The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [98]
“The devil, you say. What does that damned man want, I wonder? Oh, the devil. I will come now, Flock.”
Jason Fleming, Baron Crowley, was in the drawing room, alone, standing by the fireplace. He was staring down into the empty grate. He turned slowly when Lord Beecham walked into the room.
“You wonder why I am here,” Lord Crowley said without preamble.
“Yes.”
Lord Crowley shrugged. “Everyone believes that I murdered Reverend Mathers. I did not.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I came to see if you knew more now. He was murdered because of the scroll, wasn’t he?”
“I have no idea.”
“Come, Heatherington, there is no need to be coy. Damnation, there are men following me everywhere I go. I imagine that one of them is dogging my tracks as we speak, probably standing right outside that window, staring in at me. Lord Hobbs won’t leave me alone; he continues to come by with his questions. He speaks to everyone I know. I know he believes that I killed Reverend Mathers. I did not kill the man.”
“You believe then that it was Reverend Titus Older who stuck the stiletto in his back?”
“No, more’s the pity. That silly old fool wouldn’t have the guts.”
“Then I cannot see that there is another available suspect, can you?”
“No, dammit, and that is what frightens me. I tell you, Lord Hobbs wants me hung and he wants to do it soon. He has spoken to everyone. I am not received. An opera girl recognized me the other night and refused to let me bed her, can you imagine?”
Lord Beecham could, but he didn’t say anything, just shrugged. He frankly did not know what to make of this. Crowley coming to him for help? More likely, this was a ruse and Crowley was here to steal the leather scroll. But hadn’t he already stolen the copy? He wouldn’t need the original scroll.
Lord Beecham lightly flicked a small piece of lint from his sleeve. “I think perhaps you did it. You have a reputation for having a black soul. You are ruthless. You deal with scum. You are a luckless gambler, always betting, always losing, always in need of money. You have probably killed before, why not again? I cannot see your conscience pricking you overly. Yes, I can see you doing just about anything to refill your pockets.”
“Damn you, I am a man who looks for opportunities. But I didn’t kill Mathers. Perhaps it was you who stuck that stiletto in his back.”
“I suppose that is possible,” Helen said from the doorway. “However, why would he kill anyone, Lord Crowley? He already has the scroll in his possession. You are a half-wit, sir. You are making no sense.”
“Ah, Miss Mayberry. A pleasure, ma’am.” Lord Crowley managed an elegant bow. “You are looking well, I see. Beyond well, really.”
“Naturally,” she said. “Lord Beecham, Flock tells me that there is a very nice man outside by the name of Ezra Cave. He is our Bow Street Runner, I believe, here, keeping an eye on Lord Crowley.”
“I was mad to come here,” Lord Crowley said, stomping toward the door of the drawing room. “You will not believe me, no matter what I say.”
“Give us one good reason to believe you, Crowley,” Lord Beecham called after him. “Just one.”
Crowley looked back and forth between them, then blurted out, “Just perhaps Reverend Mathers wasn’t murdered because of the scroll.”
“Ah, now that is a rather unique way of looking at the business,” Lord Beecham said.
“I don’t know, not for certain, but I heard that his brother, Old Clothhead, as Reverend Older calls him, was fighting with him constantly. Perhaps he wanted the scroll, perhaps not. Perhaps he was jealous of his brother, perhaps he was finally pushed over the edge and stabbed him in a rage. He stole the scroll as an afterthought. Maybe he already knew it was valuable. That fellow also needs money. You’ll not believe this, but he is married to a very young girl, and she is always encouraging him to buy her baubles and jewels. Yes, Old Clothhead sounds desperate. Surely he is an excellent suspect.”
“Why don’t you tell Mr. Ezra Cave what you just told us?”
“I done ’eard it all, milord. Sounds ’avey-cavey to me, but I’ll pass it on, to ’is