The Untamed MacKenzie
Page 56
Fellows moved back to Sir Richard, took the iron cuffs Sergeant Pierce held out to him, and snapped them around Sir Richard’s wrists. “Sir Richard Cavanaugh, I am arresting you for the murder of Frederick Lane, the Bishop of Hargate. I will take you to a magistrate, who will examine you and determine if there is cause to bind you over for trial.”
“On what evidence?” Sir Richard scoffed. “You have none.”
“Oh, I have plenty.” Fellows tapped Sir Richard’s doctor’s bag. “All in here. And in your surgery, and at your house, and in the Bishop of Hargate’s notes. I will try to make sure all the lady patients you’ve molested over the years, the poor women too afraid and ashamed to say anything against you, will be present in the gallery at your trial. Not enough justice for them, I think, but it will have to do. A man of your standing might wriggle out of a charge of indecent behavior, even sexual assault, but I intend to see you go down for murder.”
Lloyd’s voice was quiet but held the weight of authority. Sir Richard was furious, but he was down now. He couldn’t fight.
Louisa, still drunk with sedative, raised her head and curled her lip. “You are disgusting,” she said clearly. Then she found herself rushing back down to the table. “Oh, my.” She reached for Lloyd and held his hand when he gave it to her. “I think I’ll sleep now.”
Lloyd kissed her forehead, his rough whiskers brushing her skin. “I’ll be with you when you wake.”
And he was.
Chapter Seventeen
“You must explain all to us, dear Lloyd,” Eleanor said from her place at the foot of the table.
A Mackenzie family dinner was taking place at the Duke of Kilmorgan’s mansion on Grosvenor Square several days after their return from Newmarket. A family dinner meant all the Mackenzies, including Fellows and Daniel, Louisa, and Fellows’ mother.
They dined informally, no place settings to conform to. The guests could sit where they chose, with whom they chose. The only structure to the table was that Hart sat at the head, Eleanor at its foot.
Ian claimed the chair next to Beth, Daniel was with his father and stepmother, and Mrs. Fellows sat next to Louisa, delighting in every moment of the gathering. She was highly pleased with Fellows’ choice of bride and kept smiling broadly at Louisa.
“I knew he had good taste,” she said. “You are the sweetest little thing, Louisa. You do know that?”
When Eleanor demanded the story, the rest of the table quieted. Fellows, on Louisa’s other side, calmly laid down his fork.
“Louisa’s hatpin,” he said.
They waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, Daniel said, “What are we supposed to understand from that? Play fair, Uncle Fellows. You have to tell the less clever of us what that means.”
Fellows didn’t smile, but Louisa could see he was enjoying teasing them all. He took a sip of wine, gave Daniel an acknowledging nod, and went on.
“When I saw Louisa sticking hatpins into her hat, it gave me the idea. If someone coated a pin or needle with a poison and stuck it into someone, perhaps that person might not die instantly, especially if it was a low enough dose. Or if the pin had been coated with a sedative instead of a poison, the victim might simply grow sick or perhaps fall unconscious. If Sir Richard Cavanaugh spoke to Hargate before he went into the tea tent, perhaps clapped him on the shoulder or shook his hand, he’d have the opportunity to stick something into him surreptitiously. Cavanaugh, as a doctor, would have needles at his disposal. Hargate begins to grow ill in the tea tent. Louisa runs out for the doctor. Cavanaugh comes to investigate, finds Hargate on the ground. A final prick of prussic acid finishes the job, or perhaps Cavanaugh poured it into Hargate’s mouth while he examined him. He had the prussic acid in his doctor’s bag, in a little bottle, along with his medicines and sedatives. He could also pretend to try to revive the man and wave the poison under his nose. Inhaling prussic acid can be just as deadly as imbibing it.”
“But it was in the teacup, wasn’t it?” Ainsley asked, puzzled. “The one Louisa handed to the bishop.”
Fellows shook his head. “Cavanaugh saw it lying broken on the ground. Easy for him to drop a little poison onto the pieces after the fact. He made certain to lecture us, the plodding policemen, on how prussic acid killed a man, and pointed out an obvious way Hargate could have taken the poison. He also had a suspect at hand—Lady Louisa, whose father had swindled Hargate. Hargate was still demanding repayment from her family, and perhaps told Cavanaugh of his plan to ask her to marry him in exchange for forgiving the debt. Or Hargate told someone else, and Cavanaugh heard the gossip. In any case, Hargate was blackmailing Cavanaugh over Cavanaugh’s practice of sedating women and taking advantage of them. The poison found in the teacup would point to Louisa, as would the bottle Cavanaugh managed to slip into Louisa's pocket. If Hargate had been standing with someone else when he died, no doubt Cavanaugh would have found a way to point to them. That was an advantage of killing a man at a large gathering—so many handy suspects.”
“It is all so cruel,” Isabella said angrily. “Especially to Louisa. If I hadn’t been able to convince Mrs. Leigh-Waters to telegraph for you, the Richmond police would have arrested her.”
