A Matter of Principle (37 page)

Questions to Beckermann were safe, uncontroversial, boring. Not so when Nicolas took the podium. He was immediately accosted.

“
No, I am not the father of Mrs. Kensington’s child.”

“
Yes, I am absolutely certain. Mrs. Kensington and I have never been together in that way.”

“
Mrs. Kensington has not spent time in my home when my wife was called away. That is a fabrication.”

“
Yes, she somewhat resembles her sister. My wife died in 1813.”

“
I married my current wife in January of 1820.”

“
I never asked Mrs. Kensington to marry me.”

“
No.”

“
I don’t know why.”

“
She is trying to claim half of her brother’s estate.”

“
She is married to a wealthy gentleman by the name of Sir Ezra Warpold Kensington.”

“
I don’t have any idea.”

“
My beautiful wife is here by my side.” A gesture to his left. A confident smile and nod from Sydney.

“
Yes, she is training a slave to act as midwife for other Negro women.”

“
Yes, she experienced an unfortunate loss.”

A pause. “Yes, we were attacked and both men were killed.”

“
Our first apartment in St. Louis was set ablaze.”

“
The ridiculous charge of witchcraft was brought by the other midwife in Cheltenham.”

“
At least ten years. She attended my first wife.”

“
Yes, she died after that birth.”

“
Revenge? I had not considered it.”

A sigh of relief. “Yes, I believe strongly that slaves, once set free, should not be allowed to be re-enslaved.”

“
Well, throughout the continent, but I expect to only have influence in the state of Missouri.”

Scattered laughter. Back to policies and relevant issues. Solid footing.

And finally, Vincent. “Are there any last words, gentlemen?”

“
Mistress Hansen?” called a voice from the back of the room. “What have you to say about that woman’s claims?”

Nicolas’s head swiveled to Sydney. She rose, and walked to his side as calmly as though addressing large crowds of antagonistic voters were an everyday occurrence for her. Her eyes sparkled beneath black lashes like the emerald gemstones their color recalled.

She lifted her chin, garnet earrings and pendant framing her slender neck. Her waist, narrowed by corset and laces, was almost small enough for him to encircle with his hands. His ardor stirred again.
Skitt.

“
Thank you for asking, sir,” she began. Her voice was clear and strong, loud enough to carry, but not unseemly. “I am acquainted with Lady Kensington. I am also acquainted, rather intimately, with Nicolas Hansen.” More scattered laughter. “I can tell you with complete certainty, that my husband has no need to seek the company of any other woman.”

“
Are you sure about that?” another voice challenged.

Sydney stared in that direction. A smile grew on her countenance. Slow. Steady.
Knowing.

“
Complete certainty,” she answered softly. “No need.” She paused. “
Any
other woman.” And then, “At all.”

The room was still. Silent while they absorbed her meaning.

Then there was deafening applause. Nicolas wrapped his arm around her waist and grinned.



Vincent was inordinately pleased with how the evening had gone, and he told Nicolas so.

“
And how is your evening progressing?” Nicolas asked as they refilled punch cups.

“
I have managed to avoid any more conversation with Miss Horne,” Vincent said glancing over his shoulder. “And have made the acquaintance of a dignified lady by the name of Amelia Paxton.”

“
Oh?” Nicolas lifted two crystal cups. “Is it she?” He nodded toward a woman with red hair and a pale pink gown with a scalloped skirt of layered organdy.

“
Yes,” Vincent answered. “She is quite interesting. Not your typical void-headed window display. She actually understands politics and holds an interest.”

“
Good luck with her, then!” Nicolas smiled. “And I release you for the remainder of the night.”

Vincent’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thank you, sir!”

As he walked away, Nicolas looked for Leif. He found the boy by one of the doors, leaning against the wall, eating a pastry. Leif met his gaze, and he winked. Nicolas nodded in response.

“
Thank you.” Sydney took the punch cup from Nicolas and drank it rather quickly. “I was so thirsty!”

“
Would you care for more?”

She set the cup on a nearby tray. “In a bit. Let’s dance.”



The evening was drawing to a close. Many had drifted away, after congratulating Nicolas on his handling of the night’s inquisition. As Nicolas and Sydney said their goodbyes to the Reverend and Mistress Gattenby, Leif approached. Nicolas glanced at him, and then returned his attention to the Reverend.

“
It was my pleasure as well. Safe journey,” he said. Leif came right up next to him.

“
We shall, Mister Hansen. Mistress Hansen.” With a puzzled look at the teen, the Reverend and his wife turned to leave.

Leif tugged at Nicolas’s sleeve. “Come, Sir. Now.” His brown eyes were intent with worry. “Please.”

Nicolas turned to Sydney.

“
Go ahead,” she urged. “I shall wait here until you return.”

Nicolas followed Leif from the ballroom and upstairs to a long hallway. Candles cast unsteady shadows on the wallpaper, making its silk-screened images seem alive.

“
What is it?” he whispered once they were alone.

“
I think Vincent is in trouble.” Leif pointed at a door that looked like all the other doors.

Nicolas leaned close to listen, but jumped back when something—or someone—hit the panels from the inside. He tried the handle, but the door was locked. He pounded with his fist.

More scuffling and muffled curses. The door jerked open and Vincent, disheveled and with one eye swelling shut, stood in the frame.

“
Mister Hansen! Oh, God!” He looked back over his shoulder. “Things are not as they might appear, sir!”

Nicolas pushed into the room. “What’s going on?
You?
”

Rodger Merrick stood panting on the other side of the room. His similarly battered face was painted like a woman’s, a red-hued wig lay on the floor by the bed, and the dress he wore was ripped down the front.
Dress?

