A Death Along the River Fleet (34 page)

“What madness you speak!” Harlan Boteler said, with an attempt at a hearty laugh. “'Tis no wonder you were caught by Old Tom.”

But no one else laughed. Lucy noticed that Hank stood in front of the door, as if to bar anyone from leaving.

“Well, if she ended up at the sorry place, then it is only because someone must have found her after she wandered off,” Mr. Boteler continued, trying to maintain his bluster.

“That is what you wanted people to believe,” Duncan said. “Why did you send your niece to Bedlam, Mr. Boteler?”

Harlan Boteler, growing slack-jawed, seemed at a loss for words.

Lady Belasysse turned toward her brother. “You left my daughter there in Bedlam? Harlan, why ever did you do such a terrible thing?”

“I d-did not,” he began, but Lady Belasysse would not be deterred.

“Most certainly, you did! Where else could she have been?” she said, her voice taking on a distinct chill. “Did my husband know? Did John tell you to do this?”

Mr. Boteler had started to sweat noticeably. “I did place her in Bedlam,” he conceded. “But you were at your wit's end, do you not recall? You feared her sickness would damage the family reputation, and the political careers of her father and brother! You told me that there was nothing more you could do for her. You begged me to take care of her. So I did!”

Lady Belasysse faltered. “No, that is not so.” She looked at her daughter. “Octavia, do not believe him!”

“Oh, Mother!” Miss Belasysse exclaimed. “Surely you do not expect me to believe that you knew nothing of this arrangement.” She sniffed. “Have I not been a source of shame to you, my whole life? Particularly when no suitor stepped forward to marry me?” Her eyes flitted toward Mr. Sheridan, who shuffled his feet and looked away.

“Nonetheless, it is so,” her mother replied stiffly.

“Are you claiming, sir,” the constable said to Mr. Boteler, “that Lady Belasysse believed that the family's reputation would be more besmirched by her daughter's unfortunate sickness than by her son's involvement in a murder?”

Mr. Boteler's features hardened. “Henry Belasysse was pardoned for that mishap, as you recall. It is clear,
Constable,
that you know nothing of the importance of preserving a family name, or about how marriages are contracted among your betters.”

Duncan did not reply, but his jaw tightened noticeably.

Miss Belasysse's eyes narrowed. “How marriages are contracted, an interesting notion.” She looked at Susan Belasysse. “Shall we talk a little bit about
your
marriage, Susan? About the vows you made to my brother? About how you broke those vows, with my dear uncle?”

Susan Belasysse cowered as everyone turned to look at her.

“What was the real reason you had Miss Belasysse locked away in Bedlam?” Lucy asked, turning back to Mr. Boteler. “She knew of your affair with your nephew's wife, did she not?”

“I did!” Miss Belasysse jumped in before her uncle could protest. “I saw them together! I did not wish to speak of it, for I did not wish my brother to be labeled a cuckold! To have his masculinity questioned by those who would work with him.” She turned to Susan. “Oh, how I despised you!”

“And I despised being in my marriage!” Susan Belasysse shouted back at her. “Do you think I did not know that he only married me for my money? That everyone whispered about me? That he was breaking our marriage vows as frequently as I was?”

“Susan!” Mr. Boteler hissed at her. “For once in your life, be quiet!”

“Oh, Harlan! We can be together now, can you not see that?” she said, moving to put her arms around him. “We will have to wait until my mourning period has passed, of course, but—”

“Enough of your foolishness!” Harlan said.

“But you said…” Her voice trailed off, and her face crumpled.

Something clicked for Lucy then. She turned to Miss Belasysse. “Do you wonder how your brother came to be killed?” she asked.

“I know what happened.” Miss Belasysse sniffed. “I saw the blackheart Browning from Bedlam slay my brother.”

“Why would Mr. Browning do that?” Lucy pressed. “It is one thing to go after a man, and quite another to murder him. Was he so aggrieved by your brother, do you suppose?”

“Why, I do not think so. Although I think he tried to blackmail my brother. Perhaps when my brother did not pay?”

“No, why would he? Perhaps, though, there was someone else who wished your brother dead,” Lucy said. “Maybe he had something that someone else wanted.” She looked meaningfully at Mr. Boteler and Susan Belasysse.

