The man’s hand stilled on his chin, then slowly eased down into his lap again. The constable uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.
“I will tell you all I know, but truth is truth, and I don’t know the name of the man who hired me. I owe them nothing, and as they have brought me so low, sitting here awaiting my execution, I reckon it worthwhile to tell you the truth. But the truth is, they never told me their names.”
“They? You mean there was more than one?”
“Yes, sir. There was two of them.”
“What did they offer you? And why you? You are no assassin, surely.”
“No, my lord. I had a streak of bad luck. I could not find work, and a few weeks ago we ran out of food, my wife and three children and myself. I was in Mayfair, asking if anyone needed any work done, carting away trash, anything, and a chap dressed in fancy clothes came to me and asked if I’d be willing to do something that was not strictly within the law. I was willing to do whatever he would pay me for, or so I told him. He took me to an inn where another chap was waiting and bought me some kind of strong drink. I rarely drank anything but ale in my life, and that’s the truth. I was besotted in a thrice. They told me what they wanted me to do would not take long and that it would feed my family and I’d never have to worry about them again. It sounded so good, so, God forgive me, I told them I’d do whatever they wished.
“The first one took me to the place where you were speaking. He pointed you out, gave me the gun, told me to walk straight up to the stage and stand there until you came on. I was so drunk and sweating so bad, I could hardly see. The only thing I was thinking about was my wife and children. When a man’s family is hungry . . .”
He stopped speaking. His lip trembled. He reached up with a clattering of shackles and wiped his eyes.
“I lifted the gun and, before I could even take aim, the lady beside me hit my hand. I got scared and fired without even aiming. Thank God I missed. Please believe me, I am glad I missed. I never wanted murder to be on my conscience.”
“Did they tell you why they wanted to kill me?”
“No, sir.”
“Was the first man young with brown hair, rather tall, with a noticeable cleft in his chin?”
“Yes. Very well looking, with perfect teeth.”
“That was Geoffrey Hastings.”
Good. The constable had allowed two men into the room, who were listening intently and writing on small pads of paper. Hopefully they were the reporters from the Morning Post and the Courier, whom he had notified.
“And the second man. Was he much shorter and balding, with a moustache?”
“Yes, exactly so.”
“That was Felton Pinegar.”
“Now that you say that, I did hear the younger one call him Pinegar.”
The constable’s face registered surprise, and just behind him, the other two men’s eyes lit up with gleeful interest.
“I don’t know what kind of mercy can be extended to me now,” the man went on, “but I would be grateful if someone could look after my wife and children. I don’t know how I coulda been desperate enough to be persuaded to shoot anyone, especially a viscount like you, Lord Withinghall. All I know is, the gents offered a tidy sum for my widow, enough to keep her and the wee ones fed for many years after I was hanged. Even as sot drunk as I was, I knew I had no hope of escaping the noose.”
“And where are your widow and children now?”
“At home, I reckon. On Dogfallow Lane, near Black Friars Road. If you could help them, sir, I’d be ever so grateful.”
“Some nerve,” the constable muttered. “Asking help from the man you tried to kill.”
“I will help them,” Edward said softly. “Very well, Constable. You may take him back to his cell.”
The constable had the second man take charge of the prisoner, who shuffled out of the room.
“It is a shame,” Edward said, frowning and shaking his head, “that this man should have a lapse of judgment due to alcohol and desperation to care for his family and then should hang for it.”
The constable gave a slight cough, then mumbled, “Hmm, yes, I suppose—”
“While the real would-be murderer, the one who wanted me dead, will go free for lack of evidence.”
“I see what you mean, of course, my lord.”
“Thank you for your time. Good day.” Edward tipped his hat to the constable, who walked him to the door of the jail.
Now he just had to avoid getting killed by Pinegar before the papers came out.
“Hold still and let us finish your hair, Leorah.”
Leorah squirmed at the vast amount of braids and pins, tiny flowers, and strings of beads that Felicity and her maidservant were putting in her hair.
“If we don’t hurry and finish, we will be late.” Felicity added another tiny flower to Leorah’s coiffure.
“And that will be your own fault for trying to fancy me up. You know I like my hair plain.”
“Oh, it won’t hurt to make your hair the prettiest at the party. You have beautiful dark hair, even if it is so thick it takes a hundred pins to hold it in place.”
Leorah knew what she was thinking. Lord Withinghall was supposed to be at tonight’s ball, the last one before Lent. And after the stories that had been in all the papers, he was the most-talked-about man in London.
Finally, they made the final touches to Leorah’s hair and, along with Mr. and Mrs. Mayson, they got into the carriage and made their way to the Colthursts’ ball.
Leorah recalled how Lord Withinghall had looked after the shooting, the heartfelt way he had told her to be careful, and the way he had helped her into the carriage, his hand lingering on her elbow. Her heart fluttered, and she mentally scolded herself. He might not even be at the ball.
They alighted from the carriage and joined several others who were just arriving. Once inside, Felicity’s friend Claire Turner rushed toward them.
“Have you heard what everyone is saying about Lord Withinghall?”
“It is all over the papers,” Felicity answered.
“That he has a courtesan whom he took to his house in Suffolk, and that the man who hired someone to shoot at him is a Member of Parliament, Mr. Felton Pinegar.”
“Claire, it is not true about him having a courtesan,” Felicity said. “Please do not spread that, for it is gossip and a vicious lie.”
“Oh, I do remember, there was something in today’s paper saying that the woman Lord Withinghall brought to his house in Suffolk had a baby and that the baby resembles Mr. Felton Pinegar. But that is strange, isn’t it? As if they are insinuating that the woman is Mr. Pinegar’s courtesan. Maybe the two men are fighting over this woman.” Claire’s eyes grew big.
“No, that is certainly not what is happening, Claire.”
“Sh, sh. There he is. Lord Withinghall.”
Leorah’s eyes met his.
One by one, the guests turned to look at him as he made his way through the crowd toward her. He was dressed well in a dark-green frock coat and a ribbon-trimmed waistcoat and matching breeches. His neckcloth was startlingly white against his tanned skin and dark hair. Though her heart was pounding, she forced her lips into a smile.