Dark Angel (Gentlemen of the Order 4)

“Did he swing by the neck?” Mr Manning asked eagerly.

“No. I did not report the crime.”

“Why?”

Questions filled Beatrice’s mind. Where was this devil of a husband? How had Miss Trimble survived? But the overwhelming need to protect her from this gruesome fiend gave Beatrice a burst of courage.

“She has answered two questions in a row, sir. I imagine you’re a man who keeps his word, and so do me the courtesy of answering mine.”

Mr Manning kept his gaze fixed on Miss Trimble.

A little panicked, Beatrice said, “Do you not wish to see terror swimming in my eyes, sir?”

The man shook himself from his trance. “Oh, I’ll save that for the next time we meet, Miss Watson.”

His comment was like icy fingers to her spine. But she had come too far to be intimidated now. “When my father came to see you, was he acting on behalf of Alessandro D’Angelo?”

Doubts crept into her mind as soon as she’d spoken. Dante would know if his father had debts, and a wealthy man had no need to borrow from a moneylender. Could it be Mr Coulter, then? Was Henry Watson acting on behalf of his client’s brother?

“No.” He laughed. “You’ve one more question, then it’s time for my nap.”

Drat. She had wasted one asking about Alessandro and had revealed another name in the process.

“Whose case was my father pleading?”

“Whose case, you say? Why, that would be a whipster. A fox hiding in the warren.” Mr Manning jerked his head at the guards. “I’m done here. I ain’t saying no more.”

“No! Wait!”

They stomped forward, gripped his arms, ready to haul him back to his cell.

“I need his name.”

Mr Manning glanced over his shoulder as the turnkeys helped him shuffle towards the solid iron door. “I’ll tell you that when I’m out of this hole.”

The reverend waited until the villain was out of earshot before hurrying forward. “You gave him too much information. Did I not caution you about mentioning names and places? I shall have to report it to the Keeper.”

“It’s of no consequence now.” She would just have to pray Mr Manning dangled from the scaffold sometime soon. “But do what you must.”

The reverend continued muttering his concern while escorting them to the entrance, but all Beatrice could think about was being free of the stinking place, taking Miss Trimble home, making her tea and offering to listen to her harrowing tale.

“Sir Malcolm requested a rough transcript of the meeting,” the reverend revealed. “And I shall ensure you’re kept abreast of proceedings here.”

He meant he would clang the death knell if Mr Manning were released.

Beatrice thanked him, let him bless her soul and recite a passage about courage from the scriptures. No doubt she would be in his prayers tonight.

Miss Trimble glanced up and down Old Bailey Street. “Where is Mr Bower with the carriage?”

The reverend followed her gaze. “A constable will have moved him along, Miss Trimble. I suspect he’s parked on Newgate Street.”

They bid the reverend good day. Beatrice snuggled into her pelisse and walked with Miss Trimble towards Newgate Street. Neither spoke. Her horrific experiences clearly occupied the poor woman’s mind, whereas Beatrice desperately tried to overcome her disappointment at not securing a name.

“You didn’t need to answer his questions,” she said.

Miss Trimble sighed. “No. But it felt liberating to say it aloud. Though I do not wish to discuss it further and must insist we tell Mr Daventry I invented the tale.”

Beatrice did not wish to pry. “Of course.”