Chapter 13 #2
Brendan released her and gestured toward her chair. She resumed her seat, watching him closely. He returned to his own and lifted his tea, sipping slowly before responding.
“I was sleeping beside you when I awoke to a crash. Someone had been rifling through my room and overturned the water jug in their haste. That moment confirmed it. One of the servants is involved. My first thought was for your safety. That is why I sent for the Johns. Then, after speaking with Briggs, Halmesbury, and Richard, I was compelled to seek out more answers.”
Lily’s shoulders sagged slightly. “So … all this was about keeping me safe? Not …”
Her gaze flickered to the gossip sheets still strewn across the table.
Brendan tilted his head, confused. “Yes, of course. What else would it be?”
She shrugged faintly, her voice low. “Nothing. I … was not sure what to think.”
Lily did not agree to leave Ridley House, but she consented to consider it and to accept the continued presence of the Johns.
She could not, in good conscience, argue against the reality that a woman of her petite stature might struggle to fend off a desperate or frenzied attacker.
And someone had been killed. The threat, however shadowy, could not be dismissed.
Still, the conversation had left her ill at ease.
She reassured herself that Brendan—athletic, alert, and strong—would be capable of defending himself should danger come his way.
At least, she hoped that was true. He certainly seemed tense enough to react quickly, his entire manner imbued with vigilance beneath the surface.
Despite her reluctance to part so early in their marriage, especially when her most urgent hope was to transform it into a love match, Brendan’s logic held merit.
If she returned to her parents’ home for a time, he could pursue the investigation without the added burden of worrying for her safety.
And she, in turn, could go about her days unburdened by the silent scrutiny of two large men trailing her through every corridor.
Leaving the breakfast room, with First John falling into step behind her, Lily noticed that the rain had ceased altogether. The sudden stillness within Ridley House felt eerie, too quiet after the relentless rhythm that had dominated the past day.
As she rounded a corner, she nearly collided with Michaels in the dimly lit passage.
She gave a slight gasp, more startled than she cared to admit.
Ordinarily, one could hear the butler approaching.
His heavy step echoed with predictable rhythm upon the wooden floors. But this time, there had been no sound.
Had he been standing in the shadows?
Lily stiffened, unease prickling her skin. She disliked the thought, but Brendan’s revelations had seeded mistrust. She hated to admit it, but Ridley House no longer felt entirely her own.
Perhaps Brendan was right. Perhaps she should go home. It was no good leaping like a frightened ninny every time a servant appeared without warning.
“Is the carriage ready?”
Michaels pursed his lips ever so slightly, as though the question wounded his professional pride.
“Of course, milady. You requested it for ten o’clock, so—”
From the entry hall, the deep toll of the casement clock cut through his words. Michaels raised a single eyebrow, letting the chimes answer her more pointedly than he had.
“May I have my pelisse and bonnet?”
He gave a short bow and disappeared into the gloomy hallway to fetch her things, leaving Lily alone with her thoughts.
Her conversation with Brendan lingered in her mind. To learn that he had been running about Town on her behalf, to protect her, had stolen the fire from her indignation. It was rather sweet. Unsettling, yes, but undeniably sweet.
She had meant to ask him about the broadsheet. About Lady Slight. But the moment had not felt right.
Or perhaps, a small voice whispered within her, you are simply afraid of the answer.
She would address the matter at dinner, Lily resolved.
The thought of visiting Sophia offered a welcome reprieve.
Brendan had made it clear that First John must accompany her, given that the footman and coachman might pose a risk, but within Sophia’s home, she would be free to move without her silent shadow dogging her every step.
Brendan had agreed that John could wait with the servants in the mews behind the Saunton townhouse until she was ready to return.
Brendan, meanwhile, would spend the day speaking with more lords who might have conversed with the late baron. With arrangements in place, Lily left Ridley House with a sense of relief. She had grown weary of the silence, the uncertainty, and the unrelenting suspicions about the staff.
When she arrived at Balfour Terrace, the earl’s London townhouse, her spirits lifted immediately. To her delight, Miles was in the drawing room with his mother. Lily scarcely paused to greet Sophia before sweeping the infant into her arms, cooing over his round face and bright eyes.
Miles gurgled and grinned, reaching for a strand of her hair with an eager, tiny hand.
“Oh, Sophia! I want a little angel of my own.”
Sophia laughed. “Give it a moment. Perhaps let the menfolk solve this murder before introducing a child.”
Lily sighed and took a seat, settling Miles on her knees to face her. She pulled silly faces, delighted when his eyes sparkled and he gave a delighted chuckle.
“Brendan has informed me I am in danger,” she said softly.
“I know,” Sophia replied. “Richard told me he arranged for the Johns. Where is …” She trailed off, then added a bit awkwardly, “One of them?”
“In the mews. Brendan and I agreed that I only need protection when I am near our own servants. We even spoke of pensioning Michaels and letting the footmen go, but it felt unfair to dismiss all of them on the suspicion that one may be at fault. Besides, if we do not know which man poses the danger, then removing only one solves nothing.”
Sophia’s brow furrowed. “So what happens now?”
“Brendan wants me to return home.” Lily’s shoulders slumped.
“But I want to stay. Things were beginning to go so well between us. I was so sure we could fall in love. Now it is all murder and mystery, and I cannot bear the thought of Mama interfering. If she finds out I am in danger, she will never let me hear the end of it.”
Sophia pulled a sympathetic face. “We are returning to Saunton Park in a few days. If the matter is not resolved, you might come with us. Or even stay here at Balfour Terrace until we leave.”
Lily tickled Miles, who squirmed and laughed, his little body wiggling with joy. “It is not ideal, but perhaps I shall. I would much rather spend the summer with you and Richard than endure Mama’s commentary on my marriage.”