Miss Belasysse's eyes widened, and she looked toward her uncle. “Did you have my brother killed?” She swallowed. “So that you could marry your rich mistress?”

“I will not stand for such impertinence!” Mr. Boteler shouted, raising his hand to slap his niece. “Henry Belasysse got what he deserved!”

Duncan stepped in between them then, and in a neat move, knocked the man to the floor. “Shall I take that as an admission of guilt?” he asked.

Sagging against the wall, Mr. Boteler said, “I did everything for Henry! Everything! After he and Lord Buckhurst killed that tanner, it was I who told them to finish another bottle of wine each. I knew if those feckless fools were intoxicated enough when the authorities were called in, it would pave the way for a lighter sentence. The king himself pardoned them!” He waved his arms wildly.

“Oh, Brother,” Lady Belasysse said, “do stop talking.”

He ignored his sister and continued, his face growing redder and redder as the emotions came to a boil. “Later, I was the one who arranged for Henry to marry a wealthy heiress—this insipid girl—so that he had the means to cultivate men in power. He was appointed to Parliament, for God's sake!” He thumped his fist on the table. “I made that happen!

“All I wanted from him was a bit of money of my own to attend to my wants and needs. Was that so much to ask?” Mr. Boteler looked around at them. “But he did not want to pay me anything. ‘Oh, Uncle,' he would say. ‘You must mind your gambling habit. Your debts are not mine to pay.' But my debts
were
his debts, how could he not understand that? So I decided to find a way to access that lovely flow of money for myself.”

“Susan began to pay your debts,” Miss Belasysse said, curling her lip in disdain. “After you began an affair with her. I remember when I first saw you embracing her.”

“I knew if you told anyone, you would ruin us all,” Mr. Boteler replied. “I did not wish to kill you; I just needed you to be kept somewhere safe. Where you would never tell anyone what you had witnessed.”

No one spoke. Everyone except Susan Belasysse stared back at him with similarly shocked expressions. Finally, Miss Belasysse regained her voice. “That day, in London. How did you get me to Bedlam? No one ever knew who brought me.”

Mr. Boteler laughed without mirth. “It was easy enough. We flashed a mirror in your eyes, and you went readily into a fit. We knew from experience that you nearly always forgot everything that happened directly beforehand. We loaded you into the back of a cart, and I paid the driver to take you to Bedlam. The keeper was expecting you, along with a hefty payment.”

“So there was no drowned woman?” Lady Belasysse asked. “No priest? No mistaken identity?”

“No, Sister,” he admitted. “None of that story was true. I thought it would be more palatable for you if you believed that your daughter had simply succumbed to a quick end.” Then, more annoyed, he added, “I did not realize that the Bedlam keepers would be so incompetent as to let her escape. When I first caught wind of her notes, I told them they had to do a better job of reining her in. Then, when I heard Henry was going after her, I told the keepers to let them go, but to follow them.”

“You wanted him to be killed!” Miss Belasysse cried.

“Yes! And you as well! But you escaped, all the worse for me. When I realized you had lost your memory, I thought we still had a chance to keep you alive.”

“Thank you very much,” Miss Belasysse said, crossing her arms.

“That is why the keeper did not hurt you,” Lucy realized. “He was trying to bring you back. Since you had no memory, he thought it would be easy enough. You were still worth a lot to them, a wealthy Belasysse as an inmate in Bedlam.”

“And I assume
you
paid for it all?” Lady Belasysse said to Susan, who nodded.

“Were you truly going to marry her?” Miss Belasysse asked Mr. Boteler. “Your own nephew's wife?”

“Marry a wealthy widow, why not?” He snorted. “So long as I did not have to look at her, it seemed a pleasing enough arrangement.”

Harlan sat down then and put his face heavily into his hands. Susan Belasysse moved toward him, and he pushed her away. She sat back down, stunned.

“What a fool you were!” Miss Belasysse said, staring down at her sister-in-law.

“You never thought I was good enough for Henry,” Susan Belasysse sobbed, the words coming out in short heaving bursts.

