Page 68 of The Case of the Curate

“Then—”

Rupert rose to his feet. “If I might speak for this man, sir?”

“Oh, very well,” Remington said crossly. “But please be brief.”

“I shall. This man is known to me. Sergeant Salter of the 95th Rifle Regiment, whom I first met just after the Battle of Waterloo—where, as you see, he was severely injured. I know for a fact his army record is exemplary, and that he is one of the heroes without whom there would have been no victory on that day, or on many previous days.”

“The charge is one of drunkenness and disorderly behavior,” Remington snapped. “To which the accused has already pleaded guilty.”

“I don’t dispute his guilt. I ask only for understanding and leniency in his sentencing—since he has hardly been shown any in his welcome home to the country he served through seven arduous years of war. Sir, after sacrificing so much, and returning to no work, no home, and no help, is it so surprising that he slipped into the comfort of a little too much ale?”

Rupert turned his head and gazed at Lord Chadbon. “Should something not be done for these men who gave so much for so little acknowledgment?”

Chadbon met his gaze. The champion of the returning soldiers bill, who had made at least one speech in Parliament on the subject, even before Waterloo, had an opportunity to do something practical in the cause. And keep Rupert sweet at the same time.

He cleared his throat. “I believe, on the character provided by Mr. Grande, I can vouch for the sergeant and humbly petition your honor toward leniency.”

Remington growled deep in his throat. “Fined a shilling and dismissed.”

Rupert dug out the last few coins in his pocket and walked up to place them on the desk. Remington regarded him uneasily.

“One question for now,” Rupert said. “The night that Dinah died, I believe you were returning from a dinner engagement when His Lordship’s messenger found you. Did you encounter anyone else on the road?”

The magistrate’s jaw slackened with fresh astonishment. “No. No, I saw no one else.”

Which made it less likely that either Kit Carver or his jealous betrothed had been anywhere near Chadbon Court that night. The culprit had to be someone in the house.

“Actually, two questions. Dinah owned a silver necklace, a little figurine of a dancer on a chain. Was it found on her body?” A wave of fresh grief surged through Rupert, shaking him all over again. Even the words “her body” seemed obscene.

Remington closed his mouth, utterly baffled now. “No. Nothing like that, according to Dr. Paxton.”

Rupert turned away and found Salter grinning at him.

“Did I get off?”

“We both got off,” Rupert replied. “And I’m going to need your help.”

*

Rupert found himself swept out of the magistrate’s house by the front door, which was, after all, how he had entered it three days ago. Lord Chadbon actually took his arm in a friendly fashion, and Rupert, who rarely bore grudges, did not object.

The manservant who showed them out even presented Rupert with his hat, which he recognized with surprised pleasure. Then he stepped out into the damp, sweet-smelling air and breathed in, sparing a moment to appreciate the vast sky and the beauty of the gardens and the countryside beyond.

Thank you, God. And Kate.

His stomach tightened.

“I’m so sorry for this misunderstanding,” Chadbon said easily. “I hope you understand.”

“I do. A terrible crime has been committed, and the culprit must be found.” Rupert glanced beyond Chadbon to Kate, who was walking on his other side, her eyes on the waiting carriage. “What happened to Lady Ambrose?”

She turned at that. “Oh, I had not been feeling too well that evening and went out to take a little air before retiring. I took a lantern, of course, for it was very dark under all those clouds. And fortunately, it was the lantern that was shot instead of me.”

Rupert, having caught her gaze, held on to it. She was smudging the truth. “Was his aim to prevent your seeing him, do you think? Or was the shot meant for you?”

“Hard to tell,” she said vaguely, increasing her pace to the carriage.

“Grande, allow me to drop you at the vicarage,” Chadbon offered. “I know Bancroft will be delighted to see you back…”