A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,72
often evidence that is overlooked. Our constables and our bellmen, good men though they may be, are given these positions because they’ve proved themselves capable of banging together the heads of drunken men. They know how to keep men from tearing each other apart in pub brawls. They know how to stop a bread riot.” He shook his head. “For God’s sake, they know how to keep watch, tell time, and shout a report at the hour. But what do they know of evidence? What do they really know of the law? Read enough legal testimony and it’s obvious how many things are overlooked.”
Lucy was not to be deterred. “And the other eye portrait? I know it was not of Bessie. ’Twas not the shape of her face. Whose eye was it?”
“Alas, I do not know. I found that miniature, too.”
Awfully convenient, she thought, but did not dare say. Reading her doubt, he added, “I did find them. The first, I found on the street in front of our home, believe it or not. I still do not know to whom it belongs.”
“On the street? In front of our home?” she repeated. “That would mean”—she broke off, a sickening thought coming to her.
“That this monster may have passed you in the street? That you may have seen him?” He ran his hand through his hair. “That he may have seen you? Believe me. I’ve thought all these things.” He turned away then, not seeing her shiver. He went on. “So I too have been suspicious of Del Gado, knowing that this form of expression is peculiar to his hand. Even before that swaggard Richard showed us those sketches of Bessie, I knew enough of that dastardly painter to know that he usually ends up bedding his models. Forgive me the coarseness.” He sighed in frustration.
“Yet, I’m sorry, Lucy, but I don’t think the painter had any reason to kill Bessie. Unfortunately, he lacks motive.”
“But he—” She paused, grasping for the right word. “He seduced her! You said so yourself.”
A muscle twitched in Adam’s face. For a moment he seemed amused, which renewed her earlier anger. How could she ever have thought he was kind or compassionate? Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink, but she continued breathlessly, her words tumbling out as she tried to make him understand.
“Don’t you see? Perhaps it was he who got her with child! She had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn to, maybe she threatened to expose him for the”—again she paused, trying to find the worst words she knew—“for the dung beetle cad that he is!”
She imagined the scene. It all fit perfectly, yet Adam was shaking his head.
“I know, Lucy, I know Bessie was a good girl and he took that from her, but the jury won’t see that. Perhaps if there were ever women on the jury! If you will forgive me for speaking so bluntly of your friend, the jurors will just see her as a fulsome wench, ripe for the plucking. Surely, they will see her transgression as her own folly. Indeed, we know him to be a philandering cad. The plight of a serving girl who has been taken in by the gentry is of little consequence.”
Adam’s words shocked her. “That’s not fair!”
“No, Lucy, it isn’t. After all,” he said, pacing around the room, studiously avoiding her stare, “what is a serving girl to anyone in the privileged ranks? Indeed, it was foolish for her to have believed he would marry her; society would never condone such a match.” He held up his hand at Lucy’s hiss. “There’s no denying Del Gado’s of noble blood, though I daresay there’s nothing noble about him. The reputation and standing of his family make him still notable in society, even though he’s no doubt run through his inheritance and seems to laugh off his title. Indeed, for him, such an attachment would be a laugh, as he is unlikely to settle down with one girl when so many throw themselves before him for the taking.”
Tossing some kindling on the fire, he continued. “Indeed, I am sorry to say that a rake like him might well see his reputation bolstered by his philandering. His art will only become more fascinating and sought after by foolish women with indulgent husbands.” He stirred the fire with a poker. “And Bessie, little twit she could be, how would she not know this! She could not have expected marriage! There was nothing she could do