Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
“That day we read no further.”
Dante’s Divine Comedy
A ll things considered, when Molly awoke, it was the memory of their kiss that was foremost in her mind, and Marco’s admonishment to keep away had receded in importance. Patience was in order, but the possibility of something developing between them was not out of the question.
She had no stratagems to spend any time with him, but she would think of something. They needed to talk more, learn about each other, if she was to develop her rapport with him. She could hardly expect to earn his undying esteem, and him to choose to remain here in England, if he had no inkling who she was as a person. They had barely conversed, but the searing kiss proved he was aware of her as a woman.
Miss Dubois had just finished fixing her hair, although Molly was musing that she had done these tasks herself in the past, and would happily do so again if she could rid herself of her annoying companion. A knock on the door interrupted the increasing chafing of ignoring the critical prattle she was subjected to each morning, and Miss Dubois crossed to open it. Duncan, the head footman, was revealed, dropping a polite bow.
“The baron requests your presence in the study, Miss Carter.”
She nodded, collecting her shawl as a defense against the morning chill and stopping to pull on her gloves. Then, with Miss Dubois at her heels, she made her way to the lower level.
When she entered the study, she found Nicholas had taken up a seat, his injured leg propped up and the stack of Lady Blackwood’s journals beside him. The baron was seated at the walnut desk, his wispy gray hair a halo around his head, but she was pleased to note the pink in his cheeks. John was recovering since his slow poisoning had been uncovered by Lady Trafford, a skilled healer, who had begun visiting on a regular basis to see to his health. Even Nicholas, despite his grumpiness, was filling out. No longer rake-thin, the young man was developing muscle.
“Molly! You look lovely this morning.”
She smiled, a hand coming up to check her hair. Relenting on her mourning period had lifted her spirits more than she had anticipated, and she was enjoying rediscovering her wardrobe from before her mother’s death.
“How are you this morning, John?”
The baron grinned. “Better than yesterday.”
She chuckled in response. It had become a running jest since his collapse, when Molly had been the only one trusted to take care of him. Back then, they had not known who had been behind the attempt to kill him off slowly with micro doses of arsenic. As Molly had joined the household a few months earlier, she was the only person in the house who had not been a suspect other than the baron himself. Those had been strenuous days, but they had developed a friendship from their time spent together.
John turned his attention to Miss Dubois. “I am afraid this is a private discussion, Miss Dubois. Would you mind observing from outside as you did before?”
The Frenchwoman sagged slightly, curtsying with a plaintive, “ Oui , milord,” and departing the study through the terrace doors to take up her post.
Crossing the room, Molly took up a seat in one of the armchairs. “What are we about?”
John tilted his head toward Nicholas. “My brother has completed the reading of the journals.”
Nicholas grimaced, his lean face painted in disgust. “It was as unpleasant as Simon warned. My mother was not a well woman. Reading the details of her madness was horrible but edifying, and I have gained a great understanding of evil.”
Molly winced, recalling that Simon had said they were not suitable reading for an unmarried woman. Which would imply that poor Nicholas, and Simon, had had to sift through the discussion of carnal relations within the venomous writings.
Volunteering her services two days earlier had been done with severe reservations, but she possessed a sense of duty to the family who had endured so much. If she could have spared them, she would, but Simon had deemed it inappropriate. She supposed that as Isla’s offspring, they felt an obligation to shield others, not to mention to uphold as much privacy and dignity as they could under the circumstances.
John interjected. “We are waiting for Marco and Angelo to join us, so we might discuss the possibility of an accomplice.”
This information was more unsettling than she had anticipated. She desired Marco’s company, but she had yet to decide how to act when she next saw him. After months with no tangible plan for the future, she had glimpsed a possible path, and she wanted … she wanted … she wanted to explore the potential.
Marco and Angelo were just completing their breakfast when the footman who had assisted them the day before to find the roof entered to inform them that the baron had requested they join him in the study. They headed down the hall, entering through the door one at a time. Marco came to an abrupt halt behind his brother, realizing Molly was there.
