Page 47 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Chapter 12

Connor Jackson watched cloaked figures leave Christian Amesbury’s London townhouse and enter a carriage. A short time ago, two people, presumably the Earl and Countess of Tarrington, had arrived in the Tarrington crested coach. Now, three left. The third, judging by her walk, had to be Margaret Hennessy.

At least she was safe and with her family, and now he knew where to find her if the need arose. Had she invented the story about the man in the window, or was she truthful? Connor would determine that, one way or another. Of course, another constable from another district would have been assigned to the murder case. Despite that, Connor would do his best to convince the magistrate that they needed his help to solve the crime. He owed that to the Amesburys. And he refused to leave Meg’s fate into the hands of another. For now, he would ensure she was safe, and that he knew where to find her when the time came for the magistrate to question her.

He cut through a few smaller alleys and arrived at Tarrington House the same time the crested coach pulled up in front. While he watched from a discreet position across the street, every member of the Amesbury family arrived with boxes and trunks. Apparently, they’d decided to hunker down as a group. Connor could only guess as to whether they were protecting Meg and the other family members from a killer seeking to silence his only witness, or from the law seeking justice.

His bed called to him, but he had two more errands to run. Returning to the Hennessys’ neighborhood, he wandered the streets, speaking to night watchmen until he tracked down the one who’d been summoned to the Hennesseys’ house at the time of the murder.

As he casually struck up the conversation, Connor sized him up as a lazy ruffian who only took his position for pay, but who cared little for the law. “You’re the one who responded to the cry of murder over at the Hennessys’ house?” He pointed his chin at the correct dwelling, in case the man didn’t know whose house it had been.

“Aye. Right mess that was.”

“You know who did it?”

A decidedly slimy expression twisted the night watchman’s features. “Yeah, the wife. Guilty as sin. Covered in his blood and cool as you please. Still, a sweet bit o’ skirt she was. Smelt real purdy like. I wanted to taste that dish.”

Connor’s skin crawled at the image of this cretin touching Meg, but he asked in a friendly tone, “Have a little fun with her, did ya?”

“I would’a, jes as soon as I could get her alone. But she ran. Real cool, she acted like she was gonna faint, then charged out the door.”

Connor wanted to flatten the villain. “Perhaps she fled because she knew you were going to ravish her.”

“Aw, she woulda liked it.”

So, Meg had been truthful about the watchman meaning her harm. Hot anger burned through him. “Don’t they all?” he managed.

If Meg told the truth about the watchman, perhaps she’d been honest about the entire night.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the watchman said. “They want a real man. They all pretend to cry and beg so they won’t look like they’re fast—even if they are.”

They all cry and beg? Black, jagged rage exploded in Connor. Here was the real criminal, not Meg. He punched the rapist in the face. As the watchman staggered back, Connor hit him again. By the time Connor was finished with him, the watchman had no fight left. Connor dragged him to a holding cell to await justice. Without victims to testify, he may or may not face his just desserts, but perhaps he would reconsider harming women. It was the best Connor could do. For now. Perhaps Connor could give justice a helping hand.

That rather satisfying task completed, Connor headed to the Bow Street office to check in with Richard Birnie. It was late, but Birnie often stayed much later than normally expected. No doubt, Meg would say the magistrate worked too much since he appeared to keep longer hours than Connor. He almost smiled.

“Jackson,” Birnie greeted. “You found her, I presume.”

Connor nodded and sank into a chair. “I delivered her to the Earl of Tarrington.” In truth, he’d delivered her within a few blocks, and she delivered herself the rest of the way. Close enough.

“Oh, and I have this piece of evidence. She was wearing it.” Connor pulled her rolled-up, blood-stained gown out of his leather bag and set it on the desk. “She claims the blood came from trying to staunch his wounds.”

“Good. Go home and sleep.”

Connor would love nothing more. But he could not rest yet. “Who’s investigating her case?”

“You are now.”

Connor eyed Birnie. “No one in that district investigated in my absence?”

“Several, in fact, but they’ve had no real leads. Lord Hennessy’s brother demanded that we find his brother’s wife and bring her to justice. He even printed handbills with an artist’s sketch of her likeness and offered an obscene reward.”

Connor nodded. “More than one person tried to steal her away from me because of those handbills.”

“More importantly, the crown is calling for her head, and have turned the case over to our office. Apparently, the king views the murder of a marquis as the start of a revolution, and they are all too willing to use her as an example.”

Connor turned cold at the thought. “If you have enough evidence against her, why have me investigate?”

“Because I got a visit from not only the Earl of Tarrington, but every member of his family—including Grant Amesbury—demanding that I find evidence to prove her innocence.” He tapped his fingers. “I’ve met her, and she doesn’t have the hardness of a criminal. I’m not so anxious to condemn her unless you find irrefutable proof.”