“
What’s happened here?” Nicolas thundered. Leif followed him into the room and closed the door.

“
This, this sodomite tried to seduce me!” Vincent pointed at Rodger. “And when I assured him that I have no interest in such despicable activity, he grew belligerent and attacked me!”

Nicolas shifted his gaze to Rodger. The man stood straight, silent, defiant. Nicolas turned back to his secretary.

“
I have no reason to doubt your story, Vincent, and every reason to believe it. Leif, will you see that Mister Barr receives treatment for his eye?”

“
Yes, Sir.” He tugged on Vincent’s sleeve. “Come with me, sir. We’ll go to the kitchen and get a beefsteak for you to put on that.”

Vincent stalked from the room, shoulders back and head high. Leif pulled the door firmly shut. Nicolas folded his hands behind his back and circled the unmoving Rodger.

“
Are you going to kill me?” he rasped.

Nicolas stopped. “Whatever I am, I am not a murderer.”

“
No?” Rodger challenged. “You killed Edward in cold blood.”

“
Edward Macken?”

“
Stop it,” Rodger hissed. “Playing the fool does not suit you.”

Nicolas stopped circling.

“
Edward Macken threatened me and held my wife at gunpoint, demanding a ransom.” Nicolas’s low voice was far more powerful for its softness. “He tried to kill me.”

Rodger’s gaze jumped to his. “That’s not possible!” he cried.

Nicolas folded his arms across his chest. “Are you calling me a liar? Shall I bring her in for you to question yourself?”

Rodger shook his head, seeming to try and clear it. “But guns were never part of the plan…”

Nicolas clenched his fists, then. “The plan? It was you all along? It was your idea?”

“
No!” He paled and swayed, then sunk to the floor in an incongruent cloud of pink organdy. “It was Edward’s plan. I told him how you treated Devin and he said we should extort money from you.”

Nicolas raised one brow.

“
I swear it, Hansen. I never meant for anyone to be hurt. I only meant to ruin your relationship with that woman the way you ruined ours.”

“
You raise my gorge, you queer,” Nicolas sneered.

A shadow of fear passed over Rodger’s brow.

Nicolas pointed with his chin. “Is that why you’re passing as a woman? To attract men?”

“
No.” Rodger pulled a deep breath. “I misjudged.”

“
Misjudged? Misjudged what?”

“
Vincent,” he whispered.

Nicolas was stunned. “You believed him to be a sodomite?”

Rodger shrugged. “I am usually correct. This time I was not.”

Nicolas shook his head disgusted. “Thank God for that. So what is your purpose?”

Rodger chewed his lower lip.

“
Answer me, Merrick. I’m not a patient man where you are concerned!” Nicolas warned.

“
Herbert Q. Percival.”

“
What!”

“
I’m he.”

“
Gud forbanner det all til helvete!
”
Nicolas bellowed. He grabbed a post on the bed and rocked it back and forth. If it had come loose he would have hit Rodger with it. Red filled his field of vision until all he saw were his own hands. “
Skitt, skitt, SKITT!
”
he shouted.

Facing the storm of Nicolas’s fury, Rodger rose to his knees and tilted his head to the side, displaying a long, white neck. His eyes were on the dagger on Nicolas’s belt. “Go on then. All I ask is that you kill me quickly.”

Nicolas spun to face him. “What?”

“
Have mercy, Hansen.” Rodger’s voice broke. “I beg this of you.”

Nicolas was shaking. He would have loved nothing more than to release his frustration by thrusting his knife into this man’s belly and ramming it up into his chest. He stood still, fists clenched, heart pounding, and gathered his grit.

“
I told you, Merrick! I am not a murderer,” he said when he was able.

Rodger’s brown eyes lifted slowly to his. “You have the motive, Hansen. And the right.”

Nicolas moved away from the temptation, his hand dropping to his dirk’s hilt nonetheless.

“
You are not threatening my life, nor the lives of my wife or children. And you won’t again.” He ran his other hand through his hair. “Taking a man’s life is no small thing. I’ll not do it on a whim… I am not a murderer,” he repeated.

Rodger melted to the floor, limp. “Nothing is as it seemed,” he moaned. “I am ruined! What am I to do?”

Nicolas’s gaze swept the room, looking for paper and something to write with. He crossed to a desk and scribbled an address on a slip of paper. He thrust it at Rodger.

“
What is this?” Rodger sniffed, his make-up-smeared eyes lifting to meet Nicolas’s gaze.

“
Both Beckermann and his secretary, Sam Stafford, use this apartment for illicit assignations,” Nicolas stated. “With both genders.”

Rodger’s eyes widened under a lowered brow. “How do you know?”

“
My apartment is across the hall. I’ve seen them both. And who they were with.”

Rodger shook his head. “What do you expect me to do with this?”

“
Leave
me
the hell alone!” Nicolas barked. He opened the door and quit the room, slamming it behind him.

Chapter Twenty Eight

April 10, 1822

St. Louis

Sydney laid the garnet earrings and pendant on a soft, thick cloth. She folded it into an envelope and tucked the jewelry into her bag.

“
So ‘Dark Skinny’ is Herbert Q. Percival?” Sydney used the nickname she had for Rodger before she knew his name or his connection with her first husband. “Did he ask you not to tell?”

“
He did not, as I think of it.” As Nicolas undressed, he hung his clothes in the wardrobe. It was Leif’s job to check them in the morning and clean them.

Sydney presented her back to Nicolas. He untied her laces and loosened them for her. “What will you do?” she asked.

“
For now, nothing. My knowing is a bit of insurance against future mischief.”