Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

H adrian had arrived home last night to the same summons that Miss Wren had received. Then, this morning, a note from Inspector Teague had been delivered. He'd set an appointment for them to meet with Superintendent Newsome at Whitehall at four that afternoon. Hadrian hoped the inquest would be finished by then.

His coach arrived at Miss Wren's. A few moments later, he knocked on the door and was greeted by Vaughn.

Hadrian stared at the man. "I didn't expect to see you, Vaughn. I trust this means you are feeling much better?"

The elderly butler seemed slightly more stooped than before his attack, but his color was improved. He smiled faintly at Hadrian. "Good morning, my lord." He held the door for Hadrian as he stepped into the entrance hall. "I am doing well, thank you. I find being bedridden abhorrent."

Was he now acting as butler for the household? Hadrian would have been surprised to learn that Miss Wren and her grandmother could take on another retainer. "I do hope you are taking good care. It is always wise to follow a physician's direction."

Vaughn closed the door and shuffled to a chair. "I have my chair here. And if I become too tired, I can repair to the parlor." He gestured toward the room off the entrance hall where they'd spoken with Teague yesterday evening.

Hadrian wondered what Mrs. Wren would think of their probably-not-butler draped across the settee. He didn't know her well, but suspected she would not be nearly as horrified as his mother if such a thing happened.

Miss Wren's grandmother came into the entrance hall then, as if conjured by Hadrian's thoughts of her. She was dressed in black and moved spryly for a woman of her age. Or perhaps Hadrian was only noting that because Vaughn had moved so moribundly.

"Good morning, Lord Ravenhurst," Mrs. Wren greeted him as Vaughn sat in his chair. "Let us await my granddaughter in the parlor." She looked toward Vaughn. "You'll inform Tilda where we are? Not that she won't have figured it out."

Vaughn inclined his head. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Wren preceded him into the parlor and took a chair near the window that looked out to the street. She waited until Hadrian sat opposite her in another chair before she spoke. "It seems we have a butler. At least temporarily. Mrs. Acorn found him stationed in the entrance hall early this morning. He declared the household in need of his services and himself in need of being out of bed." She shrugged.

"You are very kind to allow him to recuperate here."

"Where else would he go? I'm not sure where he will go when he's recovered, in fact." Mrs. Wren inhaled through her nose. "Tilda is working that out."

Hadrian realized Miss Wren worked on a great many things. "She is very capable. At least, that is my observation."

"It's an astute one," Mrs. Wren said with a nod. "You will find few young women with her intellect and efficiency. But I suspect you already know that since you've been working together on this investigation. Last night she explained how Sir Henry was murdered." A shudder passed over her small frame. "I still can't quite believe it. His sudden death was shocking enough. I want to thank you for joining with Tilda in this investigation. I feel better knowing she is not doing this alone. You do me a kindness by supporting her."

"She does me a kindness by agreeing to work together," he said with a smile.

Mrs. Wren chuckled. "You are a smart man."

Miss Wren entered the sitting room, and Hadrian had to blink to make sure he was seeing the same person. It was remarkable what the absence of black did for one's appearance. He'd not seen her in anything but mourning clothes since that first time they'd met.

Today, she wore a blue walking dress trimmed in navy blue, and a jaunty hat pitched forward atop her red-gold hair. He hadn't forgotten that she was pretty, but he perhaps hadn't realized she was truly beautiful.

"There you are Tilda," Mrs. Wren said. "We were marveling at your investigative abilities."

A very faint pink stained the upper arch of Miss Wren's cheeks. "I'm sure that isn't necessary," she murmured. She looked to Hadrian. "I'm ready to depart."

Mrs. Wren rose from her chair, and Hadrian jumped up to offer assistance if she needed it. But she waved him away with a smile. "I'm not quite old enough to require help—usually—but I do appreciate the sentiment. I wish you both a productive day." She sent her granddaughter a pointed stare. "I shall anticipate your report later."

"Of course," Miss Wren said before turning and walking into the entrance hall. "Don't get up, Vaughn. Lord Ravenhurst can open the door for me."

"But it is my calling, miss," Vaughn said, sounding slightly put out.

Hadrian hastened to open the door. "I'm sure you can open it for her when she returns." He smiled at the butler then escorted Miss Wren to his coach.

When they were settled inside—her on the forward-facing seat and him on the rear-facing—Hadrian said, "You've a butler now, apparently."

"So it would seem," she said with the hint of a smile. "It's temporary, of course, but I do need to determine his retirement. Millicent informed me that there will likely not be enough money from the sale of the house to provide him a settlement."

"That is unfortunate. What will you do?"

