“Who knows?” Grenville said. “Mr. Denis went on to say that Mr. Bennett is recorded as having married two more women, one in Surrey, and one in Southwark. The lady in Surrey believes she is a widow—I suppose he grew tired of traveling so far. These are all within the last ten years, and all of them, with the exception of Ella in Soho and Judith, had a fair-sized dowry.”
“Good Lord.”
I sank back in my chair. Ella’s son had assumed his father a gambler because he came and gave Ella large handfuls of cash.
“He is robbing Peter to pay Paul,” I realized. “Or at least, Margaret and his other wives to pay Ella. Perhaps he gave up the lady in Surrey after he spent all her money.”
“That can be ascertained. Shall we turn all this over to Mr. Pomeroy, so that he can find out?”
“Yes.” I stood up, setting the excellent port aside without reluctance. “Let us at once to Cavendish Square, truss up Bennett, and drag him off. What a scoundrel.”
Grenville rose quickly to his feet. “Indeed. Poor Margaret. And what will become of this Ella?”
“He will pay back every penny he took from these ladies,” I said firmly. “He’s robbed them and their families of money under false pretenses. He likely killed Judith because he could get no money out of her—or perhaps he was already married to yet another, and she discovered it. She tries to return home, he finds her and quarrels with her, then murders her.”
“That could be,” Grenville said. “But again, we have no proof.”
“Pomeroy or Thompson can wrangle a confession from him. He will hang—after he makes restitution to his wronged wives.”
I could see Grenville thought me too optimistic, but I was happy to be able to apprehend the man at last. Judith’s bones could be laid to rest, where she might cease haunting my dreams.
***
We rode to Cavendish Square in Grenville’s luxurious carriage. Along the way, I read Denis’s succinct, precise letter, which was mostly a list of Bennett’s current and previous marriages.
My contempt for Bennett increased the closer we drew to him. Had Judith confronted him? Her dark hair falling about her face as she shouted at him, demanding to know what he had done to her?
Had Bennett himself broken her arm some time before her death, and Hartman had sent her to the surgeon, Coombs, hiding her identity to hide that she was married to a fraud? Had that been what Hartman meant by her shame?
Denis’s list went back only ten years, aside from the evidence of marriage to Judith, but when he dug deeper, what would we find?
By the time we reached Cavendish Square, I was worked up into one of my fine tempers. I saw Denis’s men discreetly and not so discreetly on the lookout as I lifted the door knocker and let it fall.
I asked to speak, not to Mr. Bennett, but to Captain Woolwich.
The captain was in his bed still, his wasted body a far cry from the strength in his eyes. He received me politely, but I read his simmering anger, which matched mine.
I introduced Grenville as politeness dictated, but neither Woolwich nor I had patience for any niceties.
“You told me to come back when I could rid you of Andrew Bennett,” I said to Woolwich. “I can.” I handed him Denis’s letter and Grenville’s notes.
Woolwich read them in silence. The color drained from his face, then he dropped the papers and began to cough.
I sprang forward. “Grenville. Brandy.”
Grenville already had taken out his flask. He held it to Woolwich’s mouth, and Woolwich calmed enough to drink.
Woolwich took a long breath then another sip of brandy. Finally, he nodded to Grenville that he was all right, though his face remained gray.
“At last,” he said hoarsely. “I knew he was a wrong ’un.”
“He is a fraud, a bigamist, and a crook,” I said. “Will you prosecute?”
“Oh, yes.” Red crept back into Woolwich’s cheeks. “Even if it takes the rest of my fortune to do it. Did he kill his first wife? If she was his first.”
“I believe he did kill her,” I said. “I will certainly try to have him prosecuted for it.”
“Good.” Woolwich gave me an approving nod. “Thank you, Captain.”
I sobered. “What about your daughter? Would you like me to break the news to her?”
“No.” Woolwich coughed again, but gently this time. He lifted a handkerchief from the covers and patted his mouth. “She is my daughter. I will tell her. He has ruined her, poor child.”
“Yes.” Margaret’s marriage was false, which meant she was the same as a mistress. The world would hold this against her, through no fault of her own. “I am sorry to have to reveal such a thing.”
“I’d rather she lose her character than remain living with that charlatan,” Woolwich said. “So would you. I will make sure she’s looked after all her days.”
There remained little more to say. I took the papers back from Woolwich, and Grenville and I left the room.
Bennett himself waited for us on the first-floor landing. “Mr. Grenville,” he said, staring. “An honor to have you in my house. Captain … What is this all about?”
He gave us an affable look, innocent, as though nothing were wrong. I wanted to push him down the stairs.
Grenville stepped between us. “Mr. Bennett, I would like you to ride with me in my carriage.”
“Oh?” Bennett brightened. “Where are we going?”
“To visit a friend,” Grenville said. “I would like him to meet you.”
Grenville’s cool self-assurance moved Bennett as all my raging likely never would. I barely contained myself as we went down the stairs and out into the street.
In spite of the wheeled vehicles, horses, and foot traffic surging around the square, Jackson had kept Grenville’s team quiet, the coach waiting a foot from the door. Grenville himself opened the carriage door, though the footman from the house darted forward to assist us in.
Bennett suspected nothing at first. I sat myself across from him, laying my stick across my knees. Grenville settled beside me, but before the carriage could move forward, Brewster opened the other door and scrambled in, landing next to Bennett. Jackson started the horses, and off we went.
“What is happening?” Bennett asked nervously.
Brewster hemmed him in, his bulk filling most of the seat. “We’re off to Bow Street,” he said.
Bennett shifted his worried look to Grenville, who nodded. “It’s a bad show, Bennett,” Grenville said, at his most haughty. “You’ve hurt a good many people, and now you have no friends left.”
“I do not … I do not understand, gentlemen.”
He would protest to the last. I leaned forward, my walking stick between my hands. “We’ve found you out. All your wives of your so-called marriages. We have found four—perhaps there are more?”
Bennett’s breath stopped. Then it began again, his face going a peculiar shade of yellow. “You mistake me, sir. I told you, I am warm-hearted. I play at making them my wives—a pleasant fiction.”
“Not at all,” Grenville said. “You tried hard to make them appear legal, at least to satisfy the ladies and their families. They were respectable women, not the sort to readily become your mistresses. And if you could convince their families that the marriages were legal, you swept in the dowry and any property.”
Bennett went even more pale. “You will not be able to verify this.”
“Of course we will,” Grenville said. “We have the records, possibly the testimony of the ladies themselves. I imagine none of them would be happy to hear of the others.”
Bennett stared a while longer, realizing that he was at the end of his games. He shot Grenville a look of appeal. “Gentlemen, can you blame me? A man can fall in love more than once in his life. In this country, divorce or annulment is nearly impossible. One can not end a marriage when one falls in love again.”
“Indeed,” Grenville said. “And a good thing—where would we all be if we picked up and discarded wives at will? You did the thing very thoroughly, Bennett. And that will convict you.”