The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(76)

“At the White Hart Inn at the moment, but I shall be leaving soon. I’m expected in London by the end of August, and after that, I plan to travel to India. I don’t expect I can be of more assistance as I have told you everything I know. Would you mind telling me what will happen next?”

Bennet shook his head. “Likely nothing.” At Henderson’s sound of outrage, Bennet held up a placating hand. “Please, you must understand how very difficult these cases are. Every man died of accidental causes, all clearly documented and dismissed. I suspect that some were not investigated at all by my predecessors, and these deaths happened years ago. Mr. Hubbard’s death, for instance. Witnesses saw him fall.”

“Only Gerald Grant saw him fall. I don’t know what the other lads saw, and now they are conveniently dead.”

“No one else came forward to dispute his claim at that time, did they? You must realize that other than the very real coincidence that all four of the men were present when Mr. Stewart died and the only one left is the man who caused that gentleman’s death, I have no evidence. I don’t know if the magistrates would even agree to hear the case.”

“They will hear it,” Berkley said with a smile. “I can guarantee it.”

Henderson looked over at Berkley and suspected his father must have something on at least one of the magistrates who would oversee such a case.

“Even so, there is scant evidence. I will pursue this, rest assured. Perhaps when Mr. Grant is confronted by the facts, he will confess. I can’t imagine it has been easy all these years living with the guilt of such crimes.”

Standing, Henderson said, “I have a feeling that a man capable of what Mr. Grant has done feels little guilt. I have come to realize over the years the depths of what a man can do to preserve himself.”



*



The two men left the constable feeling only slightly satisfied with their accomplishment.

“It’s in his hands now,” Lord Berkley said, looking out over the fishing fleet that remained in the harbor. “At least now you know that even had you been there that night Mr. Hubbard died, you likely could have done nothing to stop it. I have a feeling Mr. Grant would have killed him, if not that night, then another.”

Henderson came up short, his mind whirling at this possibility. For some reason, he’d silently counted Joseph’s death separately, as a suicide that could not be tied to the other men’s deaths. He’d kept the secret so long, it had become a part of him, a particular truth that he no longer even tried to dispute. Gerald had told him about that night—Gerald, who had likely killed Joseph.

“What’s wrong, Henderson?” And when tears filled Henderson’s eyes, Berkley clasped one shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

“My God, all these years I felt to blame for Joseph’s death, not because he died, but because I thought it was suicide.”

“Suicide?”

“That night Joseph died, I came upon Gerald in the White Hart Inn. He was clearly upset and he told me Joseph had killed himself, that they all agreed never to speak of it to protect the Hubbards and Joseph’s memory.”

“Jesus, man.”

“I thought if I had been there that night, I could have stopped it or that Joseph never would have done it. And all this time, he’d been murdered and I likely wouldn’t have been able to stop it. Sebastian and Tristan were there that night and they saw nothing. I know they would have told me if they had.” Henderson gasped, in and out, as the enormity of what he realized hit him. “These last four years have been a living hell because of that man. By God, if they do not arrest him I do not know if I can stop myself from putting him in his grave.”

Berkley squeezed his shoulder and dropped his hand. “A foolish thought, but one I completely understand. I’m afraid I cannot allow you to commit murder, but I swear I will do everything in my power to make certain Gerald Grant hangs for his crimes.”





Chapter 17


“I am terribly sorry, my lord, but I’m madly in love with another man and cannot in good conscience allow you to continue to court me in hopes that we will marry.” No, that wasn’t quite what she wanted to say. “While I will continue to hold you in the highest esteem, my lord, I’m afraid I cannot marry you.”

Alice smiled at her reflection and nodded. That was much better. She’d informed her mother of her decision when she’d returned from her knitting group, an announcement that was met with stony silence. While she did not exactly give Alice permission to end her relationship with Lord Northrup, her mother did not outwardly forbid her to reject his proposal, and so Alice chose to take that as implicit permission. This rift between herself and her mother felt odd and uncomfortable, but Alice had faith that her mother would come around and accept Henderson. After all, she’d accepted him when he was Joseph’s best friend.

Northrup at this very minute was waiting in the parlor for her; she’d promised a game of checkers that morning and this meeting would be perfect for sending his lordship on his way. When she entered the room, he was sitting at a small table setting up the board, and Alice felt an unexpected twist of sorrow. He really was a good man and she did not want to hurt him, but she feared she was about to.

“My lord, I was wondering if we might talk.”