“Yes.”
A faint hint of color touched her cheeks. “I . . . I’m sorry I tried to deceive you.”
She certainly looked contrite. Yet would she have admitted the deception had she not realized he’d learned the truth?
He doubted it.
He said, “Captain Wyeth also told me that you and he are considerably more than friends.”
Her chin came up before she could stop it, and Sebastian knew he’d read her right. She said, “We are, yes. But Father didn’t know that.” She gazed at him with wide, still eyes, as if she could somehow will Sebastian into believing her. “I swear it.”
He raised one eyebrow in polite incredulity. “You ‘swear’ it, Miss Preston?”
To his surprise, her lips trembled, and she turned away from him, her eyes blinking rapidly, one fist coming up to press against her mouth.
“Oh, God!” she said with a desperation he suspected was all too real. “You must believe me! Hugh did not do this!”
“It might be easier to believe you if you tried being a tad more honest.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I’m sorry! It’s just . . . I’m terrified Hugh is going to hang for this. And he didn’t do it!”
So certain? thought Sebastian. But all he said was, “I’m told your father swore he’d disinherit you if you married Captain Wyeth. Did he issue that threat to you?”
“He did. And I told him I didn’t care. I told him there’s more to life than wealth and a family’s position in society.”
“What was his response?”
Her eyes flashed with remembered wrath and indignation. “He said I was too young to know what I was talking about.”
“When was this?”
She wiped the heel of her hand across her wet eyes. “Saturday evening.”
“And then what happened?”
“He . . . left.”
“Is that when he went to confront Captain Wyeth?”
She nodded. “But Hugh didn’t kill him. You must believe me.” She sniffed rather loudly. “Hugh told you about Father’s quarrel with Basil Thistlewood over the Duke of Suffolk’s head, didn’t he?”
“He did, yes.”
“Did you speak to Thistlewood?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He says he didn’t kill your father.”
“Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?” She leaned toward him earnestly. “It was not their first confrontation, you know. About a month or so ago, Thistlewood acquired a rosary supposedly made from some old saint’s bones. He was extraordinarily proud of it. Only, when Father inspected it, he challenged its authenticity. Thistlewood was furious—beyond furious. Swore if he heard Papa was going around telling people the thing was a fake, he’d kill him.”
“You mean the St. Anthony of Padua rosary Thistlewood has on display?”
“Yes; that’s it.”
“And what was your father’s reaction?”
“He laughed in Thistlewood’s face.”
“Yet this was, as you said, a month ago.”
“Yes. But don’t you see? If Thistlewood was already furious with Father because of the rosary and then realized Father had bested him over Suffolk’s head, it might well have driven him to murder.”
“Perhaps. Only, what possible reason would Thistlewood have to kill Dr. Douglas Sterling?”
She stared at him. It was obvious the question hadn’t occurred to her. “I don’t know! But Hugh had no reason to kill Dr. Sterling either.”
“So who did have a reason to kill both men?”
She pushed the short curls away from her forehead in an exasperated gesture. “I don’t know!”
Sebastian studied her pale, strained face, with its small, delicately molded nose and trembling mouth, and he knew an upsurge of frustration and irritation mingled with no small measure of sympathy.
Anne Preston was so desperate to convince him—and Bow Street—that Captain Hugh Wyeth did not kill her father, she’d say anything.
The problem was, Sebastian suspected she was even more desperate to convince herself.
Chapter 28
S ebastian knew he could in all likelihood discount the vast majority of what Anne Preston had told him. But on the off chance there was something to her accusations, he decided to pay another visit to Basil Thistlewood.
He found the curiosity collector in a lean-to workshop attached to the rear of his Cheyne Walk establishment, a leather apron tied over his old-fashioned clothes. A half-constructed display case stood on the workbench before him.
“Thought you’d be back,” said Thistlewood, looking up for only a moment before returning to his task.
Sebastian let his gaze wander around the surprisingly tidy space, with its rows of well-oiled tools and neat stacks of fine wood. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“Ain’t found Preston’s killer, have you?”