The earl kept his distance, allowing her a private exchange with the prisoner before they began their questioning. Charlotte hadn’t yet clarified her relationship to Locke, and much as he was curious, he wasn’t going to ask.
He didn’t hear what she said, but Locke seemed to shake off his lethargy. His gaze became more alert.
“Come join us, sir.” Her brusque wave indicated the lone stool set near the sliver of window.
As Wrexford shoved it closer to the cot and took a seat, Charlotte added, “I assume I have you to thank for the amenities. Be assured I shall pay you back.”
Ah, so she did know the sordid details of Newgate. Prisoners had to pay through the nose for even the barest necessities, otherwise they slept on the cold stone, half-starved and surrounded by their own filth. For those without money, incarceration could be a death sentence in itself.
“The wheels of graft move slowly at first.” Wrexford gave a sardonic smile. “By evening, Mr. Locke will have better furnishings, along with decent food and drink.” A pause. “We shall settle up accounts after he’s released, but for now, let’s not waste our breath on such trivialities.”
Charlotte nodded. Steeling her features, she looked back at Locke. “We can’t afford to shilly-shally, Nicky, and in order to help you, I must know the truth, however grim. So I must ask you straightaway—did you kill Cedric?”
“God in heaven, no!” His face crumpled in anguish. “As if I could ever do such a horrific thing! C-C-Cedric was my best friend.”
And yet, in a moment of mad rage, thought Wrexford, love could turn to murderous hate. Life was littered with the ugly proof of it. Charlotte knew that as well as he did. Whether she could put aside her emotions remained to be seen. Whatever her connection to Locke, it was clearly a close one.
“How do you explain the bloody knife and bits of flesh found in your rooms?” he demanded, assuming the role of the devil’s advocate to spare Charlotte from having to ask such painful questions.
“I can’t,” replied Nicholas helplessly. “I’ve no idea how they got there.”
“You’ll need a better answer than that if you wish to save your neck,” he shot back. “The evidence is damning. And you have a compelling motive. With your brother dead, a title and fortune are suddenly yours.”
Nicholas’s face, already ashen, turned bloodless. “I’ve all the money I need! Cedric is—was—exceedingly generous. As for the title, it means nothing to me. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.” He sucked in a shallow breath. “The fact is, Cedric had the better temperament for all the responsibilities, and we both knew it.”
Charlotte placed a hand on his thigh. “That may be, Nicky, but the Runner investigating the murder has statements from several members of the Royal Institution saying some very emotional arguments had taken place between you and Cedric recently. And one of the porters at Kensington Palace overheard a very ugly exchange as you were leaving the Duke’s soiree.”
“Yes, Cedric and I had the occasional disagreement,” exclaimed Nicholas. “What brothers don’t?”
“This one went far beyond a brotherly brangle. You were heard ranting about the unfairness of Cedric getting everything, simply by virtue of being born a few minutes before you were,” said Wrexford. “Fate played a cruel jest on you. The question is whether you sought to repay the favor.”
“We never quarreled over the inheritance,” insisted Nicholas. “I was drunk, and in a foul mood about . . . other things. Cedric was generous, and kind, and . . .” Taking his head in his hands, he choked back a sob. “And I—I c-can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Alcohol and anger are a volatile mix,” pointed out the earl. “Perhaps you simply lost control—”
“I didn’t kill him!” Nicholas’s whole body began to tremble uncontrollably. He looked at Charlotte, tears running down his cheeks. “I swear by all that is holy, I’m innocent, Charley.”
“Then we must prove it,” she replied softly.
By now, Charlotte’s hell-bent idealism shouldn’t surprise him, reflected Wrexford. When roused by injustice, she would charge headlong into hellhole conundrums, where even the most avenging of angels should fear to tread. No matter what demons lay in wait.
He must have made an exasperated sound, for she turned to spear him with a scowl.
Thinning his lips, Wrexford held his doubts in check.
Charlotte looked back to Nicholas. “But to do so, Nicky, you must be entirely forthcoming with me.” Her voice hardening, she went on, “I need to know everything—everything—that might give a clue on who might have had a motive to murder Cedric. Do you understand? Holding anything back, no matter how embarrassing or unpleasant, puts your own life in jeopardy.”
“I . . . I’m not sure w-what to say,” rasped Nicholas. “We all know how innocent exchanges can be twisted to look incriminating.” He suddenly looked ill. “Oh, Lord, I suppose I’ll be painted a ravening monster by A. J. Quill’s satirical pen.”
“Never mind Quill,” said Charlotte. “Satire may cut at your pride, but it’s hard evidence that will send you to the gallows. Right now, the authorities have items that incriminate you in Cedric’s murder. Unless I can find the real culprit, you will hang.”
“But how can you possibly find—” began Nicholas.
“Leave that to us,” snapped Wrexford. “You heard Mrs. Sloane. You had better start focusing what wits you possess on coming up with some possible suspects or motives, no matter how unlikely.”
Nicholas nodded, looking miserable and frightened. “I-I will try to wrack my brain.”
“You had damn well better,” said Wrexford. Their time was nearly up, and he doubted the warden was the sort of fellow who gave away anything for free. “Think! There must be something you can give us now,” he pressed. “No one is a saint. Cedric must have had some enemies.”
Shoulders slumping, Nicholas shifted uncomfortably.
“Nicky!” Charlotte grabbed hold of his open shirtfront and gave him a hard shake.
“Come, let’s not waste any more of our time,” snarled Wrexford in disgust. “Clearly, Mr. Locke would rather keep his delicate sensibilities intact instead of his neck.”
“It’s probably nothing,” mumbled Nicholas as the earl rose, “but a few weeks after Cedric and I arrived in London, we were invited to join the Eos Society.”
CHAPTER 4
Eos. The name hung for a moment in the foul-scented air.
Rosy-fingered Dawn, a favorite deity of Homer, thought Charlotte, recalling The Iliad and The Odyssey. The mother of the Morning Star, Eos opened the gates of heaven to allow the Sun to rise.
Would that she could bring a sliver of light to this pit of darkness.
“The Greek goddess of Dawn,” mused Wrexford, echoing her thoughts. “I take it that the name implies that it is a group dedicated to seeing the world in a grand new light.”
“Yes,” answered Nicholas. “The members are all interested in stimulating an interchange of new ideas for the new world taking shape around us.” He sounded somewhat defensive. “We talk about a wide range of subjects—science, social reform, and how radical thinking is necessary to effect change.”