Page 110 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
I didn’t hesitate.
When we arrived, Steele locked the door behind him after ensuring the library was empty. I made my way to the farthest window. It was such a beautiful night, filled with twinkling stars, I didn’t want to miss it.
“Tell me everything,” I said once he joined me, “and don’t leave out a single detail.”
“After you left, Finch took Marie back to St. Agnes. She was shaken but steady. Sister Margaret was relieved to have her home.”
“I hope this ordeal hasn’t harmed Marie or the baby.”
“Finch said she seemed well enough when they arrived,” he said. “But it’s too soon to know for certain. I imagine you’ll want to check on her tomorrow.”
“Of course.” I drew a breath. “And Vale?”
“As luck would have it, Constable Collins was at St. Agnes. Finch filled him in, and they returned to the warehouse together. Collins took one look at Vale and put him in custody. We brought him to the station, where the police surgeon tended to his leg.”
“He didn’t resist?”
“Not much he could do with a bullet in him and his blood soaked into your petticoat.” His voice was dry.
I arched a brow.
“Don’t worry. We told Collins it was Marie’s.” He took a sip of champagne. “Between Finch and me, we laid out a story that should hold. Said we’d been investigating Elsie’s murder, which Collins already knew. I’d hired Finch to dig into the Vale family. When Marie disappeared, we feared the worst and guessed Vale would have taken her to the warehouse.”
“Did Collins believe you?”
“Enough to clap irons on Vale. The rest will be sorted by the magistrate.”
“How did you explain the gunshot?”
“I took credit for it,” he said easily. “It’s my pistol, after all. I told Collins I fired when I saw Vale’s hands around Marie’s throat. I hope you don’t mind—me taking the credit, that is.”
“Of course not. As you said, my name shouldn’t come up in connection with any of this.” I hesitated. “But Vale will talk. He’ll claim I was there.”
“Which Finch and I—and Marie as well—will firmly refute.”
He adjusted his cufflink, as if his next words were merely an afterthought. “By the way, after she gives birth, I intend to send Marie to one of my properties in Kent. It’s quiet. Secure. She and her child can live there as long as they like, free from interference.”
I blinked. “Is that what she wants?”
“Before she left for St. Agnes, she mentioned being from the south,” he said, tone even. “Said she wanted to live somewhere warm. Somewhere safe after her baby was born.”
“Where exactly would she reside?”
He exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the hearth. “It used to be a girls’ boarding school. Closed long before I bought it—left to rot, really. I had it restored after . . . well, after.” A pause. “It’s meant as a refuge. For women with nowhere else to go. There’s a midwife nearby. A roof. Good food. Medical care. About twenty women stay there at any given time. Some with children;others without. Quietly. Without interference. No names. No questions.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You built a rescue home for women.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
There was no elaboration. No justification. But something had clearly driven him to do it—something in his past, perhaps something painful. I could have asked. But I didn’t.
Some things are offered in silence.
I exhaled slowly. “So it’s done.”
“It’s done.”
I turned to the window and stared out into the starlit sky. “He was going to kill her. And then more than likely, me.”