"I'll manage somehow. We can't turn him out."

No, she wouldn't do that. Hadrian resolved to find a way to help her, though he doubted she would accept assistance. "If you provide me with an invoice for your services so far, I would pay you immediately."

She reached into her reticule and withdrew an envelope, which she handed to him. "Here you are."

He smiled. "I'll send payment over as soon as I am home."

"That is kind of you." She straightened, smoothing her hands over her lap. "Are you ready for the inquest today? My father told me about countless inquests he'd attended. I found his retelling of them fascinating. Such a spectacle with the body laid out on a table, the jury behaving with self-importance, the crowd of people outside eager for information. Not to mention the journalists recording the story." She cocked her head. "Are you concerned about your name appearing in the newspaper? The presence of an earl, as a witness no less, at the inquest will likely draw much attention."

"I hadn't considered that," he said.

"We must also consider that Fitch's killer will now be aware that you—and I—are conducting an investigation."

"Who do you think his killer is?" Hadrian realized they hadn't discussed that beyond the idea that Fitch's murderer could be at the heart of everything. "Do you think he killed Fitch to ensure he didn't implicate him?"

"That seems the likeliest reason for Fitch to have been murdered. It's too coincidental for a man we know killed or attacked three separate people to have been randomly garroted in his home." She pursed her lips. "I do hope this doesn't take all day."

"I hope not either, as we have an interview with the superintendent this afternoon at four. Teague sent a note this morning."

"I confess I'm not at all certain what to ask him," she said with a worried expression. "If we come straight out and accuse his police of corruption, I suspect the interview will end."

"You are probably right."

"One thing I would love to ask but I am not sure I dare is why one of his inspectors would tell me to stop investigating your attack."

Hadrian gaped at her. "Who did that and when?"

"Lowther sent me a note yesterday, along with my pound note, urging me to cease the investigation. He went so far as to suggest my father would do so, which is utter nonsense." She clucked her tongue in disgust. "My father would never walk away from an investigation."

"This is most concerning." Hadrian wondered if Teague was the only inspector at A Division who was interested in justice. "Why do you think Lowther would do that?"

She shrugged. "I can't say, but it gives me encouragement that we are on the right path. Lowther may be trying to keep information hidden, as Padgett is likely doing with making those reports confidential. It's all part of an effort to conceal the truth." Frowning, she added, "I have decided not to engage in bribing anyone any longer."

"How will you obtain information without playing along with their game?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I can't support the concealment of information which leads to the suppression of justice."

"I do admire that," Hadrian said with a smile. Sobering, he added, "I wonder if someone, Padgett perhaps, asked Lowther to tell you to back away from the investigation."

"That would make the most sense," she said.

"What of your edict that we tread carefully with Scotland Yard?" Hadrian asked. "This note from Lowther concerns me."

"Let us ask Teague about it since he's so keen to help."

"Excellent idea." Hadrian would feel better if Teague was aware of Lowther's actions. Perhaps he could even explain them.

The coach stopped a few minutes later, and Hadrian helped Miss Wren onto the pavement. Hadrian had told his coachman he wasn't sure how long this would take. He was going to park the coach just around the corner and wait for them.

People were already gathered outside the Bell. Hadrian escorted Miss Wren through the crowd toward the door.

"Lord Ravenhurst, why are you here?" someone, presumably a journalist, asked.

Hadrian ignored them and opened the door for Miss Wren to precede him into the tavern. Fitch's body lay atop two tables pushed together, and a sheet covered his form.

"There's Constable Barker from the other night," Miss Wren whispered, looking toward the uniformed man speaking to an older gentleman who Hadrian suspected was the coroner. With gray hair and sharp eyes, the coroner possessed an air of authority despite his small stature.

A group of well-dressed men stood to one side. Hadrian assumed they were the jury.

Another constable came toward them. "Good morning. You are Lord Ravenhurst?"

"Yes, and Miss Wren." Hadrian pivoted toward her.

"The witnesses are sitting just over here." He led them to a grouping of chairs. Fitch's neighbor was already present, as was Moll, the barmaid, and the barkeep of the tavern. Most surprisingly, the man they'd seen leaving Fitch's lodging was also there.

Miss Wren took a chair, and Hadrian sat beside her, which put him next to the young man they'd encountered. He looked frightfully nervous. In his early twenties, perhaps younger than Miss Wren, he had a thin face and wide-set eyes. He fidgeted with his hands and chewed his lip.

The coroner began the inquest then, starting with selecting twelve jurors. There looked to be close to twenty gentlemen who'd responded to the summons. One who wasn't chosen left, and the rest remained to watch the proceedings.