Guilt over his outburst last evening, as well as kissing an innocent woman, had kept him up all night, so he was still feeling on edge. When he had fallen asleep, he had suffered a variety of disturbing and inappropriate dreams. Being crushed under a falling Romulus, as well as being flung by an overturned carriage. Not to mention the other sort—lush breasts cupped within his palms while the scent of cinnamon wafted through the air, causing his mouth to water with a ravenous hunger for creamy skin and delectable curves.
He knew he needed to make up for his poor behavior, but he was not ready to see her yet.
Angelo paused, noticing his hesitation in entering, and followed his gaze to where Molly was sitting. Looking back at Marco, his younger brother raised his brows in query, but Marco did not respond. Comprehension lit up Angelo’s face, and with great deliberation he walked in to take the seat farthest from Molly.
Marco gritted his teeth in irritation at his brother’s manipulation, before continuing into the room to drop into the remaining armchair closest to the object of his lustful phantasies with a curt greeting.
Uncle John straightened at his desk. “I wish to remind everyone present to keep your voices low. Miss Dubois is observing from outside.” He bobbed his head in the direction of the windows, and Marco saw that the companion was leaning against the stone balustrade as she watched their gathering with a resentful expression.
Molly’s chaperon did not appear to be an endearing creature, despite her physical attractions, and Molly’s transparent efforts to rid her from their company the day before would confirm his suspicions. He shuddered to think what it would be like as an adult, just a few years younger than himself, to have a thorny nursemaid following him about as if he were a tiny tot in short pants. Which made his guilt arise again for his clumsy bemoaning of proprieties the night before. His nerves were on edge, and he had not employed any charm to reject her interest in him as a man. How capricious his disposition had grown since setting foot on these Albion shores!
“My brother has completed studying Lady Blackwood’s journals, and we wish to discuss the implications.” The baron’s low voice reminded Marco that he was not here to mull over his inadequate dealings with the woman sitting a couple of feet away. “Given the possibility that his mother has left us a disciple to mete out further death, I wished for us to meet as a family so we can formulate a plan if there is reason to suspect we are in danger.”
Angelo perked up. “My brother has confirmation that he is being targeted.”
Uncle John frowned, turning his gaze to Marco. “What is this?”
At the edge of his vision, he could see Molly shifting uncomfortably as he tried to think what to say. “I … was walking in the garden when I came to a stop beneath the statue of Romulus.” He gestured to the side of the building. “A jardinère came tumbling from the skies directly at my head, but I was able to leap away. When Angelo and I visited the roof, we found that it might have been levered over the edge with a pry bar.”
Nicholas groaned, dragging a hand through his mop of dark brown hair, which was in need of a cut. “That is unfortunate news. I suppose that confirms we do have cause for concern.”
The baron shook his head in dismay. “Indeed. If there is an accomplice seeking your death, it means that I might become a target, too. Isla—Lady Blackwood—was attempting to clear the way by hurrying my death. Is there anyone else who might be considered expendable?”
“Not me. Simon would inherit with or without my presence.” Nicholas sounded sour in his response.
Molly cleared her throat before chiming in with the same notion he had yesterday on the roof. “Angelo. He would stand in the way of Simon inheriting, if that is what this is about. Which seems likely because that was Lady Blackwood’s obsession. She would have wanted rid of you, Marco, and Angelo to clear the way for Simon to be the baron.”
Marco was impressed—she had calculated the list without hesitation, proving again that she was no wilting flower of high society, but a resilient woman with a strong mind. His mother would like this Molly Carter if they ever met.
Nicholas contributed his thoughts in the same sour tone as before. “And I can confirm from reading these … toxic ramblings … that my mother was obsessed with Simon rising to the rank of baron while I … I was a mere tool to ensure his perpetual guilt. She seemed pleased in the aftermath of my accident that Simon blamed himself, using it to her advantage to persuade him into doing his duty. You, Marco, and Angelo are the three people who stand in the way of any plot she may have enacted before she died.”
