EVEN THE WILDEST RAKES HAVE THEIR WEAKNESSES

Salisbury

April 1818

The second pint might have been a mistake.

Joseph Merton considered the stairs, which swayed a little. Yet it wasn’t every day a man discovered a fortune and the occasion demanded a celebration. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife.

A good woman, his wife. He’d thought himself lucky to get her. A humble bookseller’s assistant wouldn’t normally aspire to a pretty girl with a fine education and a knowledge of his trade. And then there had been the matter of her one thousand pounds. Enough to set him up in London. Certainly he had never expected any more.

Over dinner in the noisy tavern he raised a silent toast to Juliana, with a fondness undiluted by consideration of her more annoying traits. Her tendency to develop contrary opinions was forgotten in the prospect of a greater fortune coming his way.

Not even three flights of stairs could disturb his good mood, though he might have taken a more expensive room on a lower floor had he known what he’d learn today.

Such indulgence would be hasty, he reminded himself. He still needed to lay his hands on the proof. He trusted the old woman was right when she said the vital document would be found among her books. That he wouldn’t be transporting several hampers of worthless volumes to London for nothing.

He stumbled on the top step, almost fell into the narrow passage, and crashed against a door, fortunately that of his own room. To his surprise it opened. The books he’d left in neat piles were strewn about the room. He had a visitor.

Joseph knew the man by sight and he knew what he wanted. Cheerful tipsiness faded to chill sobriety.

“Where is it?” the man asked.

Though not physically strong, Joseph was no coward and he tried to fight for his life. He never had a chance. His assailant wielded his knife with ungentlemanlike efficiency.

As his life drained away, Joseph’s last thought was for Juliana. He hoped she would be able to manage without him. And wondered if she’d ever learn why he died.