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

“Oh my goodness, yes.” The evidence against her having killed her husband was piling up.

“He was murdered in his sleep. There were no defensive cuts, nothing to show that he fought back. A shame we cannot be more precise.” He smiled, too brightly. “But we will work with what we have.”

She had to add, “The drug could have rendered me temporarily insane, couldn’t it?”

He sighed. “You will not mention that outside this room. Not to anyone.”

That was enough to tell her that he was still considering that eventuality. She wasn’t used to laudanum. It would have a more profound effect on her. She could easily have forgotten, or been vague about killing her husband. Not insane, but drugged.

No! She would not even consider such a possibility. Banish it from her mind.

She had not murdered her husband.

Chapter Twenty

Ash enjoyed summer rain. Wet without being cold, washing London clean, or as much as it could in one downpour. It helped to clear the megrims from his head, pushing him to think straight.

A brief call on the House of Correction had proved Abercorn right. They wouldn’t even let him inside. The duke had done his work there, in any case, making enquiries and finding a witness. Ash didn’t mind admitting he was relieved he didn’t have to pursue that line of enquiry too far. His natural fastidiousness made him avoid investigating sexual intimacy in his cases, and while sometimes he was forced into such research, he would rather do it another way, if possible.

Why had he taken Juliana into his own house? What had driven him to do that? He had never, ever allowed his cases to come anywhere near his family home, and now, there she was. Amelia and Gregory had taken her to their hearts. Even their previously savage breakfasts had changed to something more civilized when they’d noticed Juliana’s discomfort with them. She helped Gregory with his homework, although she thought nobody had noticed, and she discussed fashion and the more harmless fashionable sensations in the evenings, the women sharing a journal and giggling over what they read.

How would they feel if Ash failed to save her, and she ended up on the gallows, or locked away in a madhouse?

He was a fool, a complete idiot. He was the one who should have been locked away.

The best he could do was clear her name, ensure she had somewhere comfortable to live, preferably the furthest north he could find, and wash his hands of her.

Except in the short time she’d been with them, Juliana had made her place in his family. She had taken to it with delight, enjoyed their company as she’d slowly revealed her true self. A woman with humor and honesty, one he’d have been happy to know in better circumstances. She was brave and true, without bombast or arrogance. He liked her more than he should.

Spotting an urchin sitting by the side of the road, he automatically checked that his purse and watch were safe.

He moved away as the boy darted across the pavement in a move to startle him and let the child, or his accomplice, relieve Ash of his valuables, but Ash was too downy for that. The ruse didn’t work with him.

Leaving the urchins behind, he continued on his way, past the houses built for his kind, moderately successful, professional men. He was aiming for headier game.

Why would she have killed her husband? He counted the reasons.

Juliana could have done the deed in an unthinking reaction, a way of defending herself, grabbing the dagger Uppingham had dropped after slicing off her clothes. Despite his warning not to mention the possibility of her killing him in a drugged stupor, Ash had to consider it, though knowing Juliana as he did, he doubted that eventuality. Surely some wisp of memory would remain.

He was pursuing the self-defense case because it was the best he had for helping her escape the gallows in the short term, giving him a lever with the magistrates and more time to uncover the truth. He did not have to commit himself to the theory, merely suggest it as a possibility. Introduce doubt.

He could appeal to the magistrates’ sense of fair play and their reverence of respectable women. She would not hang, if the charge was reduced, even though others had done so for a similar reason. But this was the daughter of the aristocracy, and if he had to, he’d use the influence of the rich and powerful, the instinct not to let one of their own face public humiliation and condemnation. That was the course he would take if he could find no other, but it would still leave her condemned of a crime she swore she had not committed.

Fool that he was, he believed her when she told him she hadn’t killed her husband when all the available evidence pointed at her. But he’d been right, hadn’t he? His instincts had proved that. Ash had never taken anyone’s word without evidence before, ever, but he’d made an exception in Juliana’s case. Even now he shied away from examining his reasons.

Which left a few other theories in the air. Not least his idea that someone had slipped through the jib door and committed the murder. If they had, murder it was, premeditated and deliberate. He owed Bow Street a prisoner. But as yet he had no proof, no evidence. He would get it.

But who?

For the moment, he put aside the shadowy Raven. He’d overthought himself on that man. Besides, if the Raven was involved, he wouldn’t have killed Juliana himself. He’d have made somebody else do it.

Her maid, Wood, had delivered that last meal to the newlyweds. That was one reason he’d allowed the woman into his house, so he could set the servants to watching her. Was she devoted to her mistress, despite her reporting to Juliana’s father, or was she working for someone else? Servants did that. One was the