The Wedding Night Affair--An Historical Mystery by L.C. Sharp (i have read the book .TXT) 📗

have to understand that I had no close friends. My parents would not allow it. The moment I showed more than usual interest in a person or anything else, they drew them away from me. So I did not hear the customary gossip. I devoured the gossip sheets.” She spared a glance at the ones neatly stacked at her elbow. “I bought them in secret, and destroyed them when I’d done with them.”

He nodded, but no expression crossed his face. Did that mean he did not consider what she said important? Perhaps that was normal after all. But she had seen women gossiping at balls and the theater, married or not. She had never been allowed to do that. He must think something, surely. But how could she provoke him into admitting it?

“My first plan,” he said, “is to contact a few useful people, to find out if your late husband’s proclivities were known. If others can bear witness to his brutality, that increases a possible plea of self-defense. You cannot come with me to those places.” When she would have protested he held up a restraining hand. “I want to explore all our options. Coffee houses and gentlemen’s clubs in the main. I have promised to let you into the process, and I will, but you must see that you cannot accompany me there.”

Reluctantly she had to admit that. “Very well.” She could say no more, lest she appear too anxious. And she was. Revealing her vulnerabilities did not come naturally to her, nor should it in this situation. “But you will keep me apprised of anything you learn?”

“Assuredly I will. And you should rest. Recover.” His tone softened. “You cannot expect to bounce back exactly as you were in a matter of days. The trial will be an ordeal, and you should build your strength to prepare for it.”

He sprang to his feet. “I will visit a few places this afternoon, and discover what I can. I have to tread carefully, because I do not want my name and yours to be linked in any way, not yet. We are trying to keep your presence here a secret, don’t forget.” He glanced down. “Ah yes.”

He picked up a letter. “I received this from Fielding this morning. He merely reiterates that you are under my care, and that he will send for you when he needs you to appear in court. For what it’s worth, he wishes you a speedy recovery from your injuries. So at least he admits that.” He glanced at her, as if checking her response. “He wants to send a woman of his own to examine your injuries. I told him we had made drawings, but he replied that he wanted corroboration. You understand that this is for our benefit.”

Chills raced up her spine. “Yes.” She would have to subject to the ordeal.

“She will call in an hour. I told her the decision was up to you.”

“I will see her.”

“I will ask Amelia to remain with you. Would that be acceptable?”

She nodded, relief making her head swim. Not on her own.

Perhaps, after all, she would have a friend.

Chapter Thirteen

Guilt swamped Ash as he left the house. He had brought this part of his investigation forward, so he could leave her behind. He understood her insistence on controlling her own life, lauded it even, but she was not as strong as she thought. Not yet, in any case.

But he admired her rational approach, her determination and her bravery. She touched him deeply, her rare displays of vulnerability sinking into him. But he could not afford to allow his emotions to interfere in the investigation of the case. He had to continue as he had before he’d met her, an interesting situation with enough doubt to merit further work. That was all.

He had to look for small clues, since she had rigid self-control, but he was learning as she revealed them. She was observant; he already knew that. Her accounts of events were gratifyingly precise. Most likely she had honed her skills while ostensibly doing her parents’ bidding.

Although an heiress, Juliana had little power of her own. Marriage to the right person would have given her more, but even then she would not have the agency that she deserved. Only a husband willing to treat her as a partner, one who recognized the true value of having someone of her quality at his side would give her what she needed. Uppingham had not been that man.

A tyrant with a vicious taste in women.

Absently, Ash tossed a penny to a beggar as he passed through the street leading to today’s destination. Half an hour’s walk took him to Covent Garden, in many ways the heart of London.

The square was often said to have Hell at one end and Heaven at the other, with the church at one end and the Theatre Royal opposite.

Covent Garden contained the liveliest coffee houses, the most exclusive bagnios and brothels, and also the worst. The infamous House of Correction lay on the east side, the brothel that specialized in specific tastes. He would have to steel himself to enter there soon.

Picking his way over the cabbage leaves and rotten fruit that littered the cobbles, the remnants of the early morning market that kept London in fresh produce, Ash crossed the square. At this time of day, midmorning, the scavengers had visited and nothing edible was left. A man could tell the time of year from what was left in the market by the seasonal hazards that tripped up the unsuspecting pedestrian.

A few people noted his crossing; he was not unknown here. But he ignored them and took the street by the side of the Theatre Royal until he reached Moll King’s Coffee House.

This was a place of assignation and a constant thorn in the side of the Bow Street magistrates. Full of roaring boys, flash culls and downright villains, the male half of society made it a stopping place after an elegant