Page 64 of Not a Fine Gentleman

She was no more a murderess than Grant. She was strong and capable enough to have killed him herself, and would rather have done it herself than to give that pleasure to a hired killer, but she was too smart, too impassioned, too deliberate to have been caught leaning over his body covered in his blood. She, too, would have planned ahead to make it appear an illness or accident.

After all the time he’d spent with her, Connor had taken measure of her character. She was no killer. There was too much light in her eyes.

Lady Margaret was innocent. Meg, who’d traipsed about the countryside uncomplaining on sore feet and had helped others in need, had not stabbed her husband.

Really, Connor had known it all along but had been reluctant to accept that truth for fear her beauty and charm had clouded his judgment. Later, as she grew to mean more to him, he had clung to his doubts to protect himself from falling for her.

She was innocent of murder. Truth shone through him, giving him calm joy and peace.

Connor added, “I don’t think your sister murdered him.”

Grant’s shoulders relaxed.

To assure himself as well as Grant, Connor repeated, “I truly don’t.”

“Good.” Grant handed Connor some papers. “Margaret made several sketches of the man she saw in the library window.” Grimly, he added, “She sees him in her mind’s eye over and over.”

Connor examined Margaret’s surprisingly lifelike sketches. Apparently, Christian wasn’t the only artistic member of the Amesbury family. One drawing showed details of the room, folds in the draperies around three windows, a large man frozen in position climbing out of a window, his hand on the sill matching Connor’s memory of faint blood smears—another detail which Grant would never have left behind if he’d made the kill. Which he hadn’t. Obviously. Again, confirmation of the truth eased tight places inside him.

A second drawing showed a close-up of a face detailing a long, prominent nose, a receding chin, and a dead flatness in his eyes.

Recognition shot through Connor. This man had been showing Meg’s picture in the tavern. Before that, he had been hanging around the carriage accident. That man had somehow caused the collision. If he were the killer, he could have been stalking Meg all this time, waiting for his chance to kill her, and had already attempted to do so at least once.

Meg was in danger. Connor consciously breathed through the constriction in his chest.

Half to himself, Connor said, “If the proportions are right, the murderer is tall.”

“It looks that way.”

“A witness saw a tall man leave through the Hennessys’ garden gate that night. I also found large boot prints outside the window where the murder took place.”

Grant stood and gave Connor’s shoulder a rough pat. “Tell Birnie everything you have against me. Let him decide. If you need me, I’ll either be on the streets showing more of these drawings around or at Tarrington House trying to keep my big sister from doing anything stupid like sneaking out of the house again.”

Connor stood and escorted his friend to the door. “I’ll find him.”

Grant flashed a dark smirk that reminded Connor of the old days. “Unless I find him first.”

* * *

Inside the mainentrance of the Bow Street office, Connor tacked up the drawing Margaret had done which showed the most detail of the killer’s face. Next to it, he scribbled a note to notify him if any of the constables saw the man pictured. Surely someone had seen him.

Inside the main room, Connor caught Birnie’s eye. Still wearing his magistrate’s robes and white wig, Birnie gestured for Connor to follow him into his private office.

“You have news?” Birnie took off his magistrate’s traditional white wig and set it on a stand. Running his hand through his hair and making it stand on end, he glanced at Connor and sat behind his desk.

Connor told him everything, including all the clues pointing to and away from Margaret, then Grant, setting them out in painful detail. He pulled out another one of Margaret’s sketches and pointed at the rat-faced man in the window. “She drew this. I saw this man lurking around the accident and later at the inn. I thought he was after the bounty at the time. But now, I suspect he may be the killer.”

Birnie looked over the drawing and nodded. “I must question Grant and Lady Hennessy, regardless, so as to ensure we have left no stone uncovered. Otherwise, we might be accused of favoritism, considering Grant’s connection to this office.”

“I understand. They’re expecting a summons.”

Birnie steepled his fingers and chewed on the inside of his lip. “Have you considered that she might have hired someone, perhaps that man in the drawing, to kill her husband?”

“I have, but she’s too intelligent to have left herself without an alibi—she would never have allowed herself to be found next to him or get blood on her clothes.”

“Unless she wanted to see for herself that he was really dead.”

“She isn’t that careless.”

“Very well, look into her books for possible payment for a hired killer—just to be sure. Keep me apprised.”

Connor recognized a dismissal. A renewed vigor filled him. He no longer had the burden of proving Margaret and Grant innocent—that was in Birnie’s hands now. Connor could focus on finding the killer. But first, he had one more lead to investigate and discard.

Connor turned his focus to viewing the ledger of the Hennessys’ family solicitor’s ledger and talking to their bank to learn if a large sum of money had been withdrawn. After spending two days chasing down Lord Hennessy’s expenditures, including any columns set aside for his wife’s use, Connor nodded, satisfied and relieved. No unusual sums of money appeared. Either Margaret was innocent.

Or she had an unpaid accomplice.

That thought brought him up short. If she had a clandestine lover, he might have murdered Lord Hennessy on his own without her knowledge.

But she didn’t. She was too guarded and lonely to have been taking comfort with a lover. That knowledge should not give him such satisfaction. Nor should he think of filling that role himself.