The article, though condemning of both London itself and the woman, brought nothing but a terrible sadness to Maggie's heart. She already knew far more than any article could bring to light about the East End.
Murder in the East End. Never really notedâuntil now. Now that the bodies of the victims were being so brutally torn assunder.
Maggie stood, thinking that by tomorrow morning, news of the death of Lord Charles, Viscount Langdon, would be in every paper around the country. And what would those articles say?
Tragically, he was murdered by the woman he adored, a young thing, desperate for money, marrying him thus, just the same as any East End prostitute, just demanding much more in the way of payment!
God, no!
She hoped the articles would state that he had died from heart failure, and not give details.
No, the details would await the autopsy.
She had done nothing to him, and she knew it. The autopsy would prove it.
A shiver of ice crept down her spine.
Dead was dead. The prostitute was dead, and Charles was dead. She had done nothing to him, and yet she felt the heavy burden of guilt.
And yet . . . for all her guilt, Charles had died happily, contemplating the fulfillment of a dream, and he had died in his own bed. While the poor woman in Whitechapel . . .
How she must have suffered. What terror had she endured, before death had given her peace? And what kind of a horrible animal could perpetuate such a crime?
Staring at the paper, stunned by the brutality of the murder and the grisly details so carefully chronicled in the paper, Maggie found herself wondering if she should ask Charles if they could perhaps make a donation so that the family of the poor woman might see her properly buried. Then, she felt hysteria rising again. Charles was dead. Sometime, between last night and this morning, he had passed away. He couldn't agree to help her with anything anymore. But . . .
Unless she was arrested for murder herself...
There had been agreements in the marriage contracts. She could help on her own, if she so chose. She swallowed hard. And she began to cry. And she was sorry, so sorry, Charles had been a good man.
Lecherous.
No worse than any other of the male of the species!
A good man, and she was sorry, sorry, sorry, and . . .
God help her, as honest as her sense of loss and sorrow were, so was another feeling that she tried desperately to bury. One that made her realize a sensation of guilt that ascended all the rest. And what she couldn't help to feel in a tiny place in her soulâthat place which had felt so mortified the night beforeâwas a sensation of...
Relief.
* * *
Justin and Mireau arrived a few hours later, along with a messenger from the Queen, sending her deepest condolences.
“Do you want to come home now?” Justin asked her rather awkwardly. “Moorhaven reverts to James, you know. Of course, as long as you liveâand don't remarryâyou have the right to live here. Charles, of course, made that provision. I just didn't think . . . Well, I guess it can't be terribly comfortable for you.”
“Justin, I can't wait to escape and come home,” she told her brother. “But . . . I think it only proper that I wait until after the funeral. And the autopsy,” she added bitterly.
“Yes, yes, you're right, of course . . . it's just . . . well, if he'd died a day earlier . . . well, of course, we'd all be grieving, still, but . . .”
Mireau made a strange noise in his throat. Maggie realized he was staring at her. “What?” she demanded.
“Nothing, nothing.”
“Say what's on your mind, Jacques! Why should you cease to do so now?” Maggie demanded.
“No.”
“Mireau!”
He let out a sigh. “All right, Maggie! If you insist. Did he have the heart attack before, during, or after?”
“Jacques!” she and Justin exclaimed together.
Justin put up a hand. “Please, let's not have this conversation!” He lowered his hand and looked perplexed. “I wonder if . . .”
“No, both of youâjust stop wondering, please!” Maggie said.
“Well, it may have legal implications,” Justin said. He was studying his sister.
“I have no intention of discussing my private life with either of youâor anyone else! The debts are paid, Justin, right? No one can take back what was offered to the family as a marriage portion. So . . . whatever happens now, happens.”
“Maggie, there may well be an inquest,” Justin told her uneasily.
“He died a natural death,” she said.
“I'm merely saying that you may be called upon to explain exactly what happened,” Justin told her.
She stared at her brother and Mireau, who looked at her with a wry grimace. “Maggie, I've heard you talk about many subjects usually considered taboo,” he reminded her.
“I'm your brother,” Justin reminded her.
She couldn't find the words to explain why that made the whole conversation all the more uncomfortable. Instead, she sighed with impatience. “I don't understand what's so difficult for anyone to understand! We were alone. We were getting ready. And he was anxious. There. Period. That's it. He suddenly constricted, froze, I guess . . . and lapsed into unconsciousness.”
“I'm sure it will be all right,” Justin said.
“Of course,” Mireau agreed.
Neither of them eased the tempest in her mind a bit.
* * *
“Arianna! Let me in.”
The door flew open and Jamie gazed at the young girl's tear-stained face. “I thought you might be
her
,” she said.
“Arianna, Maggie didn't kill your father,” Jamie said.
“Even Mrs. Whitley believes that she killed him!” Arianna insisted. “That woman married my father, and murdered him, all for money!”
“Arianna, you know that I inherit the estate.”
“Ah, but she inherits a fair amount, nonetheless!”
“You inherit a personal fortune as well. That doesn't mean that you killed him.”
“Jamie, what a wretched thing to say!”
“The point is, people don't murder people they care about for money. There are people who wouldn't commit murder under any circumstance.”
“I am my father's daughter. I truly loved him, and he was generous to a fault. She didn't love him.”
“I believe that she did.”
“What an absurd lie, Jamie!”
“Not as she did her first husband, not passionately. . . perhaps not even as a wife should love a husband. But since they first met, they were together frequently. They talked endlessly and shared many views.”
