Chapter Thirty
"We've got him, Rex!" Daniel shouted up the stairs from the front entry. "We've got him!"
Rex did not care if his cousin had Bonaparte by the ballocks right then, but Amanda quickly leaped off the bed and tried to find her shoes. She should have been trying to fasten the back of her gown, Rex thought as his cousin burst into the room, Verity leaping beside him in matching exuberance. Rex stood to shield Amanda from Daniel's view.
"We've got Brusseau!" Daniel skidded to a halt, tripping over the dog. "I say, sorry for not knocking. Um, Rex, had you ought to be doing what you are?"
"Getting out of bed? I am nearly recovered." He wasn't. His head ached, and so did the seat of his unsatisfied desire.
"That ain't what I meant."
Doing up Amanda's gown? Rex did not think that was what Daniel meant, either. He did not wish to discuss the matter. "How did you find Brusseau?"
"He was boarding one of Johnston's ships with the crewmen, carrying a trunk, making a getaway. He didn't walk like any sailor, though, or talk like one. Remember that captain we talked to about going after that sunken pirate gold? It was his ship Brusseau was boarding, and the captain said he never saw the bloke before."
"Where is he?"
"Downstairs in the butler's pantry, trussed like a Christmas goose. Dimm and his nephew are keeping watch. I thought we ought to wait for Harry. I promised to let him know when we had the villain in chains." He looked toward Amanda, gauging if she could be trusted. "National security, don't you know."
"I sent for him an hour ago." Rex told Daniel about Amanda's relatives' visit and what they had learned. "He should be on his way. Bring them all up when he gets here."
"Up here?"
"I doubt my mother would welcome the interview in her drawing room. Besides, I don't think I am ready for the stairs."
Daniel muttered, "You didn't think you were ready for leg shackles, either."
Rex shot a dark look at his cousin, but smiled for Amanda as he finished with the bothersome buttons and ties. "You better leave, my dear. This could get ugly."
"You are not going to…? That is, you wouldn't…?" She looked from Daniel to Rex.
"Beat the truth out of the valet? Is that what you still think of the Inquisitors? No, we will not harm him-"
"Unless he tries to escape," Daniel interrupted, grinning wickedly.
"He is tied up. But we might have to strip off his clothes to see if Verity left bite marks. You would be embarrassed."
"Oh, of course. But you do not think he is the killer, do you?"
"No, we already asked that."
"You believed what he told you? The man was trying to leave the country!"
Both cousins shrugged.
Harry arrived, apologizing for not putting Thibidoux's name on the initials list. "We were aware of his presence, of course, but we thought he was a Royalist, waiting for the Corsican's defeat to claim his ancestral lands. Instead, it seems, he was trying to buy them back from Napoleon. I am not perfect, as you must know by now. "
If that was an apology for the disguises and deceptions, Rex was not accepting. "We will discuss your lack of perfection in a few weeks, brother, at Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Parlor. Perhaps you might tell me, meanwhile, how Lydia Burton's name did get on your list."
Harry laughed. "She's an old friend who wanted to meet you, that's all. I couldn't resist."
"Maybe you prefer pistols to fisticuffs?"
Daniel was trying to figure which brother to place his money on when Lord Royce entered the room. They all knew the case was far beyond a murder investigation by now and the earl wanted to hear what went forward, too. The safety of the kingdom might be at stake, to say nothing of his wife's godchild. The dear girl could be more if his sap-skulled son could be brought up to scratch, the gudgeon. Heaven knew the countess was practically throwing them together these days, hoping nature and youth would get the job done. If Amanda's tousled look when she hurried past him in the hall were any indication, his wife was right and he'd hear wedding bells soon. He just did not want to hear the patter of little feet first. Lud knew there was enough scandal in the family already. But a grandson, ah, that was enough to warm an old man's heart, if his wife's welcome hadn't already. The earl's joy would be complete if they could not only free Amanda of suspicion, but connect Nigel Turlowe to the crime.
Inspector Dimm and his grandnephew Clarence dragged Brusseau into the room. Clarence left and Dimm went to stand by the window, observing the Royce males, thinking what a rare tale he'd have to tell his own grandsons.
There were so many truth-seers in one place a lie could not have gone unnoticed if it hid under the carpet.
"Wait," Rex told them. "Get Amanda to identify the man as her stepfather's valet first."
"But both of us questioned him before," Daniel complained.
"This has to be a thorough interview, following proper procedure. Don't you agree, Mr. Dimm?"
The Runner scratched his head. He'd never heard of conducting a murder investigation in a swell's bedroom, surrounded by that same nob's relatives, while the gent wore a robe, a bandage with a flower stuck in it, and no shoes. "Seems all right to me."
They sent for Amanda, who nodded. "That is Brusseau," she said. Then they ushered her from the room again.
Brusseau was shaking, looking from one to the other. "My name is Brusseau. I did not kill Monsieur Hawley. I did not throw a brick at Monsieur Rexford."
Damn.
Rex saw blue. His father heard a clear chime. Daniel felt no itch, and Harry tasted his own disappointment.
"Do you know who did?" Harry asked.
"My name is Brusseau. I did not kill Monsieur Hawley. I did not throw a brick at Monsieur Rexford." This time the valet said it in French. It was still true.
Lord Royce asked, "Do you know Sir Nigel Turlowe?"
Brusseau repeated his rote statement.
Daniel flexed his knuckles. Harry cleaned his fingernails with a wicked-looking knife that had been up his sleeve. Dimm cleared his throat until they both stepped away from the prisoner.
Damn.
Dimm suggested they strip him.
There was no need, but they did it anyway. The man had no bites, no bruises, and not a lot to be modest about.
Rex cursed again. "He didn't throw the brick, the dog didn't take a chunk out of him. He's not guilty, as far as I can see."
"But he was trying to escape," Daniel said. "He must be guilty of something."
No one noticed Murchison in the corner until he made a snorting sound in disgust. "His name. Ask him that."
"We know he is Brusseau."
"His first name." Murchison turned his back and started to tidy the room.
Brusseau would not answer that question.
Dimm pulled the man's papers from his own pocket, the ones they'd taken along with knives, pistols, and a sack of coins from Brusseau's trunk. The Bow Street Runner adjusted his spectacles.
"Is your name Claude?"
No answer.
Four voices almost shouted: "Yes or no, damn it." Four angry men advanced on one naked Frenchman.
"Yes."
That was the truth, they all agreed, and Dimm nodded, handing the Frenchman his clothes. That was the name on the papers.
Rex consulted his own notes. "But the valet's name is Jean!"
Murchison wore a smug smile. "Twins." Then he left, taking Amanda's lace garter with him.
Rex and Amanda were taking up where they'd left off, this time with the door locked. And they were in the stuffed chair instead of the bed, making their tryst a sliver more respectable. A thin sliver.
Amanda was trying to understand their conclusions, while Rex was trying to unfasten her gown again.
She batted his hand away. "So the twin took the valet's place, and told the truth when you asked him? That means we are no closer to finding the real killer."