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

Documented proof of Uppingham’s previous behavior would give credible evidence that Juliana had responded to unspeakable treatment, and only tried to defend herself.

Dazed by the drug in the wine, shocked by his treatment of her, she might have committed the murder in self-defense, without being properly aware of it. She was convinced she had not killed him, and Ash was inclined to believe her, but could she have done it like that, and retained no memory after?

Moreover, when he thought of the way she’d been treated, Ash felt murderous himself.

Proving her complete innocence was a harder target to aim for, farther away, and riskier. That would not stop him working for it, but those doubts, dropped into the ears of the Fieldings, could persuade them to give him more time.

“I got these for yer.” Smythe dipped into his pocket and brought out a nondescript leather folder, like the ones Ash used when carrying papers around. He slapped it down on the table between them. “Found them in ’is room.” He pointed at a stain on the corner of the folder. “Blood, most like.”

“What do they say?”

Smythe grunted. “Couldn’t read ’em. Fancy writing and lots of numbers.”

Ah yes. Smythe was illiterate. The folder could contain Uppingham’s tailor’s bills. But Ash would pay for them, and gladly, for the information he’d already received.

As he pulled the folder toward him, he pushed a fat purse of guineas over the table, which Smythe made disappear better than any magician. Not wanting to linger, he got to his feet and nodded to Smythe. “I’ll be in touch. Keep your eyes open. You know where to find me.”

“I do.”

A neat, businesslike transaction. Just how he liked it.

The folio burned a hole in his pocket all the way home. But first—the maid.

Determinedly planning for a future she might never see, Juliana set Wood to work. The bed in the room she shared with Amelia was completely obscured by silks and satins, brocades, lustrings, moirés and velvets. There were precious few wools and cottons, but what Juliana owned was put by to keep.

Wood had altered a few gowns for her mistress but now Juliana wanted to sort through the rest of her clothes. Her mother had sent more, all Juliana owned. Juliana had been shocked by the extravagance and waste. She barely remembered some of these gowns. When she was done, she’d have a decent wardrobe and a collection of others, packed away for future use. There was so much fabric, some of the ball gowns would even make curtains.

Amelia watched the process, her eyes saucers. Occasionally a sound of strangled desire escaped her lips. Juliana, used to the finery, glanced at her and smiled. “If you want something, say so and you may have it. If Wood insists on being here, she might as well earn her keep and alter the clothes for both of us.” Amelia had a more willowy figure than Juliana, so Wood needed to take some garments in.

Wood indicated a lilac sacque, pinked and frilled to within an inch of its life. Juliana waved it away. “I never liked that one.”

“Yes, ma’am. It makes your skin appear too pale.”

But as Wood lifted it, ready to add it to the discard pile, Juliana heard that sound again. “It will suit you, Amelia. But it needs a lot of alteration. We can get rid of half the furbelows and it would become you exceedingly.” She made a note on the wax tablet she had ready. She’d go downstairs and transcribe it all later, but this would do for now.

Wax tablets could be smoothed over and nobody would know they had been used. Would that happen to her? After all, there was nobody to remember her, if she was acquitted of the crime.

Melancholy was overcoming her. She would not allow it to, and that was that.

As she turned, she caught sight of pockets piled on a nearby chair. They tumbled to the floor, one landing with a decided thump. Wood dropped the lilac gown and lunged for the one that was evidently full, but Juliana put her foot on the tape, preventing Wood retrieving it. Bending, she picked it up, and motioned Wood to collect the others. The maid had no choice but to obey her.

Juliana thrust her hand into the pocket and came up with a bottle. The cobalt blue glass was sticky. Juliana worked the cork free. The bottle was empty but the thick, sickly sweet scent was unmistakable.

“Where did this come from?” Juliana demanded. “I have never taken laudanum in my life!”

Wood cringed before Juliana’s accusatory glare. “I thought you might want it, my—ma’am.”

Juliana recognized the pocket. It was the one she had worn with her wedding gown, the love knots embroidered on it a grim reminder of a night she would rather had never happened. It must have fallen to the floor with the rest of her garments when Godfrey had sliced them off her.

So Wood had slipped a bottle of laudanum into her pocket? “Why would you do that? And why is the bottle empty?”

Amelia took the bottle and pushed the cork back into the neck. “It’s more than ordinary laudanum. This is the strong stuff. It will knock you out cold if you’re not used to it.”

“I never use laudanum. It gives me headaches. Everybody who knows me knows that.”

Flashes of memory crossed Juliana’s mind, scenes from her wedding night. “Did Godfrey order you to do this?”

Godfrey had given her wine to drink. She hadn’t liked the taste, but he’d made her finish the glass and another one. He’d drunk a glass with her, and followed it with brandy. Then she’d climbed back into bed. Twenty minutes later, she had been asleep.

Ash had suggested the wine was drugged. Here was the proof.

Gripping the back of the chair, heedless of the pile of pockets Wood had just put there, Juliana sank into it, her limbs trembling.

When Ash returned, he found Amelia and Juliana had asked to see