Next, the coroner announced the name of the victim and described the circumstances surrounding his death. The jurors then moved to examine the body. They encircled the table, and the sheet was removed. The view of Fitch was mostly obscured by the men around the table.

This continued for some time as the coroner indicated the wound that had caused his death. There could be no doubt that the jury would find the cause of death to be murder.

Fitch was covered once more, and the jurors moved to an area with twelve chairs where they sat to listen to the witnesses give their depositions. The coroner started with Hadrian.

Standing, he went to sit near the jury in a chair designated for the witness. A clerk sat at a table and recorded what Hadrian said. He detailed how they'd found Fitch, and that Hadrian had fetched the constable.

"How did you come to be at Mr. Fitch's lodging?" the coroner asked, his eyes assessing as he addressed Hadrian.

"I have a ring that belonged to him." Hadrian suspected he would lose the ring as evidence, which he was loathe to do, however he couldn't not mention it. The barmaid, Moll, would most certainly bring it up in her testimony.

"And how did you come to possess it?"

"The deceased stabbed me on the twenty-first of January," Hadrian replied. There were a few gasps. He glanced at the jury to see they were watching him intently. Several were frowning. "In my attempt to defend myself, I grabbed his hand and somehow removed the ring. I then hit my head on the pavement when I fell and didn't realize I had the ring until several days later."

"You did not give this ring to the Metropolitan Police?"

"No, as I said, I didn't know I had it. And the case was closed rather quickly," he added.

The coroner nodded. "How did you find Mr. Fitch?"

This was where things became difficult. "He said something that night about the Bell, so I came here to find him." It was an utter fabrication, but what else could Hadrian say? "I spoke with the barmaid there." He gestured toward Moll whose expression was stoic. She'd been crying earlier if her reddened nose was any indication. "She directed us to Fitch's lodgings."

"‘Us'?" the corner asked. He glanced toward Miss Wren. "You are referring to yourself and Miss Matilda Wren?"

"Yes. She is my private investigator. I hired her to help me find Fitch." This garnered a few snickers, irritating Hadrian. He wished he could tell who they'd come from. He'd set them straight.

"Miss Molly Hennings gave you Fitch's address, and you went there directly on Saturday evening?" the corner pressed.

"Yes."

"Upon arriving, did you encounter a man leaving Fitch's lodging?"

"We did," Hadrian confirmed. "He said, ‘he were like that when I got here,' presumably in reference to Fitch and the fact that he was dead."

"Could you identify this man if you saw him again?" the coroner asked.

"Definitely." Hadrian glanced toward the young man beside him. He'd gone quite pale.

"Do you see him here?" the coroner prodded.

"I do. He is sitting to my left."

"Please note that Lord Ravenhurst is referring to Mr. John Prince."

The coroner moved on to ask Hadrian about their exchange with the neighbor and what exactly they found in Fitch's room. Hadrian described how the room had been ransacked and Fitch's body—its position and the wound they'd discovered.

"Thank you, Lord Ravenhurst," the coroner said. "We appreciate your time today and ask that you remain in case I need to ask you any further questions."

"I am happy to assist in the carriage of justice." Hadrian moved from the witness chair back to his own. No sooner was he seated than the coroner called for Miss Wren to testify. Hadrian gave her an encouraging nod.

Miss Wren sat in the designated witness chair. Hands folded demurely in her lap, she appeared serene and collected in her blue walking dress with its fabric buttons up the front from her waist to the collar at her neck. Her costume may have been slightly out of fashion, but she looked smart. Her gaze was clear and sharp as she awaited the coroner's questions.

"You are Lord Ravenhurst's private investigator?" the coroner asked.

"Yes," she said evenly but with a warm lilt to her tone that revealed her pride in being addressed in such a manner.

"When did you begin working with him?"

"After the death of my grandfather's cousin, Sir Henry Meacham," she replied.

The coroner's dark brows rose. "There is another death?"

"Yes, and another that occurred the week after Lord Ravenhurst was attacked," she said. "Mr. Patrick Crawford was stabbed in the same location along Whitehall as Ravenhurst. Unfortunately, Mr. Crawford did not survive his injury."

Hadrian wanted to applaud her for bringing that up.

"In your investigative opinion, do those deaths have aught to do with the death of Mr. Fitch?" the coroner asked.

