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Lewis curled his fingers on his thighs, the tips digging into the muscle. “You are right about the rumors. And he’s fueled them by offering a reward to any runner who can prove the woman’s guilt by next Christmas.”
“Which is when she will turn thirty.” Mark returned to his chair by the fire. “Rotter.”
Lewis glanced at Mark but remained focused on Matthew. “And the new countess has been spreading the word that when she moved into the bedchamber at the estate, she found a small box of white powder—”
“Has this powder been tested?”
“Well, no one else seems to have seen it, except the current countess.”
Mark snorted.
“But there is something else.”
“Go on.”
“Dr. Havers, the doctor who attended the death and tended to Lady Crewood’s burns, retired shortly after the earl died and moved to Greece.”
“Which is notable because...”
“The new earl is claiming that Lady Crewood’s father paid the man. Bribed him to close the investigation and declare the poisoning uncertain, the death accidental, and the lady innocent.”
“And no one can find Dr. Havers.”
“No one has so far. I have written to the house where he is supposed to be living, but have received no response. And Montague is also dead.”
“Have you turned up anything else so far?”
“No, sir. Just the missing doctor and the... imaginary box.”
Matthew leaned back and released a long breath. “Why in hell’s name can people not be honest?”
“Fifty thousand quid.” Mark refolded his paper and chucked it into the fireplace.
Lewis looked confused. “I beg your pardon.”
“How much reward did Crewood offer?”
“Two hundred pounds.”
Mark jerked to his feet and turned to face the fire. “That white-livered devil.”
“I will offer six hundred, Mr. Lewis, if you prove her innocence.”
Lewis’s eyes shot wide. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Matthew stood, forcing the runner to do the same. “Not to every runner on Bow Street. Just you. Lady Crewood is innocent, no matter what anyone says to the contrary. You bring proof to that effect, and I will pay you fifty pounds every month for the next year.”
“Uh, Your Grace—”
“This is not like that supposed bribe to Dr. Havers. I am not asking you to alter evidence or lie. You find evidence of her guilt, then the earl will pay. You find evidence of her innocence, and I will. Consider it an incentive. A reward. For actual proof. Not hearsay or imaginary boxes of powder. Proof. You understand?”
Lewis shot a glance at Stephens, who now stood in the door of the room, holding the runner’s bowler. “Yes, Your Grace. I do.”
“And next time, Lewis, make a damn appointment.”
“Yes, sir.”
The runner left, hat in hand, and Matthew sank back to the chair with a sudden weariness.