“I think you are fortunate to have a mother, especially one like Aunty, who cares so deeply, but I understand the need to shape your own life now that you are wed. The invitation remains open.”
Lily spent the rest of the day with Sophia and Miles, grateful for the warmth and comfort they provided. For a few blessed hours, the shadow of Ridley House faded.
It was only as she departed that evening, her carriage rolling quietly through the streets, that she realized she had forgotten to ask Sophia about the on-dit in the gossip sheets.
But what could Sophia truly say, other than to encourage her to ask Brendan directly?
Lily’s stomach knotted as she tried to plan how to broach the subject.
Perhaps it was not simply the how that troubled her. Perhaps it was that she feared the answer.
Briggs shook his head. “I can find no other suspects among the servants. Michaels is the only one with any apparent grievance against your family.”
Brendan cleared his throat. “Even so, we cannot dismiss the possibility that one of them has been bribed, or threatened, into silence by the killer.”
“Indeed. And given that both the study and your chamber have been searched, it is difficult to believe Michaels murdered the baron in pursuit of some long-forgotten revenge. The accidental death of a gamekeeper over thirty years ago does not explain his interest in your belongings.”
The air in the library hung still and musty, tinged faintly with the pungent tang of leather-bound tomes. A faint ticking from the mantel clock underscored the conversation, its rhythmic beat marking time like a metronome to their speculation.
“In summary, then … we know very little of value.” Brendan exhaled, his voice edged with frustration.
“The barons I interviewed could only recall idle conversation before and after the coronation. The baron did not attend any gatherings that followed. According to Michaels, he returned home for dinner, gave his valet the night off to visit family in London, and dined alone in the formal dining room. Afterward, he secluded himself in the study and instructed the staff not to disturb him. At some point between ten o’clock and dawn, he was struck from behind with a marble sculpture taken from the mantel. ”
“He was killed well before dawn,” Briggs added. “The coroner was clear that he had been dead for several hours by the time we arrived.”
Brendan nodded. “Then we presume he was murdered between ten o’clock and midnight. By that hour, most of the male servants would have been belowstairs in the servants’ hall.”
The chair creaked as Briggs shifted his weight. “Which means one of them may be lying about their whereabouts. They would have had both opportunity and, possibly, motive.”
“Or,” Brendan added, “Michaels or one of the footmen answered the door and allowed the killer in. Whether out of fear or for a price, they might be keeping silent.”
“And now,” Briggs continued, folding his arms as he leaned against the edge of the table, “that same person may be searching for something in the house. Some item that links the baron to the killer …”
“Or something entirely unrelated,” Brendan finished, sweeping a hand across the clutter of correspondence on the writing desk. “Either way, we are still in the dark.”
A quiet pause settled between them. Outside, a faint clatter of hooves echoed down the distant street, softened by the thick stone walls of Ridley House. Brendan rubbed at the back of his neck.
“The difficulty is that the baron has spent the last two decades at his country estate,” Briggs said, his voice lower, more measured.
“There are no known connections here in Town. I questioned his solicitors, unremarkable fellows, but they had nothing to offer. The baron’s world was Filminster, not London. If answers exist, they may lie there.”
Brendan glanced toward the window, where gauzy curtains stirred slightly in the evening draft. Dust motes drifted in the fading summer light, which cast a pale glow across the floorboards.
“Perhaps the truth lies in Filminster,” he murmured. “The baron despised travel, enough to shirk his duties at Westminster entirely after inheriting the title, preferring to remain cloistered at Baydon Hall. I could travel there and search for anything that might cast light on this matter.”
He glanced once more toward the window, where the summer clouds cast large shadows upon his view. “And if I go without any of the servants from this household, I could remove Lady Filminster from danger at the same time.”
Briggs stroked his mustache, deep in thought. “There might be merit to that. I shall continue the investigation here in Town. Meanwhile, I can recommend a discreet and experienced runner, whom you might take with you. He would be of use in Filminster.”
Brendan stood and began pacing the length of the library.
His boots made muffled sounds upon the old rug, worn smooth by generations before him.
The plan made sense. Not for reasons of strategy, but because of sentiment.
He did not wish to be parted from Lily. These past few days, brief though they had been, had shifted something within him.
She was a revelation. Her optimism, her intelligence, her refusal to bend before convention had brought an unexpected lightness into his otherwise grim affairs. She had not only saved him from a protracted trial, but made him feel less alone. In her presence, burdens seemed a little lighter.
“I shall do it,” he said firmly. “Lady Filminster and I will leave for Baydon Hall as soon as I can make arrangements for travel. Perhaps the duke might lend me a carriage and men.”
Briggs inclined his head. “Then I shall send word to the runner and bring him to you in the morning.”
After Briggs departed, Brendan glanced at the longcase clock by the hearth.
The day had slipped past unnoticed, the hours marked only by the subtle shift of light in the room and the scent of cooling ashes from the earlier fire.
Despite the season, the house retained a damp chill that settled in the bones.
The list of tasks for departure would need to wait until morning, as Briggs had suggested. But already Brendan felt a sense of direction. If he could take Lily with him, he could keep her safe … and perhaps use the quiet of the countryside to better understand this new bond between them.
He had barely seated himself at the desk when a sharp rap sounded at the door. He looked up, startled.
Michaels entered, his expression as flat and disinterested as ever. “Lady Slight to see you, milord,” he intoned, as if announcing the arrival of the footman with tea.
Brendan rose at once, his face tightening in disbelief as Harriet swept into the library unbidden. He turned a furious look on Michaels, unable to fathom how she had been allowed past the threshold without his express permission.
“What are you doing here?”