"I believe the death of Mr. Crawford was committed by the person who stabbed Lord Ravenhurst, and that was Mr. Fitch. The coincidence of the two crimes so close together in the same place and in the same manner is too striking to ignore. Furthermore, Lord Ravenhurst noted that he surprised his assailant. That could have been due to his defensive maneuvers, but it could also be because the attacker was expecting someone else. Mr. Crawford attended a card game every Tuesday at the White Stag on Whitehall. Lord Ravenhurst was attacked on his way from Westminster to Whitehall on a Tuesday. Furthermore, Ravenhurst and Crawford share the same build and coloring. It's entirely possible the earl was targeted by mistake, particularly when you consider that Crawford was attacked the very next Tuesday in the same location. Crawford was likely the person Fitch had meant to stab in the first place."

"That is an interesting theory, Miss Wren," the coroner said slowly. It was hard for Hadrian to determine if the coroner meant that seriously or sardonically. "However, you do not have evidence to support it," the coroner clarified.

"For now." She sounded slightly terse, not that Hadrian could blame her.

The coroner went on to ask her about visiting the Bell and speaking with the barmaid then continuing to Fitch's lodgings. She corroborated everything Hadrian had said and was soon dismissed.

When she returned to sit beside him, Fitch's neighbor, Lilian Tolman, was called to give her deposition. She was shaky and clearly nervous, her gaze mostly focused on the floor and her voice was low.

The coroner asked her how she knew Fitch, how long they'd been neighbors, and the last time she'd seen him before his death.

She said it had been at least a day, perhaps two, that they kept different hours.

"Do you know what Mr. Fitch did for work?" the coroner asked.

"'E worked for a fancy club near Covent Garden, 'ad a special uniform with gold buttons and everything." She sounded a trifle envious.

Miss Wren touched Hadrian's arm. She was clearly thinking what Hadrian was, that Fitch was perhaps an employee at Farringer's. Hopefully the coroner would confirm that.

"Son of a bitch," Moll whispered from behind them. Hadrian glanced back at her to see she was scowling faintly. He thought back to their conversation with her, and she hadn't said what Fitch did for work. Perhaps she hadn't known and was irritated that his neighbor did?

The coroner next asked Lilian if she'd noticed any visitors going to his lodging over recent days or even weeks. She nodded in response. "The man next to the earl there. 'E's visited a couple times in the last fortnight or so."

Hadrian looked toward the young man, Prince, once more. He'd gone from white to gray.

The coroner went on to ask Miss Tolman a few more questions about fetching the constable then dismissed her. Next, he called the barmaid to testify.

Moll said she'd had an intimate relationship with Fitch for several months. She admitted she loved him but didn't think he returned the sentiment. She told the coroner about Hadrian and Miss Wren coming into the Bell looking for Fitch because they had his ring.

When she was finished, the coroner called the barkeep as well as a few people who lived nearby and knew Fitch or had occasion to see him regularly. Notably, there was no one from Farringer's present, which Hadrian found odd—if that was indeed his employer. A neighbor who lived across East Cheap from Fitch gave testimony that he'd seen John Prince going into the door that led up to Fitch's lodging sometime on Saturday but couldn't say when.

Next to Hadrian, Prince had tensed. Then he was called to testify next.

"How do you know Mr. Fitch?" the coroner asked.

Prince wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "I don't know 'im, not really."

"But you were seen visiting him on multiple occasions and visiting his lodgings the night he was found dead," the coroner said. "Why would you visit a man you didn't know?"

"I asked 'im about 'is job," Prince said, fidgeting with a button on his coat. "'E 'ad a fancy costume for it, and it looked like it paid really well."

The door opened then, and an inspector came into the alehouse. He went directly to the coroner and spoke to him in a low tone. Hadrian could not make out what they were saying. The inspector handed something wrapped in cloth to the coroner.

After pulling the cloth back to see the contents, the coroner nodded. Then he set it on the table next to Fitch's body.

The coroner shot a look toward Hadrian. No, not Hadrian. Toward Prince beside him. "Mr. Prince, you may return to your seat for now."

Shit. What was happening?

The inspector who'd come in sat in the corner, and the coroner asked Constable Barker to testify. Barker ran through the events of the evening, including finding the money in Fitch's drawer.

"Did you find the weapon used to kill Mr. Fitch?" the coroner asked.

"No, we did not."

The coroner thanked him and said he was finished. As Barker returned to his seat, the coroner asked the inspector who'd just arrived to offer testimony.

Square-jawed and nearly bald when he removed his hat, the inspector had small, dark eyes. His name was Chisholm and he'd been employed by the City of London Police for nineteen years. He'd been assigned to oversee Fitch's case and apologized for his tardiness today.

"I understand you have a good reason for being late," the coroner said. "Would you please share it with everyone?"

"Certainly," Chisholm replied crisply. "We were searching the lodging of John Prince. We found a length of wire with blood on it. Something used to garotte someone. It was tucked beneath Prince's bed."

