“But surely.” His smile incensed me. “We can come to some arrangement.”
I pressed the end of my walking stick to his thigh. “That is not all of it. Why did you murder Judith? Did she discover your cavalier approach to marriage, after you convinced her to leave her family, her friends, her entire religion behind for you? She sacrificed everything, and then no doubt discovered what sort of man you were. Is that why you killed her?”
“No!” Bennett’s voice rose in pitch. “I’d never hurt Judith. Never!” Tears welled in his eyes. “My poor, sweet Judith.”
“Enough.” Grenville’s smooth word cut through Bennett’s rising hysterics. “Do not weep—I might be ill. You broke her arm …”
“No!” Another wail, and Bennett began shaking his head. “I never hurt her. That was an accident. She fell. Slipped. Truly. I swear. I am not a murderer.”
I kept my voice quiet as I pressed harder with the stick. “And yet, she died. I will watch you hang for it, Bennett. I vow this.”
“I never killed her.” Bennett’s tears overflowed. “I grieved when she disappeared. I admit to marrying when perhaps I should not, but only because I love too much. I love. I would never hurt any of them.”
His words rang with sincerity. My hope for a frantic confession evaporated. “What about Jack?” I asked. “I’m certain you had no love for him.”
Bennett snuffled into his hand in confusion. “Jack? Who is Jack?”
“Your footman. He followed you last night. You caught him, and you struck him down.”
More bewilderment. “I had no idea I had a footman called Jack. Margaret does all the hiring, with Woolwich’s approval. I have nothing to do with the servants.”
I lost my patience. “Whether you knew who he was or not, you struck him. For following you.”
“You have run absolutely mad.” Bennett wiped his eyes and gazed at me with more confidence. “I have killed no one. I saw a large man skulking after me, but then I lost him, and I thought it was my imagination. I did not strike anyone.”
A liar was never more resolute than when he was telling the truth for once. Damnation.
“I might be convicted of bigamy,” Bennett said, “though I assure you I will fight it. But not murder.”
He folded his lips and sat back, fixing his gaze out the window.
We arrived in Bow Street in silence. Pomeroy himself, alerted by the message we’d sent before we’d gone to Cavendish Square, opened the carriage door and escorted Mr. Bennett down.
“Welcome, sir,” Pomeroy said. “You will find fine accommodations in this inn, I’m sure. Perhaps even a pot of your own for your piss. Thank you, Captain. You may let him go now.”
I had climbed down after Bennett and seized his arm. My fingers clamped down as he tried to follow Pomeroy, no doubt believing Pomeroy safer than me.
“Where were you going?” I asked Bennett. “Last night—not when you visited Ella, but after that?”
“Nothing at all to do with this,” Bennett said quickly. “A business matter. I promise you.”
“Where?” I repeated severely.
“Tottenham Court Road.” Bennett gave me a peevish stare. “If you must know.”
Pomeroy flicked my fingers with his. “The prisoner is mine,” he said. “When I get the conviction, I’ll stand you a pint.”
I let go. I no longer needed to hold on to Bennett. He’d come up before the magistrate, who would send him to Newgate to await his trial. It was finished.
With Bennett’s last words to me, thrown out so I would cease pursuing him, he’d given me a large piece of the puzzle. Now, I knew.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I called up to Jackson to take us to Tottenham Court Road, and scrambled as quickly as I could back into the carriage.
Jackson drove us northward through Drury Lane and Bloomsbury, and we ended up on the wide thoroughfare of Tottenham Court Road. Jackson halted halfway along, as I’d asked, and I invited Grenville and Brewster upstairs with me.
I had not said a word to them in explanation. Grenville had started to berate me, then lapsed into silence. He’d learned when to leave me be.
If I were wrong, then I was. Unlike with Bennett, I wanted no other to lose by my hot temper and erroneous assumptions.
The younger surgeon, Coombs’s former apprentice, was not in, but the door to the main part of the house was unlocked, presumably so consultants could wait for his return. I thumped my way upstairs, Grenville and Brewster following, and tapped on the door at the top.
Mr. Coombs was indeed within. He peered at us with his wide brown eyes and readily invited us into his front room.
“How may I help you today, Mr. Grenville? Captain? Have you had any progress?”
Grenville said nothing, only stood back and let me speak.
“I have come to tell you that Mr. Andrew Bennett has been arrested,” I said.
Coombs’s eyes widened, and his brows climbed. “Bennett?”
“The husband of Judith Hartman, whose arm you set.”
“Ah, the poor creature you found in the river. He murdered her?” Coombs’s voice warmed. “Then I am glad I could help you discover her identity. And that you are bringing the man to justice.”
“Mr. Bennett did not kill her,” I said. “I made a mistake. I am apt to come too quickly to conclusions.”
Coombs gave me a puzzled look. “Then I do not understand. I thought you said you arrested him.”
“For something else entirely. Why did you treat Judith’s arm?”
“Why?” Coombs’s puzzlement grew. “She’d broken it, and her father brought her to me.”
“Who broke it? Her husband? Or her father, in his anger?”
“I … don’t know.”
“I believe you do know exactly what happened,” I said.
I leaned both hands on my walking stick. I noticed Brewster, out of the corner of my eye, position himself in front of the door.
Coombs shook his head. “I am in the dark.”
“I believe that Mr. Hartman brought Judith here for her arm to be set—how she broke it, I am not certain. He gave you her sister’s name because he was ashamed that Judith was now Mrs. Bennett, disgracing the family. Judith appears to have gone along with this—perhaps she was regretting her choice in Bennett and wanting to appease her father. He brought her to you, far from his friends and family, so they would not see her. You set the bone, and she went away.”
“Yes.” Coombs nodded. “I explained this.”
“Bennett found out, I’m certain. Either Judith told him, or he followed them to you. Perhaps he wanted to discover what Judith’s father had been doing with his wife.”
Coombs said nothing. My heart beat swiftly. Again, I was guessing, poking in the dark, but I was certain Coombs was the key to this.
“I can always ask your apprentice,” I said. “I imagine he was here at the time, as your assistant.”
“All right, yes.” Coombs scowled at me. “Bennett did come here looking for his wife, and I told him what happened. Bennett is not a good man—I am glad to hear he has been arrested. He was carrying on with other women when Judith was his wife. Nasty business.”
“Did you tell Judith this?” I asked, watching him.
Coombs lifted his knuckle and pressed his teeth into it—a habit he had—and I saw a new light come into his eyes. “Yes, I did. When she returned to me to have her splint removed, I mentioned it. I said I could furnish proofs if she wanted it. She did, and we arranged to meet again.”
I saw Grenville’s tiny start of surprise. A man who didn’t know Grenville might not observe that he was jolted; he hid it well. Brewster, as always, remained stoic.
“Did you meet her here?” I asked.
“Not here, no, indeed. In the City, near the Great Synagogue, where her people are.”
Her people rented rooms over a shop in the Strand, but I forbore to say so.