Who Buries the Dead

Chapter 51

Sebastian’s next stop was the Rose and Crown, where he discovered that Cian O’Neal had never returned to work in the stables.

He finally found the former stableboy hoeing rows of newly sprouting vegetables in the kitchen gardens of Chelsea Hospital. At the sight of Sebastian, he froze, his fists tightening around the handle of his hoe and his chest jerking on a quickly indrawn breath.

“What ye want wit’ me?”

“I need to ask you a few questions,” said Sebastian, pausing some feet away when the boy looked as if he might bolt.

“I already told that other feller, I didn’t see nothin’. Nothin’!”

Sebastian studied the lad’s tight, strained face. “What other fellow?”

“The feller from Bow Street.”

“The one who spoke to you before?”

“No. A different one.”

“Did he ask about the Dullahan?”

Cian stared at him, eyes wide and afraid.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” said Sebastian.

“Nobody sees the Dullahan and lives.”

“So perhaps what you saw wasn’t the Dullahan. Perhaps it was simply a man.”

“But he was carryin’ a h-” Cian broke off and dropped his gaze to the ground, his cheeks flaming with his shame.

“A head? Is that what you saw? Not the severed head at the end of the bridge, but another head?”

The boy wiped one ragged cuff across the end of his nose and nodded. “Won’t nobody believe me, but ’tis true.”

“I believe you,” said Sebastian. “Where was this man when you saw him?”

Cian kept his gaze on his feet, his voice barely more than a whisper. “The other side of the bridge. Not far from the barn we was goin’ to.”

“What did he look like?”

“I dunno. It was dark, and he was wearin’ some sort of flowin’ black robes with a floppy hat on his head.”

“You mean, on the head attached to his own shoulders? Not on the head he carried?”

The color in the boy’s cheeks deepened. “Aye.”

“So it couldn’t have been the Dullahan. It was simply a man dressed in a black cassock and carrying a head.”

The boy looked up, his features contorted with a swirling inner agony of confusion and a nameless fear that wasn’t going to go away. “But whose head? You tell me that. Ain’t no other body missin’ a head that I heard of.”

“Did you see anyone else at the bridge that night? Perhaps nothing more than a shadow moving in the shrubbery edging the stream?”

The boy took a step back, then another. He was sweating now, although the day was cold, the wind flattening the thin cloth of his smock against his chest. “I don’t know what I seen no more! I told that fellow from Bow Street: It was dark, and the wind was blowin’ the trees somethin’ fierce.”

Sebastian frowned. “This man from Bow Street; when was he here asking you questions?”

“I dunno. Some days ago.”

“What did he look like?”

“Dressed fine, he was, like a gentleman. Not flashy; but real fine.”

“How old?”

The boy shrugged. “Older’n you, I s’pose. But not by too much.”

“Dark or fair? Tall or short? Thin or fleshy?”

The lad’s features contorted with the effort of memory. “’Bout as tall as me and dark headed, but I wouldn’t say he was either overly thin or fleshy.”

Sebastian knew all of Lovejoy’s constables, and the boy’s description fit none of them. “He told you he was from Bow Street?”

“Aye.”

“Did he ask you anything else?”

“Only if Molly seen anythin’.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said no. If she’d seen what I seen, she wouldn’t be laughin’ at me. She wouldn’t be goin’ around tellin’ folks I’m simpleminded.”

“I don’t think you’re simpleminded. But the man who asked you those questions wasn’t from Bow Street.”

The boy’s face went slack. “What you sayin’?”

“I’m saying that if you see him again, you need to be careful.”

“But. . who is he?”

“I think he may very well be the killer.”

Sebastian arrived back at Brook Street to be met by Morey wearing a disapproving face.

“A lady to see you, my lord,” said the majordomo. “Miss Anne Preston. I told her both you and Lady Devlin were out, but she insisted on waiting.” His frown deepened. “I’ve put her in the drawing room.”

“Thank you,” said Sebastian, handing Morey his hat and walking stick as he headed for the stairs.

She was sitting stiffly upright on one of the cane chairs by the bow window, her hands clenched in her lap, her face a tight, unsmiling mask of control. At the sight of Sebastian, she thrust up from the chair, her arms held stiffly at her sides. “I’m here because of Jane-Miss Austen,” she said without preamble.

“May I offer you some tea, Miss Preston?”