Jamie entirely understood how Arianna felt, because as the hours had gone on, he had found himself going through many stages of grief. He remembered how Charles had been there for his father when his mother had died, and how he had come for Jamie himself when his father had passed away as well. Walking through his uncle's library, he had thought of the way that Charles had loved books and learning, and enjoyed contemporary fiction as well as old classics. The shelves were lined with texts that were hundreds of years old, priceless, antiquarian tomes by the likes of da Vinci, Dante, and Dafoe, works on astronomy, geography . . . a half dozen tomes by or about Charles Darwin; poetry by Shelley, Keats, stories by Robert Louis Stevenson, Lord Byron, and even romances by the Brontes and Jane Austen.
The newspapers he had kept regarding world events were neatly filed in one corner. He kept dozens of journals. He'd read about medical breakthroughs, faraway cultures, military achievements, and even breakthroughs in the pursuit of police work and investigation. He'd been an amazing and well-educated man.
And like so many others before him, he had been determined on a young and beautiful wife when he had felt the pall of age creeping upon him. Jamie believed he knew, as most would suspect, that the actual realization of nearly possessing his bride had brought on the seizure of his uncle's heart. There would be scandal, and certainly mockery, to come.
But that didn't make the beautiful, too-young bride a murderess.
“Arianna, I'm so sorry, but please!” he said to her softly. “Your father's death is a tragic loss, but he was an old man. Arianna, he might well have been a grandfather the year you were born. He was well into his seventies.”
“She knew it! Knew he was old, with a poor heart, when she married him.”
“No one ever suggested he had a poor heart, Arianna.”
“She knew it! Somehow.”
“Arianna, please. Harboring these thoughts will not help you with your loss and grief.”
“But hating her does help me, Jamie. Hating her, and . . .”
“And what?” he asked sharply.
She shook her head, but he was afraid he knew what she might have intended to say.
Hating her and . . . planning revenge!
“Arianna, I wish so badly that you would believe me, trust in me.”
She stepped back, away from him. Her face remained tear-stained and stricken, but she suddenly seemed to have gained a certain strength. “She's bewitched you as well.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said harshly.
Arianna couldn't know what had been between himself and the young widow, but his own sense of guilt and wrong stirred hard within him. Bewitched, yes, it would be easy to believe that she had special powers, and therefore, had seduced him into sin. But he had simply wanted her, and resented Charles. He hadn't wanted his uncle to die, and he was equally certain, in truth, that she had certainly not anticipated the death of Lord Charles, either.
“Look at you! Your beloved uncle and mentor has perished at her hands, and you are defending her!” Arianna accused.
He sighed. “Arianna, you are far too young and naiveâ”
“No, don't even make such a suggestion, Jamie. I'm neither that young, nor naive. She gave my father something, probably slipped it into his champagne. Some substance that wouldâalong with her oh so subtle charmsâwould cause his heart to fail. She knows exactly what she is doing. You are the one who is naive, Jamie!”
Right or wrong, anger swept through him like lava. He stared at her very coolly. “Arianna, please don't suggest that I'm an idiot. You will only make fools of both of us. And perhaps you should look to finding a way to get along with the woman.”
Arianna frowned. “Why?”
“I'm not certain, but your father was extremely anxious for you to have some guidance as you reached your majority and made your debut among the Ton. If I'm not mistaken, she will have been appointed your guardian for the next several months.”
Arianna stared at him, stricken. She shook her head. “Oh, no! I was his daughter. I'm certain my father saw to my inheritance.”
“So he did. You are a very rich young lady. Unfortunately, you've not quite reached your birthday. And I believe you will discover that your stepmother is legally your guardian.”
She gasped out loud. “No, Jamie, you inherit the title and the estate. You must be my guardian, certainly.”
“I don't believe that your father's will is known to anyone in exact termsâother than his solicitors. Yet, how very sad. He has not been dead a day, and already his heirs are arguing over the bounty he has left behind.”
That, at last, brought the anger and resentment slipping from her eyes . . . and tears filling them once again.
Jamie didn't know whether it was better for her to be miserable, or filled with such fury and a blind sense of justice that she was . . .
Dangerous.
“Arianna?” He took a step toward her, trying to offer a caring shoulder to cry on once again.
She accepted a hug, but stepped back quickly. “I'm all right, Jamie.”
“Really?”
“I just need . . . to be alone.”
“You're certain?”
“Absolutely. Please, Jamie, I've lost him! I was gone, at school, I so seldom saw him . . . and now, he's gone. I need to mourn for him in my own way now.”
“I'm here if you need me.”
She sniffed and nodded.
He studied her carefully. “Arianna, please, throwing about accusations that she killed your father will just create greater pain for all of us.”
“Why? Are you afraid that they will discover I'm right?” she demanded.
He sighed. “No, not in the least. And there is going to be an autopsy.”
“Ah!” she cried with pleasure. “Soâthe doctors even believe she might have murdered him.”
He couldn't contradict that. “The point is, you running about and screaming will only draw scandal upon the family.”
“The wedding was scandal enough,” she said icily.
Jamie sighed. “Arianna, I'm not particularly one to care much what is said myself. But you're young now. And it may prove wise that you care, because, in the future, there might be a young man. And though he will surely love you with all his heart for you and you alone, he may be a man of note, a nobleman, perhaps, with a family determined that he marry a young woman of good reputation.”
“As I've just said, the wedding was scandal enough.”
“Your father's choice, not yours. But if you run about saying these things, your name could become tainted with every manner of evil thing said.”
“If there is to be an autopsy, I'll not say another word. But what will you do, Jamie, if it's proved that she did do something?”
He stared at Arianna and answered flatly, “I'll see that she is prosecuted.”
“Hanged!” Arianna said.