chance.”
“Like the ruffians chasing Mr Patterson for instance?” Bedwalters suggested. “Do you wish Mr Gale to examine you, sir?”
Lord, now he was suggesting I might be faking my injuries.
I began to think Heron was just making matters worse but he wasn’t finished yet. He was obviously making a great effort to control his temper. “Patterson is hardly likely to have
called for your assistance if he had perpetrated the crime!”
“He might have, if he thought the girl’s spirit might accuse him.” Bedwalters might be weary but he was proud of his office and he would not compromise it. And he would not be
less than civil, whereas Heron, usually so cool and collected, was showing signs of being heated.
I hurried to defuse the situation. “It’s my opinion Julia will accuse no one,” I said and outlined my theory. “And I think it looks like the villain took the precaution
of attacking her from behind in which case she will have known nothing. Why was she out so late? Do you know?”
Bedwalters hesitated; Heron turned away, poured himself wine and downed the glassful in one gulp. “She was eloping,” Bedwalters said.
We stared at him.
“With whom?” Heron demanded.
Bedwalters shook his head. “We do not know.” He reached into a pocket and unfolded a note, looked at it for a moment then held it out to me. I took the note to the single branch of
candles on the sideboard; Heron looked over my shoulder.
Dearest father [the note read] Love cannot be denied. I am flying to my love despite your refusal to entertain his proposals. Your ever loving daughter, Julia.
Heron snorted in derision. “Dramatic twaddle.”
“It is somewhat melodramatic,” Bedwalters agreed. “It is not a quote from a play, Mr Patterson?”
“Not that I know of. But Keregan would be a better man to ask.” The wording of the note made me uneasy. Dearest father? And your ever loving daughter . What odd phrases
to use in such a note – I would have expected something a little more defiant. And was the word proposals significant? Did she mean a formal request for her hand in marriage?
“You think the writer of this note might have killed her?” Heron asked.
“He would have had no need to do anything of the sort,” I said. “She was ‘flying’ to him – he could have borne her off and taken advantage of her somewhere
warm and comfortable.”
“Unless she changed her mind,” Bedwalters pointed out. “He might have tried to force her to go with him.”
“But to rape her in the street? What kind of man tries that?”
“A fool,” Heron said. “I presume there is a chance some spirit overheard the whole?”
“Alas, no,” Bedwalters said. “There is a chambermaid in this house who died in the attics; I asked her spirit to enquire for me. No spirit apparently heard or saw anything. He
may have forced her into an unspirited alley.”
I turned the note over. The paper was worn and dog-eared; the folds had dirt in them and had plainly been made some time before. On the reverse side, the word Papa had been written with a great
flourish; below, something had been crossed out vigorously. I angled the note to better catch the light. It was a date. After a struggle, I made it out: 26 March 1736.
I stared in disbelief. “It is an old note.” I showed Bedwalters the date.
“She had tried the trick before,” Heron said contemptuously.
Bedwalters looked tried almost beyond endurance. “If she had,” he said, “the note would have been in the hands of her father.”
“Maybe it was,” Heron said dryly.
“You’re suggesting Mazzanti left it out?” I said, incredulously. “To persuade us that Julia was eloping? But why?”
Heron laughed shortly. “Perhaps he killed her himself.”
Bedwalters and I exchanged glances. This was just Heron’s innate cynicism talking, but nevertheless it was undoubtedly true that the note was puzzling.
“Perhaps she intended to elope in London but was
“Like the ruffians chasing Mr Patterson for instance?” Bedwalters suggested. “Do you wish Mr Gale to examine you, sir?”
Lord, now he was suggesting I might be faking my injuries.
I began to think Heron was just making matters worse but he wasn’t finished yet. He was obviously making a great effort to control his temper. “Patterson is hardly likely to have
called for your assistance if he had perpetrated the crime!”
“He might have, if he thought the girl’s spirit might accuse him.” Bedwalters might be weary but he was proud of his office and he would not compromise it. And he would not be
less than civil, whereas Heron, usually so cool and collected, was showing signs of being heated.
I hurried to defuse the situation. “It’s my opinion Julia will accuse no one,” I said and outlined my theory. “And I think it looks like the villain took the precaution
of attacking her from behind in which case she will have known nothing. Why was she out so late? Do you know?”
Bedwalters hesitated; Heron turned away, poured himself wine and downed the glassful in one gulp. “She was eloping,” Bedwalters said.
We stared at him.
“With whom?” Heron demanded.
Bedwalters shook his head. “We do not know.” He reached into a pocket and unfolded a note, looked at it for a moment then held it out to me. I took the note to the single branch of
candles on the sideboard; Heron looked over my shoulder.
Dearest father [the note read] Love cannot be denied. I am flying to my love despite your refusal to entertain his proposals. Your ever loving daughter, Julia.
Heron snorted in derision. “Dramatic twaddle.”
“It is somewhat melodramatic,” Bedwalters agreed. “It is not a quote from a play, Mr Patterson?”
“Not that I know of. But Keregan would be a better man to ask.” The wording of the note made me uneasy. Dearest father? And your ever loving daughter . What odd phrases
to use in such a note – I would have expected something a little more defiant. And was the word proposals significant? Did she mean a formal request for her hand in marriage?
“You think the writer of this note might have killed her?” Heron asked.
“He would have had no need to do anything of the sort,” I said. “She was ‘flying’ to him – he could have borne her off and taken advantage of her somewhere
warm and comfortable.”
“Unless she changed her mind,” Bedwalters pointed out. “He might have tried to force her to go with him.”
“But to rape her in the street? What kind of man tries that?”
“A fool,” Heron said. “I presume there is a chance some spirit overheard the whole?”
“Alas, no,” Bedwalters said. “There is a chambermaid in this house who died in the attics; I asked her spirit to enquire for me. No spirit apparently heard or saw anything. He
may have forced her into an unspirited alley.”
I turned the note over. The paper was worn and dog-eared; the folds had dirt in them and had plainly been made some time before. On the reverse side, the word Papa had been written with a great
flourish; below, something had been crossed out vigorously. I angled the note to better catch the light. It was a date. After a struggle, I made it out: 26 March 1736.
I stared in disbelief. “It is an old note.” I showed Bedwalters the date.
“She had tried the trick before,” Heron said contemptuously.
Bedwalters looked tried almost beyond endurance. “If she had,” he said, “the note would have been in the hands of her father.”
“Maybe it was,” Heron said dryly.
“You’re suggesting Mazzanti left it out?” I said, incredulously. “To persuade us that Julia was eloping? But why?”
Heron laughed shortly. “Perhaps he killed her himself.”
Bedwalters and I exchanged glances. This was just Heron’s innate cynicism talking, but nevertheless it was undoubtedly true that the note was puzzling.
“Perhaps she intended to elope in London but was
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