“I hope someone would have sent for me even if Isabella hadn’t telegraphed,” Lloyd said, giving the table a stern look.
“Of course we would have,” Daniel said. “You’re the best detective in the Yard.”
“On what evidence?” Sir Richard scoffed. “You have none.”
“Oh, I have plenty.” Fellows tapped Sir Richard’s doctor’s bag. “All in here. And in your surgery, and at your house, and in the Bishop of Hargate’s notes. I will try to make sure all the lady patients you’ve molested over the years, the poor women too afraid and ashamed to say anything against you, will be present in the gallery at your trial. Not enough justice for them, I think, but it will have to do. A man of your standing might wriggle out of a charge of indecent behavior, even sexual assault, but I intend to see you go down for murder.”
Lloyd’s voice was quiet but held the weight of authority. Sir Richard was furious, but he was down now. He couldn’t fight.
Louisa, still drunk with sedative, raised her head and curled her lip. “You are disgusting,” she said clearly. Then she found herself rushing back down to the table. “Oh, my.” She reached for Lloyd and held his hand when he gave it to her. “I think I’ll sleep now.”
Lloyd kissed her forehead, his rough whiskers brushing her skin. “I’ll be with you when you wake.”
And he was.
Chapter Seventeen
“You must explain all to us, dear Lloyd,” Eleanor said from her place at the foot of the table.
A Mackenzie family dinner was taking place at the Duke of Kilmorgan’s mansion on Grosvenor Square several days after their return from Newmarket. A family dinner meant all the Mackenzies, including Fellows and Daniel, Louisa, and Fellows’ mother.
They dined informally, no place settings to conform to. The guests could sit where they chose, with whom they chose. The only structure to the table was that Hart sat at the head, Eleanor at its foot.
Ian claimed the chair next to Beth, Daniel was with his father and stepmother, and Mrs. Fellows sat next to Louisa, delighting in every moment of the gathering. She was highly pleased with Fellows’ choice of bride and kept smiling broadly at Louisa.
“I knew he had good taste,” she said. “You are the sweetest little thing, Louisa. You do know that?”
When Eleanor demanded the story, the rest of the table quieted. Fellows, on Louisa’s other side, calmly laid down his fork.
“Louisa’s hatpin,” he said.
They waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, Daniel said, “What are we supposed to understand from that? Play fair, Uncle Fellows. You have to tell the less clever of us what that means.”
Fellows didn’t smile, but Louisa could see he was enjoying teasing them all. He took a sip of wine, gave Daniel an acknowledging nod, and went on.
“When I saw Louisa sticking hatpins into her hat, it gave me the idea. If someone coated a pin or needle with a poison and stuck it into someone, perhaps that person might not die instantly, especially if it was a low enough dose. Or if the pin had been coated with a sedative instead of a poison, the victim might simply grow sick or perhaps fall unconscious. If Sir Richard Cavanaugh spoke to Hargate before he went into the tea tent, perhaps clapped him on the shoulder or shook his hand, he’d have the opportunity to stick something into him surreptitiously. Cavanaugh, as a doctor, would have needles at his disposal. Hargate begins to grow ill in the tea tent. Louisa runs out for the doctor. Cavanaugh comes to investigate, finds Hargate on the ground. A final prick of prussic acid finishes the job, or perhaps Cavanaugh poured it into Hargate’s mouth while he examined him. He had the prussic acid in his doctor’s bag, in a little bottle, along with his medicines and sedatives. He could also pretend to try to revive the man and wave the poison under his nose. Inhaling prussic acid can be just as deadly as imbibing it.”
“But it was in the teacup, wasn’t it?” Ainsley asked, puzzled. “The one Louisa handed to the bishop.”
Fellows shook his head. “Cavanaugh saw it lying broken on the ground. Easy for him to drop a little poison onto the pieces after the fact. He made certain to lecture us, the plodding policemen, on how prussic acid killed a man, and pointed out an obvious way Hargate could have taken the poison. He also had a suspect at hand—Lady Louisa, whose father had swindled Hargate. Hargate was still demanding repayment from her family, and perhaps told Cavanaugh of his plan to ask her to marry him in exchange for forgiving the debt. Or Hargate told someone else, and Cavanaugh heard the gossip. In any case, Hargate was blackmailing Cavanaugh over Cavanaugh’s practice of sedating women and taking advantage of them. The poison found in the teacup would point to Louisa, as would the bottle Cavanaugh managed to slip into Louisa's pocket. If Hargate had been standing with someone else when he died, no doubt Cavanaugh would have found a way to point to them. That was an advantage of killing a man at a large gathering—so many handy suspects.”
“It is all so cruel,” Isabella said angrily. “Especially to Louisa. If I hadn’t been able to convince Mrs. Leigh-Waters to telegraph for you, the Richmond police would have arrested her.”
“I hope someone would have sent for me even if Isabella hadn’t telegraphed,” Lloyd said, giving the table a stern look.
“Of course we would have,” Daniel said. “You’re the best detective in the Yard.”