John sighed heavily, slumping back in his swivel chair to think. “And what do the journals reveal? Do we have a list of potential suspects?”
“I do not have a definitive answer. One name that came up was Dr. White.”
Molly glanced around the room before adding to what Nicholas had said. “Dr. White is the family physician. He supplied Lady Blackwood with laudanum, which was how she … took her life. He disappeared the day we discovered John was being poisoned. We thought it was probably to avoid trouble for failing to notice the signs of arsenic poisoning, but perhaps it was because he had willfully ignored the symptoms to assist the baroness.”
Angelo cocked his head to consider this information with a studious expression before finally responding. “How would Dr. White access the carriage or the roof of this house? To do so, he would need a servant to allow him entry.”
“Which means we should still be looking for someone within this household,” agreed Marco.
“If I may suggest someone else?” Molly was nervous, licking her lips as if reluctant to proffer a suspect. The urge to lean over and clasp her delicate fingers in encouragement was unexpected, and Marco made a point of relaxing into the plump padding of his chair before he worsened the tense situation he had created with her.
“Who?” queried the baron, his interest obvious.
Molly’s eyes flickered toward the figure beyond the window. “Miss Dubois. Her affinity for Lady Blackwood borders on fanaticism. She mentions her dozens of times a day, and she is quite put out to be my companion instead of servicing a ‘ beauteeful baronezz ’.”
Marco almost laughed out loud; Molly’s impression of her fawning companion was comical, despite their macabre discussion.
“Interesting. What would her motive be?” Uncle John mused.
“According to these”—Nicholas waved at the stack of journals—“Lady Blackwood paid a footman in the Ridley household to gather information after she killed Lord Filminster. Perhaps she has made arrangements to pay Miss Dubois for completing her crusade.” Nicholas pulled a face. “I had to read all about it. There is not much about Miss Dubois in the journals, but I can confirm that my mother had a liking for the maid, so she might have had a strong enough relationship to corrupt Miss Dubois into perpetuating her crimes.”
The baron nodded. “Then we should observe Miss Dubois. Perhaps someone should search her room for any evidence? Molly could keep her occupied.”
The baron’s outrageous suggestion, so easily offered, had Marco and his brother exchange looks of surprise. This household had been under attack, which explained the equanimity with which its residents conspired to investigate even as Molly hissed in rejection, clearly alarmed at the thought.
“And what if she is innocent? That would be a terrible invasion of privacy for a man to go through her things. No—I should do it if we are to be so sly.”
It was a thoughtful gesture, Marco thought, considering he suspected Molly did not like her companion in the least. Her proposal of Miss Dubois as a potential murderess confirmed her dislike of the servant, but she still took pains to treat the woman with what respect she could afford.
“If you remain in your room to read, Miss Dubois could be called away. Perhaps I could interview her over her change in roles and deliver some directions about how I want Molly to be serviced? I should be able to drag that out for an hour if I choose to blather on like old men are wont to do.”
Molly nodded at the baron’s suggestion. “That would work.”
“So we have Dr. White and Miss Dubois on the list, but cannot see how White could do it without help from inside the house. Any other suspects, Nicholas?”
He shook his head, and the devil seized Marco. It was difficult to shake the thought that Nicholas himself had a motive to assist his mother, and it was high time someone proposed the possibility.
“What of Nicholas himself? How can we know he does not wish to clear a path to inheriting? Should someone else read the journals when he has much to gain if we are all killed?” Angelo’s face fell with alarm, and Marco realized he had overstepped. Perhaps raising the subject was circumspect, but he was afraid his lack of sleep, along with the pressure of knowing someone wanted to kill him, had caused him to be sharper than was good judgment. Even Molly had reached out a hand to pacify Nicholas, who had straightened to glare at Marco in anger.
“I did not help my mother to kill a peer of the realm to cover up your existence, and I did not poison my own brother!” He jerked a hand toward John, bristling with outrage as he responded in an angry but low voice which reminded everyone present of Miss Dubois, all eyes shifting to the window to ensure the companion could not overhear their conversation before Nicholas returned his heated gaze to Marco. “I certainly did not assist her to overdose my own father. Nor did I assist her to poison Simon’s bride!”
