The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,32
under his skin.
“Explain yourself please, Miss Monmouth.”
“With pleasure.” Sophia leaned forward, her gaze holding his. “Mr. Ives, my lord. Did his demeanor strike you as being at all strange?”
Lord Gray had remained expressionless throughout his questioning, his face a blank canvas, but now Sophia noticed a flicker of something in his eyes. Uneasiness, or consciousness. It was there and gone in an instant, but by then it was too late. Sophia saw it, and pounced. “You did find something strange about it.” Perhaps there was hope for Lord Gray, after all.
He eyed her warily. “Strange in what manner?”
“Mr. Ives didn’t offer much in his own defense, did he? He appeared dazed, baffled by the proceedings. I would have said he didn’t understand the accusations against him, or indeed, why he was in the courtroom at all. Did you happen to notice that?”
Sophia expected a swift and firm denial, but it didn’t come. Lord Gray considered it, his arms crossed over his chest. “I did notice it, yes.”
Sophia’s mouth dropped open. “You did?”
He let out an irritable sigh. “You sound surprised, Miss Monmouth. You’re aware I have been in a courtroom before? Mr. Ives isn’t the first defendant I’ve ever seen.”
“I hadn’t given any thought at all as to how you spend your time, my lord, but since you’re so familiar with courtroom proceedings, I can only assume you remarked Mr. Ives’s unusual behavior.”
“I just said I did.”
“You did say so, yes, but you don’t seem to have drawn the obvious conclusion from it.”
He shifted impatiently against the seat. “It must not be as obvious as you think it is, Miss Monmouth.”
“It is when one is paying attention. Jeremy Ives is simple, Lord Gray. He appeared confused today because he is confused.”
Lord Gray went still. “Simple?”
“Yes. Intellectually, I’d put him at roughly seven or eight years old. He doesn’t fully understand what he’s been accused of, and he certainly doesn’t have any notion how to defend himself.”
Lord Gray said nothing, but Sophia could see he was mulling over what she’d said, and she pushed her advantage. “How many seven-year-old children are such clever thieves they’ve escaped justice for months on end? Do you know of any eight-year-old children, my lord, who are capable of committing a murder?”
He regarded her with cool gray eyes. “Simple or not, Miss Monmouth, the court has deemed him capable to stand trial.”
“My, such unerring faith in justice! I’m afraid I don’t have your confidence. I find, my lord, justice often has more to do with who the accuser and the accused are than it does with matters of guilt or innocence. Do you agree?”
Lord Gray’s jaw hardened. “No, I don’t.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t, having never sat in the accused’s place. But there’s another thing I found strange about today’s proceedings.”
“Please do enlighten me, Miss Monmouth.”
Lord Gray didn’t look particularly eager to be enlightened, but it seemed today wasn’t his lucky day, any more than it was hers. “Does Peter Sharpe strike you as the sort of man who’d carry a cane?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“No, I didn’t think so, and what’s more, today was the first I’ve heard about a cane. No one other than Peter Sharpe has said a word about it. Surely if he’d had one on the night of Mr. Gerrard’s murder, it would have been found at St. Clement Dane’s?”
“You can’t be sure it wasn’t. The knife used to murder Mr. Gerrard is of far greater importance than the cane, and it was found next to Mr. Gerrard’s body, covered with his blood. Are you denying Ives regularly carried a knife?”
“Oh no, my lord. He did carry one—a folding penny knife, gifted to him by Mr. Brixton, with a walnut handle and a three-inch blade. Three inches, Lord Gray. Quite a feat, to kill a man with a three-inch blade.”
He gave her a grim smile. “Not if you slit his throat, Miss Monmouth.”
“Sharpe wasn’t carrying a cane today, either,” Sophia muttered, her brow furrowed. “Indeed, I’ve never seen him with one, and I’ve been following him for weeks. It’s difficult to see how he could have subdued a man of Jeremy’s size and strength without it.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Miss Monmouth. You managed to get the upper hand with Mr. Sharpe easily enough. Twice, in fact. Once the other night when you followed him to St. Clement Dane’s, and again today.” His gaze strayed to her bodice, then skittered away again.