Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
“For it is precisely when a force has fallen in danger that it is able to strike a blow for victory.”
Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)
“Where did you acquire the rifle?” Briggs asked, poised over his notebook, a stub of pencil balanced between calloused fingers.
Michaels sniffed with open disdain. “From the study. There is a collection of flintlock rifles mounted upon the wall, which I believe you have observed.”
Briggs continued his notes without responding to the subtle rebuke.
“Those rifles are decades old. How did you know they would prove serviceable?”
The butler’s irritation was no longer veiled. “I am responsible for their upkeep. As you are aware, my father served as gamekeeper at Baydon Hall. I was taught the proper care of such weapons from the time I could walk.”
Briggs’s pencil scratched faintly. “And yet, you had fresh powder at the ready? It would not have been advisable to fire a musket with powder that had sat undisturbed for thirty years.”
Michaels’s gaze turned stony. “I requisitioned a modest quantity through the household accounts shortly after Lord Filminster’s death.”
Briggs paused. “Why?”
“Because I concluded that someone within the household must have aided the killer … or perhaps was the killer. I deemed it my duty to safeguard this house, and those within it.”
“Did you suspect Wesley?”
Michaels sat straighter, his expression glacial.
“Indeed. And while I understand you chose to investigate me, despite over three decades of loyal service, I could not help but notice that Wesley’s account of his return from Yorkshire did not align with the mail coach timetables.
It seemed entirely possible that he reached London the very evening of the murder.
” He gestured toward the room, the events of the morning implicit in his sweeping motion. “And so, I prepared.”
Brendan grimaced. “I regret that you must endure this questioning, Michaels. Please know that we are indebted to you for your swift and courageous action.”
The butler drew in a slow breath and gave a brief, dignified nod. “I was raised alongside Master Josiah. The notion that I could ever have harmed him—” His voice caught. He shook his head, and Brendan saw past the stern veneer of the man who had served him faithfully for nearly seven years.
Michaels had known the late baron as a boy at Baydon Hall, and it was evident he still thought of him that way. His gruffness had always masked a deep loyalty to the memory of the boy he had grown up with.
“I grieve with you for Lord Filminster’s death,” Brendan said gently.
“And I am sorry you were placed in a position where you were forced to take a man’s life to protect another.
You are a valued member of this household, and we shall speak further about recognition and recompense for your service and your foresight. ”
A flicker of emotion passed across Michaels’s lined features before he inclined his head in quiet acceptance.
Brendan, watching him, could only be grateful that he had not taken rash action earlier and forced the butler into retirement out of misdirected suspicion. Had Michaels not acted when he did, Lily could have been lost. Injured. Or worse.
Briggs cleared his throat. “I mean no offense, Mr. Michaels. My questions are necessary only so I might present a complete account to the coroner’s office and ensure the inquiry proceeds swiftly.
It is my view that this household has suffered enough of late and that your actions were both justified and commendable.
The protection of a nobleman’s wife is no small matter. ”
Michaels allowed his shoulders to ease, the frost in his tone beginning to thaw. “I appreciate that, Mr. Briggs. I have no wish to prolong this matter.”
“I shall definitely put in a good word and ask the Home Secretary to have this matter closed as quickly as possible. There are certainly sufficient witnesses to what transpired with Wesley to settle it.” The duke spoke from across the library, where he had been listening from the window facing the street.
Brendan thought how welcome it would be to draw a line beneath this grim chapter.
Two dead men within the walls of Ridley House in scarcely more than a fortnight was more than enough.
At that moment, all he truly desired was to send every visitor on their way and return to Lily.
There was so much he had yet to say to her.
“I suppose that leaves us with the matter of the missing letter,” Richard said from within the gloom of the bookcases.
Brendan shook his head. “I fear we should temper our expectations. Wesley searched the house for nearly a fortnight without success. It is entirely possible the letter never existed. Or, if it did, that it has long since been destroyed.”
When Briggs had completed his interview, Brendan dismissed the gathering with quiet efficiency. As the others filed from the room, he motioned for Michaels to remain.