“And so you were not,” Lady Belasysse said. “You are my brother's whore. Except that you were too stupid to know that whores do not pay—they
get
paid.” She turned away, ignoring everyone's open jaws at her pronouncement. “I am ready to take my leave. There is nothing of interest to me here.”

Constable Duncan stepped forward then, gesturing to Hank. “Mr. Harlan Boteler, I do hereby arrest you for the murder of Henry Belasysse, who was killed on the evening of March 30, the year of our Lord 1667, at the site of the Cattle Bell Inn.”

Pulling out a length of twine that he kept tied to his belt, Hank began to tie up Mr. Boteler's hands, with hard strong pulls.

Constable Duncan turned to Miss Belasysse. “I am afraid, miss, that I must arrest you for the attempted murder of Alistair Browning, assistant keeper of Bedlam.” Constable Duncan paused. “At the moment, I must go after Mr. Quade, to discover his involvement in the crime.”

Mr. Sheridan's sallow face looked more pinched than usual. “You cannot possibly be arresting her. It was the apothecary who killed that man, I am sure of it!”

“Dear James,” Miss Belasysse said, touching his cheek. “It is all right. I should be punished for the part I played.”

“I will ask you to come to the jail in the morning.” Duncan gave them all a warning look. “Do not even think of leaving before then.”

“We will watch over her,” Dr. Larimer promised.

Miss Belasysse suddenly looked weary. Her voice cracking, the weight of the melancholy evident in every syllable, she asked, “And where would I go?” She sank into a chair. “Where would I go?”

 

27

“Have a care,” Dr. Larimer said to Miss Belasysse the next morning, as she stumbled in the street. He and Lucy were on either side of her as they walked toward Duncan's jail.

When they arrived, Constable Duncan nodded, relief evident in his eyes. “Thank you for escorting Miss Belasysse here.” He shook his head. “If it were up to me, I would have placed her under house arrest, in your care, until her trial. But the Lord Mayor is convinced that she might attempt to leave. The Belasysses
do
have great resources at their disposal, so there is sufficient concern she could be spirited away.” He looked at them apologetically. “I will not send you to the larger prison, as I did Mr. Boteler. Hank and I will look after you ourselves.”

“Is Mr. Quade here?” Miss Belasysse asked eagerly, looking about. “Jonathan?” she called into the jail.

“Did he confess to the murder of the assistant keeper of Bedlam?” Lucy asked. “Did he say why he did it?”

Duncan rubbed at his chin wearily. He looked as if he had not slept all night.

“No, he has not yet admitted his guilt. In fact, he has refused to answer any of my questions.”

Hearing this, Miss Belasysse pushed past them both to where the apothecary was being held, his hands on the iron gate. “Oh, Jonathan!” she exclaimed.

“Octavia, why are you here?” he asked, perturbed. “I did not want you to see me here!”

“The constable has arrested me for murder.”

“What! That is preposterous!” He shook the bars. “She did not kill that man! I did!”

“But you do not have cuts on your hands, and she does!” Duncan replied.

“I was wearing gloves.” He began to breathe heavily. “Please, she did nothing except be imprisoned against her will for ten months in Bedlam. I was trying to make sure that she was all right.” He looked from one face to the next. “I admit it! Do you hear me? I admit to killing him!”

Duncan straightened up, and his next words were stern. “Why do you not tell us from the beginning?”

The man's face softened when he looked at Miss Belasysse. “I remember the day you were brought to us. I was worried from the start. You were so delicate, so fragile, like a gentle bird. I gave you an amulet the first time we met, with the hopes it would protect you from harm. It was a special one I had picked up, during my travels in France.”

Her hands flew to her chest, grasping the amulet. “I remember when you gave it to me. So lovely, you said. You had filled it with roses, if I recall.”

“Yes. Later I filled it with rosemary, when I realized how regularly you lost your memory due to the falling sickness,” the apothecary replied. “I would do anything for you. That night—”

“Hush, Jonathan,” she said, glancing around at the others. “Do not speak.”

“I must speak. I must tell you what happened,” he said, gripping her hands through the bars. “I heard the keeper telling Mr. Browning to go after you. After so many months, watching the vile way he treated you, I could not bear it if you were brought back. I knew you had to be free. I had hoped, when your brother took you away, that you would be able to live an unfettered life.”