The Bridal Season (31 page)

Only as the two men dragged him from the office did he dare
speak one last time. “I hope it was worth your life, Letty.”

“I’m sure of it,” she answered.

The villain gets to cheat, lie, steal,

and kick the dog, because in the end

you shoot him.

ELLIOT ASKED THE CLERK TO ESCORT LETTY back to The Hollies and
ask the Bigglesworths to allow her to remain until he’d sent word. It would
take a few days for him to call together a hearing. He disliked it, but he
could see no alternative. She’d confessed to criminal intent and he was the
magistrate. And while he could have quite easily released her to her own
devices, she quite clearly expected him to act impartially.

Odd that it should be this, her implicit belief in his honor,
that kept him honorable.

“What are we to do with him?” Kevin asked, jerking his head
toward the spare back room in which they’d locked Nick Sparkle.

“Ever been to London, Kevin?” Elliot asked.

“Nah. Been here all my life and well you know it, Sir Elliot.”

“Then it’s time you went,” Elliot said. “I want you to go down
to the train station and buy two tickets in a private compartment to London on
the dinner train tonight. On the way, stop at the telegraph station and send a
wire to the Chapel Street Police Station, to Lieutenant Runcorn, stating that
you will be arriving with your prisoner, Nick Sparkle, at Paddington Station on
the eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

The young man’s face reddened with pride. “Coo, sir. You mean
it?”

“I do. And you’d best also stop and get some locks for the
windows and door.”

“Right.” With a smart click of his heels, Constable Brown
marched out of the office, making Elliot smile. It faded abruptly as his gaze
moved toward the room in which Nick Sparkle sat. The memory of the bruises on
Letty’s wrists rose in his mind, bringing with it cold, unappeasable rage.

A sudden, loud crash shook the storage room door, a string of
muffled curses following.

“I suggest you quiet down, Mr. Sparkle,” he said gently.

“Do you?” came the sneered response. “And what are you going
to do if I don’t? Arrest me again?” His laugh was sour. As if to press home his
contempt, the door shuddered again, the sound of splintering wood accompanying
it.

The man was going to kick down the door at this rate, Elliot
thought with a tincture of pleasure. He really couldn’t allow that. As
magistrate, he owed it to his constituency to protect public property.

He flipped back the bolt and pulled open the door.

Nick stood in front of it, his head lowered. His gaze dwelled
in open hatred on Elliot’s face before traveling to the empty corridor behind
him.

“Where’s the bully-boy with the knuckle-duster?” he asked
innocently.

“Down the road a ways,” Elliot answered.

Nick nodded, his expression lax but his gaze sharply
assessing. He was weighing his advantage, measuring the breadth of Elliot’s
shoulders against his slender build, the big hands against the immaculate
attire. Clearly, Nick liked the odds. Clearly, he’d have liked to make them
even better. And that was where he made his mistake.

“I been sitting in here wondering something,” he said, pursing
his lips.

“Oh?”

He nodded, eyeing the ceiling reflectively as he wandered
casually toward Elliot. “I was rather oping you’d ‘elp me out. Bloke to bloke,
you understand.”

Elliot stood very still. The man was incredibly obvious. “And
how can I do that, Mr. Sparkle?”

“Well, I was wondering.” Nick’s lips spread back over his
teeth in a feral grin. He leaned closer. Just within arm’s reach, he asked,
“Was she any good?”

He lunged forward, but Elliot anticipated him. He stepped
sideways, clamping his hand down on Nick’s shoulder and spinning him around,
pitching him back into the room. Nick staggered against the far wall, his face
slack with incredulity.

“Men like you, Mr. Sparkle,” Elliot began, and then he
stopped, the blood rising fast and fiery in his veins. He
hated
that
this animal had spoken about Letty like that.
Hated
that he’d left marks
on her, hated him in an intense, personal, and profound way.

“Men like you,” he repeated again, “who live according to
whatever impulse strikes them, always make the mistake of thinking other men
are just as easy to manipulate as they themselves.”

Nick surged forward at the insult and stopped. “You’re lucky
you have your boys within calling distance,
Sir
Elliot, or I’d show you
a thing or two about impulse. Like I intend to show Letty as soon as I beat
this rap and run the bitch to ground.”