They stood side by side at the window, Brendan with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his gaze following a lone carriage as it rattled along the street below.
“I am deeply grateful for what you did … for my wife and for me. I should be pleased to offer you a generous pension, should you wish it.”
The butler’s frame stiffened. “Do you wish me gone, milord?”
Brendan turned slightly. “Not in the least. I merely thought you might welcome retirement. I could arrange a cottage for you in Somerset.”
Michaels scowled. “I am not ready to stumble into old age, milord. Ridley House is stirring after a long slumber, and I would like to remain to see it flourish.”
Brendan considered this, then gave a slight nod. “Very well. I shall see to it that your wages are increased, and I shall speak with my solicitors to formalize arrangements for the cottage and pension for whenever you deem the time right.”
Michaels inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, milord.”
He withdrew with his usual composed efficiency, the heavy door whispering closed behind him.
It had disappointed Lily to glance up and discover that Brendan had gone.
Her head still felt somewhat clouded, the aftermath of the morning’s terror lingering in a haze of unreality.
For one dreadful moment, when Wesley’s weight had collapsed upon her, she had believed he meant to kill her.
Her life had not precisely passed before her eyes, but rather, the life she had hoped to live, a future that had seemed poised to slip away forever.
As she sat amongst her family, Sophia’s comforting arm about her waist, Lily gradually reoriented herself.
Their gentle chatter grounded her, but her thoughts remained fixed on the revelations that had raced through her mind in those final seconds.
No matter Brendan’s feelings, she was now resolved that she would speak plainly from her own heart. She would not carry regrets.
When the gentlemen returned, the household quickly agreed to gather that evening for dinner.
Halmesbury offered the use of their townhouse, and Lily was quietly grateful.
The duke’s residence was far better suited to a family gathering than Ridley House, especially now that the latter had seen two deaths in as many weeks.
Lily and Brendan accompanied their guests down to the entry hall, exchanging farewells as each carriage arrived in turn. At last, they stood alone, save for Michaels, who took his leave with quiet discretion.
Without a word, Brendan reached for her hand and led her to the staircase. “Come with me.”
She followed, her smaller steps quickening to match his as they ascended. She noticed, with no small tenderness, how he adjusted his pace for her when he could. Yet once they reached the upper hall, he resumed his urgent stride, drawing her along beside him.
At her chamber door, he turned the handle and flung it open.
Inside, her maid gave a small shriek of surprise, nearly toppling the oil lamp she had just filled. Beth caught it in time and set it back down upon the low chest near the bed with a shaky hand.
Lily tamped down her impatience at yet another interruption. She longed for a quiet moment alone with her husband, and lingering downstairs had hardly been a welcome alternative, given the morning’s grisly events.
“Would you leave us, Beth?” Brendan asked. His tone remained courteous, but there was a taut undercurrent to his voice, betraying his own urgency.
“Yes, milord.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and began gathering her things, clutching them as she made her way to the door. At the threshold, she paused and turned.
“Is it true, milord? About Mr. Michaels and Mr. Wesley?”
Brendan nodded solemnly. “It is. I regret to say that today has been most grievous.”
Beth inclined her head. “I am glad that her ladyship was not harmed.”
“As are we both,” he replied. “Thank you, Beth.”
The maid offered a final nod before slipping quietly into the corridor, leaving them alone at last.
Lily nodded in fervent agreement. She was thrilled to be unharmed, even though a residue of unease lingered over Wesley’s fate.
Had his kindness been a ruse, or had he been a good man led astray?
She supposed they would never know. The chamber was still, the scent of honey faintly rising from the linens on her bed.
Finally, Brendan closed the door behind them, his hand still warmly enclosing hers.
As he led her deeper into the room, his grip was steady, reassuring in a way that made her chest ache.
With a strength that felt both effortless and protective, he lifted her by the waist and set her gently atop the edge of her high featherbed, its damask coverlet cool to the touch beneath her fingers.
Even as she sat upon the mattress, her muslin skirts pooling at her knees, he stood tall before her, broad-shouldered and solemn, his gaze fixed upon her as if she were a question he could not stop asking.