Marco raised his hands in appeasement. “I apologize for how I stated my question, but as someone who is unfamiliar … You have a close relationship with her, and you would benefit if we all died. How can we know you are not a suspect?”
Nicholas rose from his chair, awkward because of the limp, as he straightened to his full height. “Because she was a homicidal lunatic who had no time for her damaged son! Anyone here can confirm that we did not, in fact, share a close relationship. My mother was a vain woman who liked her shallow and pretty pursuits.” Gesturing down at his leg, Nicholas continued. “With an injury like this, do you think she considered me worthy of her attentions? But feel free to read her journals if you wish to know what she thought of her … spare … son.”
The hurt that emanated from the younger man could not be feigned, and Marco slowly comprehended the challenge it must have been for Nicholas to read his mother’s private musings. To discover firsthand what she thought of each of her family, including Nicholas himself, while reading about the crimes she had committed and her warped reasons for doing so.
“ Chiedo venia. My deepest apologies, my friend. I had not considered how uncomfortable it must be, and I meant no disrespect.”
Molly reached out a hand as they stared at each other, the tension palpable, to clasp Nicholas’s. “Please, Nicholas, calm yourself and take a seat.”
Heaving a shuddering sigh, the other man settled back into his seat, his face wreathed in pain. Molly turned to Marco. “Your question is understandable under the circumstances, but as someone who witnessed the baroness interact with Nicholas, I can confirm that her disdain for him was marked. I cannot recollect a single instance when Lady Blackwood directed any conversation in his direction. And Simon would not have left the journals with Nicholas if he had even one thought that Nicholas could be involved. We may have been na?ve about the evils a person is capable of before recent events unfolded, but I can assure you we now possess a much-heightened awareness.”
Reluctantly, Marco’s esteem for the young woman grew. She had inserted herself to bring peace with sincerity and eloquence, and he could not help admiring how she faced the pressures of life as well as any man he knew. Molly was not only comely, she was a force to be reckoned with. Her future husband would be a fortunate man to have such a strong partner by his side. And, just for an instant, he pictured that husband to be him.
“I second Molly’s observations. After his accident, Lady Blackwood had little time for her younger son,” the baron interjected. “I could not and would not consider my brother as a suspect. It is much more likely someone has been paid to pursue her goals than that Nicholas would assist in such demonic activities.”
Angelo cleared his throat, offering his thoughts in a bright tone intended to improve the prevailing mood. “I think it is best if we can all remember that we are famiglia . We may have just met, but the bonds of blood can make us strong if we work together.”
Despite the troubles they were currently facing, Angelo’s optimistic declaration made Marco’s lips quirk into a slight smile. His brother was a good friend to many, and Marco was glad Angelo had joined him on this bizarre trip to England. “Agreed. Again, my apologies. I did not understand the situation, but now I do.”
“What should I be searching for? Do we have any ideas?” Molly’s attempt to shift the subject was obvious, but welcome.
Nicholas gestured to the journals. “One of these. Each volume has about three years’ worth of entries, and we have a period of three years which is not covered here. My mother pulled these out as her confession to clear Simon’s name in the aftermath of her suicide, so if she tasked an accomplice to complete her work, it is possible she gave the missing volume to that person.”
Marco studied the journals with their distinct rich leather, gold tooling, and embossed thistles on the front. “Did you search the house for it?”
Nicholas looked to John for an answer.
“Simon did have a search done, but I cannot speak to how thorough it was. At the time, we were not aware that there was still danger roaming these halls.”
“Angelo and I will conduct another search. It is something … tangibile ?”
“Tangible,” replied Molly immediately, and they exchanged smiles. Marco was relieved to see that she did not hold a grudge for his clumsy rejection last evening, proving she was far more sensible than he under the current circumstances.
“ Sì , it is something tangible for us to do to help.”