The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet by Katherine Cowley (tharntype novel english txt) 📕

may be aiding and abetting a murder. That is a very serious crime.”

The dockmaster’s entire body tensed, and he seemed to make a swift decision to save himself rather than his benefactor. “Colonel Radcliffe does own a boat,” he admitted. “And he has paid me to keep it secret.”

“Did Colonel Radcliffe come with his boat in the weeks before he took up residence here?”

“Many times,” said the dockmaster. “I would need to check my records to be certain of the dates.”

“I did not know you had a boat, good chap,” said Colonel Coates to Colonel Radcliffe. “We should go sailing together.”

The dockmaster led the way to Colonel Radcliffe’s boat. Mary lingered at the back of the crowd.

“This is not my boat,” insisted Colonel Radcliffe.

Sir Pickering ignored him and gestured for the dockmaster to lay out a gangplank. “Please, join me aboard,” said Sir Pickering. Colonel Radcliffe did so, as well as Colonel Coates, two other officers, and Sir Pickering’s men.

“Interesting,” said Sir Pickering, leaning down and touching the wood. “This is a trace of a blood stain that appears to have been bleached off.”

“There’s an awmry,” said Harriet from where she stood on the pier. “With more you will be findin’ useful.”

“Where is this…awmry?” asked Sir Pickering.

“It’s a… It’s inside, inside the boat. Below. And it ’as a secret compartment, on the bottom of it, on the inside.” Sir Pickering—and everyone else—must know that Harriet had never seen either the boat or the chest for herself. Mary could only hope that when pressed for answers, Harriet would not reveal the identity of her informant.

“Bring the chest up here,” Sir Pickering directed his men, and after short work they returned with it.

“The chest is labeled C. Radcliffe.” Sir Pickering spoke loudly, as if he felt it were important for all in the crowd to hear. “Now let me see if I can find this hidden compartment.”

Colonel Radcliffe appeared increasingly uncomfortable. Several of the officers seemed to notice this and kept their hands ready at their swords.

“A coat,” observed Sir Pickering. He held it up for display. “Here, in the pocket, is a notebook belonging to Mr. Holloway.”

“I do not know how that came to be here,” insisted Colonel Radcliffe. “I was not aware of the hidden compartment in this chest, which was a recent acquisition.”

Sir Pickering ignored Colonel Radcliffe’s protests and continued his examination. “A knife. It is a possible match for the one used to stab Mr. Holloway. Now what have we here?” He did a cursory glance at the papers. “Plans to assist Bonaparte in an invasion…very detailed plans, Colonel Radcliffe, in your handwriting, involving you and Monsieur Corneau.”

“I am innocent!” exclaimed Colonel Radcliffe. “Colonel Coates is the one at fault. He is a smuggler.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” said Colonel Coates.

“Smuggling is a matter for another day. Today, our topic is murder,” said Sir Pickering. “A trial will determine your innocence or your guilt, but the evidence I have found is more than sufficient to arrest you.”

Colonel Coates and the other men attempted to grab Colonel Radcliffe, but he stepped out of their grasp and leapt from the boat into the water. He swam for the wharf.

No one seemed keen to jump after him, into the frigid December water. Instead the officers and Sir Pickering’s men tried to press through the crowd on the dock, but the people were packed as tightly as on a parade day, and just as immovable.

Colonel Radcliffe had reached the boardwalk, his hands were grasping the planks, yet no one was in a position to stop him. It appeared he would escape.

Mary could not allow that. If no one else would stop him, then she would. Because she had stayed at the back of the crowd, no one was in her path.

She ran across the dock, careful to stay in the centre where she would not risk falling into the water. Her heart seemed to pound in her head, and she wished that her physical accomplishments included more than the pianoforte and locking letters. Colonel Radcliffe heaved himself onto the deck as Mary approached, holding the hood of her cloak tight around her face.

She slipped on the damp wood just as she reached Colonel Radcliffe. He stood. Mary stretched out her leg and tripped him.

He fell on the boardwalk.

Mary scrambled towards him. He pulled himself up, and in desperation, Mary lunged for him, grabbing his legs with her arms. In that moment, she could not help but picture her mother and the other women of Meryton, completely scandalized by the way that Mary held onto a man, in public, no less.

He kicked at her. Mary grunted in pain as his foot connected with her chest, but still she held on, held on, held on, for the few necessary moments until the officers could arrive and secure Colonel Radcliffe.

One of the officers attempted to help Mary to her feet. “I’m fine,” she said, pushing him away. She stood, all the while trying to keep her hood tight around her face, and then, as discreetly as she could, she walked away, away from the people, away from the docks. No one stopped her.

“Sir Pickering,” Mary heard Harriet say rather loudly. “I knows you owe me five pound.”

Mary smiled. Colonel Radcliffe had been arrested for murder, and Harriet would receive her money. Despite what would surely be a bruise from Colonel Radcliffe’s foot, Mary much preferred this to all the needlework and gossip that Meryton could offer.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“SUSSEX—On Saturday a murderer who had been at large for several months was apprehended. Colonel Oliver Radcliffe was a recent resident of Worthing and had previously served on the continent, during which time he defected to the French. His treasonous plans were discovered in September by Mr. Frederick Holloway of Crawley, after which Colonel Radcliffe killed Mr. Holloway. Colonel Radcliffe has been arrested for murder and treason and will soon stand trial. An accomplice of the colonel, a Frenchman named Jules Corneau, has