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

would like to think that way, especially with the use of an overdramatic device like an arrow. The press has certainly taken his story and used it to sell papers.”

Juliana picked up her tea dish. Her tremor was not pronounced, barely enough to be noticed.

“The message, the color of the feathers in the arrow, and the use of the name Black all point to that conclusion. It is as if he is weaving a fairytale around himself, drawing attention to his deeds. That makes for good business. The more people are afraid of him, the more he gains power, but it’s more than that. He wants a legend. He wants attention. That is why I have asked for discretion in this. If the nature of the killing becomes known, it will add to that reputation.”

“And we don’t want that,” Juliana said.

“We certainly do not.” He exchanged a glance with her and offered the smallest of smiles. “Unfortunately, he has an intelligence I’ve rarely seen in a criminal. He has no intention of ending as Jonathan Wild did, dead on the gallows before he was thirty. But then, few people do,” he added with a grimace. “The mystery around him is part of his way of deterring that. If his people don’t know what he looks like, then they cannot identify him. If he appears all conquering, then he will conquer.”

“Do you think he is young, then?” Amelia asked. Her bright eyes were sparkling far too excitedly for Ash’s liking. He had kept his family well away from the seamier side of his business before Juliana came into their lives.

But he admired the way his sister and Juliana had handled themselves.

He picked up his tea dish, sipped.

“Wood can’t give evidence in court at my trial,” Juliana added.

He stopped, the tea dish halfway to his lips. Damn, she was right. He put the dish back in its saucer, the sharp click witness to the undue pressure he had used. If he’d cracked her precious china, his sister wouldn’t be pleased.

“We have her sworn statement, and the evidence,” he pointed out. At least he’d sat the maid down and got that out of her, duly signed and witnessed.

“But her words would have meant so much more.”

“The statement will have the same effect.”

Juliana shook her head. “Legally perhaps. But not with the spectators. They’ll hear the evidence thirdhand.”

Right again. She had not wasted all those years of passive obedience. She’d watched and learned. A remarkable woman. Even if she was acquitted, Juliana would be marked for life, labeled a murderer who got lucky. People might even speculate that she had killed the maid.

That was not good enough. Ash wanted her completely cleared. She deserved that much, at least, and he would get it for her. “Then we shall have to make sure this case never comes to trial,” he said. And vowed to himself that he would ensure it. He’d made too many mistakes in this case. He wouldn’t make any more.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly. “We’re going to find the true murderer.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

He believed her. He would ensure she was completely cleared. Because if the murderer was discovered, Juliana would not have to stand trial.

Gratitude and relief swept through her, almost making her sag. She breathed out long and slow, regaining control. His belief that she truly hadn’t murdered Godfrey meant as much as his assurances that he would find the murderer. Someone believed her. What was more, someone believed her without absolute proof.

She couldn’t articulate how much it meant to her that Ash also believed that.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

If she never appeared in court, it was entirely possible that she could resume her previous life. If she had, even if she’d been found not guilty, she would have carried a stain for the rest of her life, as far as her peers were concerned.

Without a trial society would pity her, would regard her as an oddity, but it would receive her again.

She didn’t want to go back. The short time she’d been in this house had shown her a new life, one she would be sorry to give up. So now she had another fight on her hands. To find out what she wanted to do with her life and go forward with it.

Was it Wood? Had she returned after they were asleep and driven a dagger between Godfrey’s ribs?

She listened to her instincts. “I don’t think Wood killed my husband,” she said.

Everyone stared at her. Ash watched her, his mouth in a straight line, his gray eyes shrewd. His sister’s were surprised, not speculative. “Explain,” Ash said. “I had not even discussed that eventuality.”

“But you thought it,” she said. Folding her hands, she lifted her chin. “She was so distressed when she told us about the laudanum, that I don’t think she could have wielded the knife. She did it, or so she said, to end my ordeal.”

“You’re right,” Amelia murmured. “She did appear that way. But people lie, Juliana. Some are exceedingly good at it.”

Ash nodded and picked up his tea again. He’d spilled some of it over the side of the dish, the brown line tracking between the pink sprays of flowers printed on to the china. After an annoyed “tsk,” he took a sip. “Nobody wants to imagine their personal servant is a murderer. But I agree. Wood did not stab Uppingham. I believe she did have a mysterious lover, and that he prevailed on her to administer the drug. On reflection I see how he could easily have gained access to the house. Lord Urmston employed extra servants that day to cater to his guests who had traveled from their homes to attend the wedding. Our murderer could have claimed to be one of those. Our man would have known the room you occupied. Simple enquiry would tell him. And if he did the deed between two and, say, five in the morning, the servants would have been abed.”

Dry-eyed, Juliana nodded. The tears gathering