Page 95 of Honor Unbound

Marie pulled her hand free from her reticule. She closed her eyes, raised her arm, and a flurry of playing cards exploded into Randall’s face.

I didn’t think. My own reticule had been hanging heavily on my arm for some time. Grabbing its strings, I swung it around my head and brought the silk bag down on Randall’s temple.

He collapsed with satisfying alacrity.

The room was silent for a moment as we all stared at his prone body. I looked at my reticule, then at Marie’s. As fashion accessories went, they had a most satisfying potential to instigate mischief.

Marie rushed into Burton’s arms. After making sure the wound on her neck wasn’t too great, he crushed her to his chest, looking like he’d never let her go.

Marcus blinked up at me. “That was neatly done.”

I pulled the tin from my reticule. The food inside it was disgusting, but I had to admit a can in a reticule made a most efficient weapon. “He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword.” I grimaced. “Or the tin can, as the case may be. Randall didn’t care if this tin killed anyone. It’s only fitting that he dies from it.”

I stared down at Randall’s still limp body. Fitting, but not something I wanted on my conscience.

I grimaced. “I didn’t kill him, though, did I?”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Lady Mary

Ihadn’t killedhim, though I might wish I had if he wasn’t convicted. The trials of Mr. Pierce Randall and Mr. George Platt had become a sensation amongst my fellow Londoners, and perhaps further abroad. Two gruesome murders committed by two fashionable, young men made for a spectacle. The papers seemed especially taken with Randall, writing with breathless admiration of his style and refinement, how he had “dark brooding eyes, yet a face that could lighten to radiance as he spoke.” The papers had even gone so far as to print some bits of poetry and memoirs he wrote in prison.

The poetry was overwrought and the biographical detail showed a man so taken with his own superiority, so jealous of those who had what he thought he deserved, that I had no doubt it was revenge that had motivated his killings, not financial gain.

Randall’s boasts in his memoirs that only he, “a man gifted in genius,” could understand the harsh social structures that unfairly oppressed the needy and uplifted the “egotistical rich,” had left me unsettled. He was mad, of course, but he wasn’t the only one who had prized their own intellect so highly. My vanity had been a match for his. I’d thought myself so clever. Clever enough to disdain assistance in catching a killer. And perhaps that was why I so readily involved myself in these investigations. To flaunt my acumen. To try to prove to myself that I was someone in this world.

Randall and I had both forgotten another bit of wisdom from Sophocles: A man who supposes he alone has intelligence exposes himself and shows his emptiness. Or at least I thought that was a quote from the Greek playwright.

Sir Kelsey set down his plate on my dining table and looked forlornly at the wedge of cake remaining from the wedding breakfast. We had finally celebrated Marie and Burton’s nuptials, and as the magistrate had arrived before the last glass of champagne had been drunk, he’d been invited to partake. Jane slumped in the corner armchair, sleeping. Marie, Burton, Southey, and I sat around the table watching him, expectant.

At least, I was expectant. “Well? Isn’t there something you wish to say to me?”

“Ah, yes.” Sir Kelsey gave me a tight smile. “Platt admitted to breaking into Mr. Hicks’s home, looking for that lost tin. His barrister is using that as evidence that Platt didn’t want to kill the manager, only hoped to steal back the incriminating evidence. He is trying to pin all the blame for the killings on Randall.”

“I don’t think that being so weak willed as to follow your friend into murder should be a defense,” Burton said.

“Nor will the judge,” Sir Kelsey agreed.

“Did either of the men admit to following me and Marie that day Marie was attacked?” Burton’s forehead creased.

“No,” Sir Kelsey said. “We did find a brown coat in Mr. Hicks’s wardrobe, but they are not uncommon.”

Who Burton had chased that day was probably something we would never know for certain. My guess was Hicks heard them asking questions at his house and decided to see what they were up to.

“Interesting as that is, isn’t there something else you wished to say to me?” I kept my gaze on the magistrate’s face.

Sir Kelsey ran his fingers through his dark-brown hair. He cleared his throat. “I came to give you my thanks, Lady Mary. Your assistance was appreciated.”

Appreciated? How about invaluable? Impressive? I drummed my fingers on the table. “No, I believe there was something more I was due.” My realization about the dangers of my vanity was still in the forefront of my mind. I just thought I’d do Sir Kelsey the courtesy of exposing the dangers of his own vanity to him, as well.

He heaved a sigh. “If you are referring to our wager—”

“I am.”

Marie snorted, then hid her face in her champagne glass.

The magistrate didn’t spare her a look, his pained look all for me. Rising, he pulled a folded paper from his inner pocket and passed it to me. “Lady Mary. I most humbly apologize for ever doubting your acuity or determination. I am sure you would make a most advantageous addition to your nephew’s inquiry agency.”