!”

“Indeed?” countered his saucy wife, whose name had been Judith O’Hearne before Caleb had renamed her and taught her to speak like a proper Englishwoman. “Our own plantation? ’Twill belong to me, for I am Hannah Winstead, eh?”

Caleb was tempted to slap her smirking face, but he forbore. There would be time later to teach her to be pert to her husband.

“Aye, me darlin’, your plantation. But as your husband, I’ll have a wee share, will I not?”

“Tell me, Harry,” said his wife—for that was the name she knew him by. “What will befall us if the real Hannah Winstead reaches Barbados before we do?”

Caleb threw himself down on a filthy settee and rubbed his head. He’d been a fool to believe Molly’s story about Hannah marrying Captain Aaron Clarke. At the very moment he’d jumped from the hedgerow and frightened the horse, he’d seen Clarke’s wife at close range for the first time, and the woman was not Hannah Winstead. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the chit Clarke had been hanging over at the village ball in Mystic two years ago.

Caleb did not like to be taken in, and if he could have murdered Molly again, he would have gladly done so. Now he had no knowledge of the whereabouts of Hannah Winstead, and worse, he did not know if Molly had run off her mouth before he’d ended her wretched life.

Caleb looked at his blowsy wife, standing before him, hands on hips. She’s stupider than the last doxy, he mused. But for now, she was all he had.

“We’ll cross that lane when we reach it, love, aye? For now, let’s get ourselves on a ship and set sail to the bloody island. You’ll have the letter from Hannah’s dear departed papa, and I, as your guardian, will vouch for your identity. ’Tis a certain thing. Better odds than I’ve often had at cards!”

“We must suit ourselves up as a lady and gentleman, Harry.”

“And so we shall! But now, me love, I’ve had a deal of trouble setting us up today, and it would suit me to have a little reward. Come—take off your gown and knickers, and be a good girl for Harry.”

“No, I’ll not be a good girl. ’Tis too warm and—”

“Come now, my pet. Look, I saved a piece of jewelry for ye.”

Judith peered at the pin held out for her inspection and giggled. “I’ll be a good girl, then, Harry.”

He made love to her gently, for he was in truth rather fond of her. She drifted into sleep afterward, and he stroked her face and hair.

“I’ll be rather sad to see you die,” he muttered.