Barbara Metzger - Truly Yours

Behind Nate's back, Rex shook his head, no. The man had lied.

"What about the robbery at Lord Peckenham's?"

"I did that one, too. Got a satchel full of silver. Platters, the tea set, spoons."

Rex saw nothing but red. He did not understand why the man confessed to crimes he did not commit.

"Because he'd be on the street otherwise," Dimm said after Nate was led away, "cold and hungry and in constant danger from the other alley dwellers. He comes in once a week, confesses to some crime that made a splash in the newspapers. We give him a hot meal and let him sleep in one of the empty cells. No harm done."

But a lot of kindness. Rex relaxed. "So did I pass the test?"

"That was too easy, I am thinking. Clarence, bring in Butts."

The next suspect was not half as innocent as Nate the Skate. Butts was a surly dockworker with tattoos everywhere his clothes weren't. He spit at Dimm's feet when the inspector asked if the man had killed his partner.

"No."

Rex knew instantly that the man was lying, but tried to appear as if he were studying Butts's mannerisms. There was not much to study in "No."

Dimm helped him by asking more questions. "How did that crate happen to fall off the ladder just when your partner walked by?"

"How should I know? I weren't anywhere near."

Another lie.

Then Dimm asked-an experiment of his own, Rex knew-"Did you kill Sir Frederick Hawley, too?"

"Hell no, why would I? He weren't bedding my wife too, was he? 'Sides, you can't pin that on me. Everyone knows the gentry mort did it."

Now he was telling the truth, and Rex regretted that he wouldn't get to see Butts hang for his partner's murder.

When Butts was dragged out, after his near confession, Dimm asked, "Did the mort-that is, the lady-kill him?"

"No."

"You are certain?"

"As certain as sin."

"Very well. I can get you the files and the evidence as soon as I clear some of these other cases. Are you willing to help?"

Despite the urgency to get back to Miss Carville, Rex found that he was willing. Interested, even. Dimm accepted his judgments on the next two suspects brought in, because they tallied with the evidence and his own instincts, but the Runner was stymied. "I've seen everything in my time, don't you know. This is something beyond my ken. 'Course, I can't convict anyone on your say-so."

"I wish you would not use my name at all."

"Well, I won't admit I listened to your guesses. I might as well say I consulted a gypsy fortune-teller. I still need evidence to make a case. But now the field is a lot smaller. I don't have to look for other suspects, and don't have to accept any more beggars' confessions, instead of looking for the real thieves. Harris was right, you are a very handy man to have around. Another hour, shall we say?"

Rex stayed in the back corner, giving thumbs-up for truth, thumbs-down for a lie. He consulted his notes a time or two to try to look official, if not scientific. He could have come to the same conclusions without seeing the men's faces, but if Inspector Dimm pretended to accept the notion of a learned experiment, Rex was willing to pretend he had a technical system. In fact, he found the experience fascinating.

The French officers and messengers he'd questioned on the Peninsula had to be threatened-and then convinced to cry out as if they were being tortured-rather than let anyone think they had willingly given up their country's secrets. Most crossed themselves when Rex declared he knew they were lying, or threatened to set Daniel on them. After a bit, the cousins' reputation preceded them, and the prisoners needed less prompting.

London's criminal class had less honor. Or less intelligence. Their lies were more creative, but few had the sense to refuse to answer. Many of the suspects were guilty, and Dimm quickly came up with a solution to his dilemma of how to use Rex's pronouncements. He told the ones Rex gave a thumbs-down that there were witnesses to the crime. If they confessed, he'd see they were conscripted into the navy instead of standing trial and taking their chances, which were next to nil.

Rex wasn't so pleased about sending cutthroats to the navy.

"The admirals know how to manage reluctant sailors, and they need every able-bodied man they can get. As for the culprits, they stand a far better chance of surviving the navy than they would facing the noose or the hulks or transport to Botany Bay."

They cleared away a whole stack of open cases without costing the Crown the price of a trial, while filling His Majesty's warships. Dimm freed a handful of others and set various nephews and sons-in-laws to finding support for the few of Rex's judgments where no one confessed.

Dimm was thrilled. "We got more work done in the past three hours than possible in a week."

"It has been three hours already?"

"Aye, and time I got home to my own dinner. Of course you'll be wanting to clear your own case first."

He had Clarence find the murder weapon in the evidence room. "There was fresh powder on it, so the officer in charge declared it definitely the murder weapon. No one looked much further, I am sorry to say. The lady denied the accusation-you saw that they all do, guilty or innocent-but the prosecutor came to Bow Street himself and he was satisfied with the evidence and the witness reports and how everyone knew the victim and his accused killer had argued. He said he wished a speedy conclusion, because the man was a gentleman. He didn't want to give the public the idea that it was anything but a domestic dispute, less'n common folks think they can get away with shooting the swells, like the Frenchies."

"She did not do it."

"I believe you. I've got instincts of my own, and daughters and nieces. But it weren't my case, don't you know." He copied over some names and handed the page to Rex. "Here are addresses for the servants, although I don't know what good they'll do now."

"I can talk to them, get an impression of Sir Frederick, find out who stood to benefit."

"And who's telling the truth, eh?"

"Exactly."

"Well, if you come back tomorrow, I'll try to have warrants for you to search the premises, open the man's records and such."

"Thank you. And I can devote another couple of hours to crime fighting, in return, if you wish."