"I didn't put it there!" Prince called out, his eyes bulging and his face turning red. "I don't 'ave nothin' like that!"

"Mr. Prince, please remain quiet," the corner demanded crossly. "I will question you again after the inspector, and you will have an opportunity to refute what has been said."

For whatever reason, Hadrian believed the young man. His declarations today and the night they'd found Fitch simply rang true to him.

Removing his glove, Hadrian reached over and touched Prince's hand. "It will be all right," he murmured.

Nothing was happening. Hadrian kept his hand on Prince's, willing a vision or even the slightest sensation. There! Prince was afraid. And he was desperate to be believed. Hadrian did not detect deception. He removed his hand and pulled his glove back on.

Hadrian was confident this young man had nothing to do with Fitch's death. But why was someone trying to make it look like he was the killer? And why had he been in Fitch's room?

Miss Wren leaned toward Hadrian and whispered, "I think Fitch's murderer is trying to ensure someone else takes the blame."

So, he plants the garotte wire under Prince's bed…but that didn't account for the witnesses who'd testified that Prince had visited Fitch or the fact that they had seen Prince coming out of Fitch's lodging when Fitch was dead inside the room. "What motive does Prince have for killing Fitch?" Hadrian asked quietly.

"That should be the glaring hole in this farce," she replied with an edge to her tone.

The coroner addressed the inspector once more. "Have you any notion as to why Mr. Prince would want to kill Mr. Fitch? It's already been established that the murderer left money in Mr. Fitch's lodging, so he can't have been robbing the man."

The inspector cleared his throat. "It seems to have been a simple disagreement about Miss Hennings."

Hadrian looked over to see Prince's reaction. He looked down, his face flushed.

"Please explain," the coroner said.

Inspector Chisholm took a deep breath. He did not so much as glance toward either Prince or the barmaid. "Prince has tried to gain Miss Hennings' favor on multiple occasions. I'm sure she'll tell you this is true, if you care to ask her. Though, we will ensure her testimony is entered at trial."

"Trial?" Prince whispered. He slumped in his chair.

The coroner dismissed the inspector and asked the barmaid to return to the witness chair. She confirmed that Prince had flirted with her and made romantic overtures, but she'd said she wasn't interested because she was with someone else.

Then it was Prince's turn to give further testimony. He was sweating profusely, and he looked as if he wanted to take flight, not that Hadrian could blame him. His entire demeanor made him appear nervous and guilty, which was a shame since Hadrian knew he was innocent.

The coroner asked Prince if he was acquainted with Miss Hennings. Prince admitted he did know her and that he had been hoping to draw her notice. The coroner asked if he'd done more than just hope.

"I asked 'er to 'ave an ale with me once or twice," Prince replied, his lip quivering.

"You live by yourself, Mr. Prince?" the coroner asked.

"Yes," the young man said shakily.

The coroner pinned him with a dark stare. "How do you manage that? What is it you do for employment?"

Prince turned white again. "I work at the docks."

"That pays enough for you to live on your own?"

"My lodging is very small." Prince looked utterly defeated.

"Thank you, Mr. Prince. You may return to your seat." The coroner was quiet a moment then drew a long breath. "The jury will now confer and determine the findings of the inquest."

"Can I leave?" Prince asked Hadrian, his eyes desperate.

"You should not," Hadrian advised.

"I didn't kill 'im," Prince swore, looking toward the body on the table.

Inspector Chisholm approached them. His gaze was fixed on Prince. "I don't know how the inquest will turn out, Mr. Prince, but you will need to come with me when it concludes."

"Are you going to arrest me?" Prince asked.

"It's possible," the inspector said. He looked at Hadrian. "Would you mind moving so I can sit next to Mr. Prince?"

Hadrian stood, and Miss Wren joined him. "I saw that you took off your glove and touched him. What happened?" Miss Wren asked quietly.

"I felt that he was telling the truth. He's petrified."

Miss Wren looked at him intently. "We have to find the real killer."

Hadrian moved to Prince's other side and leaned down. "Go with the inspector. All will turn out well. Miss Wren and I will find the man who killed Fitch."

Prince looked up at him in complete dejection. "I don't want to 'ang."

"You will not," Hadrian vowed. They needed to move quickly to save this young man further turmoil. This would not be easy for him.

In the end, the jurors found that Fitch had been murdered by garotte, and the coroner indicated there was at least one suspect, Mr. John Prince, who was then taken into custody by the City of London Police. The young man's sobs could be heard on the street as the conclusion was read by the coroner—or so the newspapers reported.

"We can't let Prince hang for a crime he didn't commit." Hadrian said.

Miss Wren met his gaze with determination. "We will not."