Chapter 24 #2
“He also told me about this terrible business with Lady Westford.” She pressed a hand to her chest as she glanced first at Alec, then at Kendra. “Westford would never harm his wife. I cannot bear anyone thinking him such a fiend.”
“Heather—”
She patted his hand. “No, Westford. We must discuss this. I sent the children to the schoolroom, so we shan’t be disturbed. When we heard the news, Westford thought . . . well, we both thought Lady Westford had done something dreadful.”
Kendra eyed the woman curiously, then looked to Westford. “Why? Did your wife say anything to make you think that she was depressed? Suicidal?”
“No.” He frowned a bit uncertainly. “At least, I don’t think so. Grace was, as I already told you, preoccupied.”
“You never saw her weeping?”
“No.”
“She never indicated to you that she was afraid?”
“Afraid?” Now he looked baffled. “Afraid of what?”
“Maybe of you,” Kendra said bluntly, studying him closely.
The earl sucked in a shocked breath. “Balderdash! I—”
“Was overheard threatening to kill your wife after you learned about her involvement with Mr. Goldsten,” Kendra interjected. “Why don’t you tell us about that?”
“I . . . well, for God’s sakes, I didn’t mean it literally. Grace and I had a cordial relationship. If you must know, I was quite fond of her.” He licked his lips nervously. “I would never kill her! What kind of monster do you think I am?”
Mrs. O’Leary laid a comforting hand on the earl’s arm, locking her steady gaze on Kendra. “Lady Westford has had several liaisons over the years once the line was secured, and Westford voiced no objections.”
“Until Lady Westford’s affair with Mr. Goldsten.”
“Well, of course!” Westford exploded. “He’s a Jew! Who would not be upset? Especially when I was being made sport of!”
Mrs. O’Leary patted his arm again, but kept her gaze on Kendra’s face.
“Lord Crawford approached Westford about it one evening while he was at White’s,” she explained.
“He taunted Westford in the most insulting way. Odious man! ’Tis little wonder Westford was distraught about the situation. He spoke unthinkingly.”
“Did you ever talk to your wife about her relationship with Mr. Goldsten?” Kendra asked.
“Of course!” Westford’s chest swelled in his indignation. “I told Grace that she needed to end it quickly. Not only for the Westford name, mind you, but also because she had a duty to the Queen as her lady-in-waiting. I can’t imagine Her Royal Highness being tolerant of the relationship either.”
Alec’s green eyes were cool as he regarded the earl.
“I wouldn’t be too certain of that, Westford.
Our Queen is an intelligent woman, and well aware that it was Nathan Mayer von Rothschild who funded Wellington’s campaign against the French.
We ought to thank God that he was on our side, not Napoleon’s. ”
Westford’s face reddened, but he waved his hand dismissively. “I think we would’ve won the war regardless, my lord.”
“Doubtful,” Alec countered drily. “Every war needs to be financed, its troops funded. Soldiers are always full of patriotism, love of God and country when wars begin, but without food in their bellies, fresh horses and ammunition, armies fall, campaigns fail.”
Westford scowled, his chin lifting at a mutinous angle, but he didn’t reply.
“When did you speak to your wife about Mr. Goldsten?” Kendra asked, refocusing the conversation.
“I can’t be expected to know the exact date, can I?” Westford grumbled.
“Before or after you spoke to Lord Crawford?”
“I spoke to her before—a word of caution. Then I spoke to her again after Lord Crawford brought home to me how much she was making a cake of herself.”
“You were angry. You argued.” Kendra paused. “How violent was your argument, sir?”
Westford’s nostrils flared. “I did not harm Grace! How many times must I tell you? For heaven’s sake, I did not throw her over the balcony in some shabby theater!”
Mrs. O’Leary said, “This is getting redundant, my lady. Westford is not responsible for his wife’s death.”
“Lady Westford had bruises on her that had nothing to do with her murder,” Kendra said. “It looks like someone grabbed her, maybe shook her.”
Westford turned a deeper red, shaking his head. “I swear, I did not lay a finger on her!”
Kendra noticed Mrs. O’Leary squeeze Westford’s arm. Trying to comfort him? Or a cautionary gesture?
Mrs. O’Leary smiled at Kendra. “Westford would not harm a fly. I can vouch that he was here all day on Sunday. The weather was nice enough for us to take the children to Regent Park to feed the ducks. This summer has been dreadfully cold.”
“How many children do you have, Mrs. O’Leary?” Alec inquired politely.
