“Perhaps all.”
The vicar nodded. “Then it is right I should tell you. I daresay, you would likely find out elsewhere anyway, for it is quite the tragic thing when a clipper of twenty-four men goes down.”
“In the sea?”
“Yes, with but two survivors.”
That explained the names in the Bible. “But I thought that crew committed mutiny.”
“Would to heaven they had, my son. May God rest their souls, as the sea has rested their bodies.”
“What caused the wreck?”
“Only what has already been forgiven.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Ellis came to me a very tortured man. He carried many lives on his conscience. Lives that might not have been lost had he not been …”
“Not been what?”
“This can be of help to no one now.” The vicar rose. “There are many a man who would like to hold such deaths against Ellis, but God has forgotten all. I think it would be best were we to do the same.”
Felton walked alongside the man until they reached the vestibule again. He placed his hand on the door, but hesitated to open it. “One last question, Mr. Warburton, if I may.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Ellis brought many sins to you that night.”
“He brought them to God, my son, not me. That is where he left them.”
Felton stared into the man’s eyes. “Was the murder of Lady Gillingham among those sins?”
“No.” The vicar folded his hands, as if in prayer. “He came to me just one night before the death of Lady Gillingham, and may I say, I do not believe such a burdened man could have murdered anyone. That is why the blood of twenty-two men weighed so very much. Indeed, had I not stopped him, he would have ended his own life right here in this church—for not only did he bear such guilt, but many were seeking revenge on him.”
“Then he was in hiding.”
“Yes, I gathered as much from what he had said. Sad story. Very sad. I will pray that he has at last found peace and rest in the merciful kindness of the Lord.”
He would need such prayers, of a certain.
Felton thanked the vicar, jogged back down the stone steps, and mounted. Sometime between when the ship went down and the night Ellis visited the church, some connection had been forged among him and the murder and little Eliza. But what? What did one have to do with the other? How had he ended up with the child?
The vicar said the man could have never murdered.
Eliza vowed the same.
Which meant either Captain Jasper Ellis was an innocent man—or he was just cunning enough to convince everyone he was.
Eliza stiffened in her bed as the tiny knock came again. Her candle was still aglow, so she hurried out of bed and slipped on her ruffled wrapper—something Mrs. Eustace had warned her to do, above all else, lest someone see her in her nightgown.
She’d never worn a wrapper at the cottage. Why did it matter so much now?
Before she reached the door, it came open on its own. Lord Gillingham stood before her, hair disheveled, a brass candlestick in one hand, and something pink draped over his shoulder. “Eliza.” Teary. Why were there tears?
She took a step back as he took a step forward. “M–my lord.” What was he doing here so late?
His bottom lip trembled, but he offered a smile. “I am glad you are not yet asleep.”