Elliot stared at him, suddenly calm and absolutely
clearheaded.
“That
was a mistake,” he whispered.

“What?” Nick demanded.

Elliot didn’t answer him. Instead, he smiled. It was not a
pleasant smile. “Constable Burns is at the train station where he will be
occupied for at least another half an hour. Garth is back at the stables.

“Now, Nick my lad, there’s a back door to this building. A
quarter mile behind here is the north road. It’s a well-used road. Plenty of
travelers. Some going to the coast, some north, some south. You’d only have to
flag one of them down and you’d be far away inside an hour and no hope anyone
would find you.”

Nick regarded him narrowly. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that the only thing that stands between you and
freedom is me.”

“And just why are you telling me this?” Nick asked. At his
sides, his hands had curled reflexively into fists.

He would try rushing him low, Elliot judged, catching him in
the belly and pounding him in his kidneys. Elliot shifted his weight forward,
preparing to sidestep him once more.

“Because I want you to try and escape,” Elliot answered
truthfully. “I have seldom wanted anything more in my life.”

Nick grinned just as his fist shot out and caught Elliot full
on the jaw, dropping him to his knees.

“Happy to oblige,” he said.

The audience is the only critic

that matters.

THEY HELD LETTY’S HEARING IN THE Bigglesworths’ Great Hall, it
being the largest room in the county and therefore the only one that could
adequately seat those who’d come to see the questioning of the imposter. Little
Bidewell Society was out in force, jockeying for the best seats, their voices
humming.

Everyone was deeply sympathetic toward the victims, the
Bigglesworths. It seemed inevitable that Miss Angela’s wedding would be touched
by scandal, and everyone bitterly regretted that. Those who’d looked fondly on
the romance between Sir Elliot and “that woman” were further aggrieved.

Plainly put, their sympathies were not with the defendant. Not
only had this Letty Potts played fast and loose with Angela’s future, but she’d
also deceived them, what with her charming ways and ready laughter. And it confused
them that she could be so bad, when she’d seemed so dear. Everyone, that is,
except Catherine Bunting, who’d been suspicious of Miss Potts from day one.

Cabot had cordoned off the far end of the hall with a satin
rope. Behind this a trestle table had been set up, a straight-backed chair
behind it while its mate sat at an oblique angle in front. This is where Letty
would be seated to answer whatever questions the magistrate deemed appropriate
in judging whether or not she should be held over for trial. The rest of the
room had been divided into two sections filled with chairs and separated by an
aisle.

The hum of voices grew as Sir Elliot entered from a side door
carrying a pair of books under his arm. His bearing was as precise as ever, his
hair combed to a polish, his attire faultless. His face was not quite so
unremarkable. A yellowing bruise spread across his chin. Another darker mark
raised the flesh beneath his right eye.

The murmuring in the room grew hushed. They had been illused
by this woman, but Sir Elliot had been in love with her. How could any man help
but want to punish the woman who’d so deceived him? Yet, knowing Sir Elliot,
they trusted him not to let his personal feelings interfere with the outcome of
the inquest. In Little Bidewell’s opinion, Letty Potts was immeasurably lucky.

Elliot set the books down and nodded. He took his seat while
Constable Burns hurried toward the back of the room and poked his head behind
the door. A moment later, the door swung open and out stepped Eglantyne
Bigglesworth, her face set in unaccustomedly grim lines. Behind her came Letty
Potts.

She was dressed in the same lilac lace dress in which she’d
arrived. The huge picture hat balanced atop her glossy deep red hair somehow
looked gallant above her pale face. She looked neither right nor left, but kept
her gaze fixed on her destination.

Dazzling rectangles of light coming from the upper-story
windows lay on the parquet floor, and as she passed through each, the strain of
the last few days was clearly and remorselessly revealed. Her skin looked
waxen, the blue veins beneath her eyes prominent. Quiet unrolled behind her
like a carpet as she passed.

At the end of the room, Eglantyne took a chair behind the
satin rope. Letty took her seat. Only then did she raise her eyes to Elliot and
see the bruises on his face.

She half rose from her chair, her lips parting in an
inarticulate sound of distress. Her head swung around, her eyes sought
Eglantyne. Eglantyne leaned forward.