“No, thank you; your majordomo already did.” She drew in a deep breath and said in a rush, “I–I’m afraid I haven’t been exactly honest with you about some things.”

Sebastian suspected she hadn’t been honest with him about a number of things. But all he said was, “Please, have a seat.”

“No.” She jerked away to stand at the window, looking out at the scene below. “Bow Street thinks Hugh killed Father. But Jane-Miss Austen-tells me you don’t agree with them.”

Sebastian studied her tightly held profile. “Exactly what are you trying to tell me, Miss Preston?”

She kept her gaze on the carts and carriages filling the street. “Hugh had this idea that if he could meet with Father-talk to him, man to man-then maybe he could convince Father to change his mind about our marriage.”

“Was this before or after your father stormed into the Shepherd’s Rest and threatened to horsewhip him?”

She sucked in a quick breath that flared her nostrils and caused her chest to jerk. “After.”

“So, Sunday?”

“Yes. I told Hugh he was mad, that Father would never agree. But Hugh said he was honor-bound to formally ask for my hand in marriage.”

“Admirable.”

She gave a small, ragged laugh. “Admirable, perhaps. But mad, nonetheless.”

“So what happened?”

She ran her fingers down the curtain beside her to smooth it, although it was already hanging straight. “A predictable disaster. It probably didn’t help that Hugh arrived at the house just after Douglas Sterling had been there. I don’t know what Dr. Sterling told Father, but whatever it was, it left him in an odd humor. He took one look at Hugh and flew into a rage-right there in the hall in front of Chambliss, our butler.”

“You obviously have very loyal servants,” said Sebastian. “None of them breathed a word of Captain Wyeth’s visit to the constables.”

“I begged Chambliss to keep it to himself. It was wrong of me, I know. But I feared Bow Street would put the worst possible construction on Hugh’s visit. I mean, Father was standing in the hall, shouting that he’d see me die an old maid before he’d allow me to align our house with some penniless vicar’s son.”

“You were present at their meeting?”

“Not at first, no; Hugh had thought they’d do better alone. But the way Papa was shouting, it’s a wonder they didn’t hear him in the next county. I tried to stay away, but I finally couldn’t bear it any longer and came downstairs. I told Papa that if I couldn’t marry Hugh, I would die an old maid, and that if he was opposing the match in the hopes that I would become Lady Knightly instead, then he was living in cloud-cuckoo-land.”

She paused, her face wan and tired. “That’s when Papa said the strangest thing. You must understand that he’d been wildly enthusiastic at the prospect of a match between Sir Galen and me. But when I mentioned Knightly’s name, Papa flew into such a rage, he was shaking. Said he’d rather see me married to some English chimney sweep than Sir Galen. He rounded on Chambliss, who was still standing there with a wooden face-it was most mortifying-and told him that if Sir Galen ever came to the door again, he was not to be admitted. Then Papa grabbed his hat and stormed off.”

“In the hackney?”

“Yes. Bow Street says he went to Fish Street Hill, although I can’t for the life of me imagine what could have taken him there.”

Sebastian now thought he had a fairly good idea what might have driven Stanley Preston to the streets surrounding Billingsgate Market. But all he said was, “When you quarreled with Captain Wyeth at Lady Farningham’s, was it over that morning’s confrontation with your father?”

“Not exactly.” A touch of color crept into her face. “If you must know, I wanted Hugh to agree to elope. I knew Father would fly into one of his rages over it, but I was convinced he’d eventually calm down and accept our marriage, particularly if for some reason he’d given up his dream of seeing me as Lady Knightly.”

“But Captain Wyeth refused?”

The color in her cheeks darkened. “Yes.”

Sebastian said, “What made you decide to tell me this now?”

“It was something Jane-Miss Austen-said. She said I was wrong to keep back anything that happened that day. That each event by itself might not seem to mean anything, but that when taken together with everything else, it might very well provide the key you need to understand what happened to Father.”

She tented her hands over her nose and mouth, her eyes squeezing shut a moment before she said, “I didn’t tell you of it before because I was afraid it would make you even more convinced that it was Hugh who’d killed Papa. But he didn’t! You must believe me. He’s not some conniving fortune hunter; he’s a worthy, honorable man-far more noble and high-minded than I am. He didn’t kill my father.”

“No,” said Sebastian. “But I think I know who did.”