She smiled at him. “Six. Our eldest, Charles, is a barrister in the House of Commons. Blythe married last year, which makes her two sisters, Fanny and Sarah, frightfully jealous. They will soon be out of the schoolroom, finding beaus of their own. Thankfully, I have Robert and Cecil for a few more years, even though they are a bit of a handful.”
“Did your wife ever mention a woman named Clarice? Clarice Chapman?” Kendra asked Westford.
He appeared confused by the abrupt change in topic. “No. Who is she?”
Kendra shifted her gaze to Mrs. O’Leary. “Do you know Clarice Chapman?”
“No. Who is that?”
Kendra fished the poster out of her reticule. “She was an actress at the Bowden Theater. Do you recognize her?”
“Westford and I enjoy the theater and have been to the Bowden Theater a time or two.” She frowned as she studied the illustration. “I don’t recognize her, but that isn’t entirely unusual with the greasepaint one wears on stage.”
“You don’t keep in touch with anyone from the theater?”
“Oh, good heavens, no! It’s been decades since I was part of a troupe. After I met Westford”—she beamed at the earl—“I never considered continuing on stage. My fellow thespians move around so often, ’tis difficult to keep up a correspondence.”
Kendra replaced the paper in her reticule. “Lord Westford, did your wife ever say the phrase, ‘Exitus acta probat’ to you in conversation?”
“No.” Now his frown was more puzzled than angry. “It’s Latin, isn’t it? I was never good at foreign languages. Waste of time, as far as I’m concerned. The King’s English is good enough for me. What does it mean?”
“’The outcome justifies the deed,’ or ‘the end justifies the means.’ Maybe she said it to you in English.”
“No. Why would she?”
“Did she talk to you about St. George’s Hospital?”
His brow cleared, seemingly relieved to be able to answer in the affirmative. “Yes! She was concerned about its state of disrepair. My wife enjoyed playing Lady Bountiful. She was drumming up interest with likeminded ladies to raise funds to build a new hospital.”
“Did she ever speak about the physicians or surgeons that worked there?”
Lord Westford’s jaw tightened. “I am aware of Grace’s fascination with medicine and natural philosophy.
Even when we were children, she expressed curiosity in such matters.
We did not share the interest, so we never discussed it.
Her sister died from typhus. I believe that’s where her obsession came from. ”
“Obsession is a strong word, my lord.”
“She was always reading books and journals on the subject, and going to St. George’s and lectures at the Royal Society. What would you call it?”
Before Kendra could reply, the door suddenly flew open and two young boys, about nine or ten, sprinted into the room.
“Papa! Papa!” they shouted, diving toward their father.
“Cecil kicked me, Papa—”
“I did not! You kicked me first!”
The younger boy scowled at his brother. It made his small, chubby face look oddly like his father’s. In another forty years, Kendra thought, he’ll be a replica of Lord Westford.
“Children, children!” Mrs. O’Leary clapped her hands to gain their attention, then shot an apologetic look at Kendra and Alec. “We have guests. Bow to Lord and Lady Sutcliffe.”
The boys immediately fell into quick, sloppy bows.
“Ma’am, I do apologize!” exclaimed the harried young woman who materialized in the doorway. “They got away from me.”
Mrs. O’Leary rose, herding her boys to the door. “Don’t fret, Lauren. Come on, bratlings. You’re going back to the nursery.” She paused to glance back at Kendra. “We’ve told you everything. Westford was with me on Sunday. I will swear that under oath if I have to.”
Kendra nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Leary. I have one more question for his lordship.”
“Go on, Heather,” Westford said, shoving himself to his feet, a signal that the interview was at end. “This won’t take long.”
Kendra and Alec stood, as well. Mrs. O’Leary and Lord Westford exchanged a look, and she reached out to capture his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Westford’s face softened.
The look disappeared as soon as he turned to face them. “Well? What else do you want to know?”
“I want to know why you ordered Dr. Thornton to declare your wife’s death an accident?”
“What?”
“You interfered with an investigation, my lord. I want to know why.”
Kendra expected him to give the typical speech: how families were tarnished if it became known that their loved ones had committed suicide, how anyone who committed self-murder could not be buried on church grounds, and their souls were damned for eternity.
She certainly expected him to justify pressuring Thornton to shut down any investigation.
But she was wrong.
Westford stared at her, mystified. “What the devil are you talking about? I told Dr. Thornton no such thing! He was the one who informed me that Grace had killed herself. To save our family from disgrace, he offered to declare the death an accident and even said that he could shut down the inquest. He never once mentioned the possibility that she could’ve been murdered. Never once.”