“It is said that he and Mr. Sparkle had an accident,” she
whispered. “If it is any comfort, Dr. Beacon says Mr. Sparkle took the brunt of
it. He had to be carried to the train station.”

The first shock of seeing him over, Letty relaxed slightly.
She smiled bitterly. “How am I to be comforted by the knowledge that Elliot was
hurt by a man he never would have met if I hadn’t come here?”

“We seldom anticipate the consequences of our actions, my
dear,” Eglantyne said gently.

Elliot nodded and the constable paced to the center of the
room and called out in a loud voice for everyone to be seated. Elliot rose to
his feet.

“This hearing is to determine whether or not a crime has been
committed by Miss Letty Potts,” he announced. A buzz of excitement filled the
room. “Over the course of the last four days I have been in constant
communication with the law enforcement officials in London regarding the
criminal activities of Mr. Nicholas Sparkle, who is awaiting trial on a variety
of charges.”

Again, voices rose in speculation.

“Please,” Elliot called out. The murmurs died away. “Now,
while Mr. Sparkle has been unremitting in his accusations that Miss Potts aided
him in his criminal activities, the London police cannot find anyone desiring
to bring charges against her, nor can they find anyone to attest to her
complicity in Mr. Sparkle’s crimes.”

At this, Letty pushed herself to her feet. “That doesn’t
matter,” she said. “I freely confess my involvement.”

Elliot regarded her dispassionately. “This is not London, Miss
Potts,” he said. “Please be seated. It is not my province to hear cases outside
my jurisdiction. I could extradite you, and
would
extradite you, if you
were wanted in London. You are not.”

“But—” She began to protest but he raised his hand, silencing
her. He was a stranger, utterly imperious and decidedly not to be gainsaid. She
sank down in her chair.

“That is not to say you cannot be tried for any crimes
committed, or in the process of being committed, in Little Bidewell. And will
be, should it be warranted.”

Squire Himplerump shouted, “Hear, hear!”

“Now,” Elliot said, turning back to Letty. “Let us begin...”

At the end of half an hour, Elliot had finished questioning
Letty. She was exhausted. If she’d feared that he would gloss over her initial
motive in coming to Little Bidewell, if she thought he would hide the fact that
she’d intended to steal Lady Agatha’s belongings, she needn’t have worried.
Cool and detached, he led her through the last three weeks, beginning with the
fire at her boarding house and ending with Nick Sparkle’s arrival.

The spectators listened in fascination. Many eyes had widened
on hearing that Letty was a musical actress. Some had nodded knowingly. A few
had pursed their lips when she described how she’d intended to flee.

Letty couldn’t have guessed what they thought of her. She’d
spoken only to Eglantyne since Constable Burns had escorted her to The Hollies
four days ago, and Eglantyne simply refused to think badly of her. But then,
Eglantyne would.

Letty gazed along the lines of avid faces listening to Elliot’s
summary. Angela appeared more puzzled than anything else, while Anton looked
openly bewildered. Behind him sat Atticus, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Dr.
Beacon and his sister wore identical expressions of troubled uncertainty. The
Jepsons simply seemed sad. Colonel Vance had fallen asleep and was snoring
peacefully, while beside him Elizabeth worried her hands anxiously. Near the
back of the room stood Merry and Grace Poole, Merry looking disgusted and Grace
Poole angry.

Even the Himplerumps seemed subdued, but for this Letty had an
explanation. Angela’s letter was the one point that had not come to light
during the hearing. Letty assumed the Himplerumps would just as soon keep it
that way.

“Has anyone anything to say or ask Miss Potts before I make a
decision about whether she is to be bound over for trial?”

Conversation bubbled forth again. Letty waited uncertainly.
Things had not gone as she’d imagined. She’d thought she’d be arrested by now.
Instead, it appeared she was only “rather” arrested and even that was unclear.

“Yes, Mrs. Poole?” Elliot said.

Grace Poole marched down the aisle and turned around. Her face
was flushed, but she carried herself with dignity. “Seems to me,” she said,
“that if we’re to stick strictly to the law, no crime ‘as been committed
against anyone in Little Bidewell.”