Dimm relit his pipe. "Be happy to have you. Don't suppose you intend to publish any findings of your experiments? Any way I could teach the young ones to look for your signs of lying?"

"I am afraid not." Rex wished he could explain.

Dimm sent a cloud of smoke into the air. "I watched, you know. You never even looked at their eyes. They say eyes are the windows to the soul. I can usually tell a coldblooded killer by looking at their glims, but I'm never as fast or as confident as you seem to be."

"It's not the eyes, it's the voice." And the colors.

"You must have done a powerful lot of research."

Dimm said, a hint of wistfulness in his own voice mixed with a heavy dose of disbelief. "Bless you."

Rex walked a little jauntier as he made his way back to Royce House. He hardly noticed his bad leg or who was watching him limp. He stopped at a nearby bookseller and asked what the ladies were reading nowadays. He bought two, so Miss Carville could have a choice. Then he bought flowers to bring to her, roses and violets because he could not decide which. Now he had gifts to bring, along with information, the support of two vastly different but powerful men, and the gun.

He brought her hope.

Amanda felt a warmth she had not known in ages, long before the current disaster. Lord Rexford did not have to bring flowers and books. Gracious, he did not have to do anything at all. He was helping her to satisfy his father's demands, his mother's pleas. But the flowers? They must have been because he wanted to, nothing else. Charles Ashway, her onetime suitor, had sent her a bouquet after a dance, out of politeness. Rexford was not polite by any means. Ashway had never made her feel special-or atingle-not even when he came close to an offer of marriage.

Amanda wanted to throw herself into Rexford's arms, an impulse she had never felt for Ashway, not even when she contemplated accepting the offer that never came. She might have done such a hoydenish thing-her reputation was gone, what did it matter?-except the viscount was holding a gun.

Then Mr. Stamfield came home, and she did throw herself at him when he brought her parents' portraits. He turned as red as Lord Rexford's uniform coat. His lordship turned green, it appeared, scowling and tapping his cane on the floor, which made Amanda's smile grow brighter. He did care!

She propped the small paintings on Lady Royce's sitting room mantel, since Nanny refused to allow the gentlemen into Amanda's own bedroom. "Oh, you have both made me very happy! I know these are the first steps, but I was stuck in a morass, unable to move. Now we can find the owner of the gun."

The viscount stopped tapping. "What if it proves to be your stepfather's? Then the evidence still points to you. I do not want you to get your hopes too high. There is not much distinctive about the pistol. We might not be able to trace its ownership at all."

She sniffed first at the violets, then at the roses, refusing to be defeated. "But we might, and that is more than I had yesterday. And now I have the paintings, too." She lowered her eyes. "And I have friends in you, Mr. Stamfield-"

"I wish you would call me Daniel, if we are to be friends."

"Then you must call me Amanda, because I will cherish that friendship no matter what happens. And yours, Lord Rexford."

"Rex. That is what my friends call me."

The king-how fitting. Except for his swollen nose, his lordship looked regal enough for royalty, tall and strong and in command. His bearing held more authority than the foolish prince could muster, in all his medals and ribbons. "Rex." She tasted the name on her tongue, drawing out the final sibilance. "It is my pleasure to be given the privilege of first names." She had known Charles Ashway two months before they became so familiar, and then only in private.

"The pleasure is mine." Oh, how Rex wished it were, to hear his name on her lips, on his pillow. The woman was looking healthier, although she was still pale, still too thin. Jupiter, was it only yesterday that he'd pulled a limp rag out of the trash heap of Newgate? The flowers and portraits-or the gun-had brought an animation to her face that he found irresistible. The sight of her smile had rendered him near speechless. For that matter, the sight of her in Daniel's arms had made him murderous.

Daniel was grinning, so Rex gathered what wits he had after her declaration of friendship. One wrong move, he knew, and he'd be stepping into the parson's mousetrap. "Very well, we are friends. Now let us discuss our findings. Daniel, were any of the servants still at Hawley House? I have possible addresses for some who told Bow Street they were leaving."

"A stiff-rumped butler, Hareston, opened the door. Reluctantly, I might add, until I showed him a coin and Miss Carville's-Amanda's-note. A nasty piece, that one. My money is on him for the killer. He watched me every second, so I never got a chance to look for a safe or through Hawley's desk drawers."

"The safe is behind a hunting scene in Sir Frederick's office," Amanda told them, "but I do not know where the key is, or if it has a combination."

"I should have a warrant tomorrow," Rex said, "a legal writ so no one can deny us access. As soon as we have that, we can go back, and to the bank also. Who else was there besides the butler?"

"According to Hareston and another coin, Brusseau the valet left to take up a post elsewhere," Daniel said. "Hareston said he did not know with whom."

"That was fast, for a man whose last master could not give him a reference. His name is not on Bow Street's list. We'll see if we cannot discover who hired the valet. I'll put Murchison on that."

"Murchison, your valet who Nanny says does not speak?" Amanda asked.

Rex shrugged the question off. "Who else was at the house, Daniel?"

"A couple of footmen. A housekeeper."

"That would be Mrs. Petcock," Amanda explained to Rex. "She sleeps near the kitchen, so could not have heard anything."

"That's what she said, and added a few uncomplimentary words for her late employer. She is staying, she says, in hopes of being kept on when the place is rented out."

Amanda clutched the bouquet of violets tighter. "Has she heard from Edwin already then? He does not have plans to come to London?"