Page 130 of Not a Fine Gentleman

He sagged. “No. She’s innocent. She didn’t know until the day I told her we needed to leave the country.”

“No, noooo.” Mrs. Finch wailed, crumpling into a heap on the deck. “What’s to become of me?”

Margaret stepped up to Finch and stared him in the eye. “I thought you and Hennessy were friends.”

With no remorse, Finch glared. “I thought we were, too, but I found out he was cheating me, skimming the profits off the top of every diamond shipment.”

So, Hennessy had cheated on others besides Margaret. Not surprising.

Finch added, “Sometimes, he simply smuggled them out in a snuffbox.”

Of course. That explained that little tinkling noise she’d heard coming from the one Hennessy had been fidgeting with, as well as how Hennessy’s snuffbox ended up in the Finch’s house. The killer must have retrieved it when he stabbed Hennessy.

Connor exchanged glances with her as he, no doubt, came to the same conclusion.

Finch’s expression darkened, “It was bad enough that he was Tallie’s lover,” he gestured at his wife, “but he stole thousands from me.”

Margaret emotionally flinched at yet another reminder of her husband’s blatant perfidy and shot the woman a glare. Mrs. Finch had been brazen, indeed, to pretend a friendship with the wife of the man with whom she was having an affair.

Wait. Tallie? Everything in her went still. Mrs. Finch’s given name was Tallie? Tal?

Margaret gaped at Mrs. Finch. In little more than a whisper, she managed, “You’re Tal.”

Mrs. Finch looked up at her, puzzled. Then understanding dawned. “That was his pet name for me.”

Margaret turned away, loathe to tell the woman that Hennessy’s last word had been the name of one of his lovers. She was right; it had been a clue, but not one that would have led them to his murderer. She’d been wrong about so many things. So many people.

“You can put the gun away, Margaret,” Jared said.

Margaret looked down at her fingers turning white on the gun. Lowering her hand, she let out a shaky breath.

Jared gestured at Mrs. Finch and asked Connor, “Do you want to take her, too—for attacking a constable?”

“No,” Connor said quietly. “She’ll suffer enough.”

Jared eyed Margaret and jerked his head toward Mrs. Finch. “Feel like poking her in the nose?”

“A bit,” she confessed. “But trust me, worse awaits her. Especially when the ton finds out.”

He nodded. “I’ll get her to a hackney.”

Margaret put away her gun, relieved she hadn’t had to use it. Shooting a person was the last thing she wanted to do. She glanced at Connor. The only thing worse would be losing Connor forever. How would she ever find the strength to leave him when she left England?

Connor grabbed Finch by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of the cabin. Mr. Finch, who had clearly lost all his fight, went without resisting onto the docks.

Meanwhile, Jared escorted Mrs. Finch to a waiting carriage and handed her in. The driver snapped his reins, taking the distraught woman home, for however long it would be her home.

Margaret disembarked and stood in the middle of the docks. One way led to Jared’s ship. The other path, to Connor hustling Mr. Finch into another hackney.

Should she go with her family? Or after Connor?

A Bow Street constable trotted up to Connor. “Jackson, someone reported gunshots?”

Connor briefly related what had happened to the constable who promised to take the prisoner to Bow Street.

Eyes closed, Finch slumped against the seats, unmoving. “What will become of me?”

“You should have thought of that before you murdered Hennessy and the others,” Connor snarled at him. “And for ordering an attack on Lady Margaret.”