Chapter 2
Two
“Silence! You will speak one at a time or not at all, am I understood?” Warner Scott, Duke of Scarfield’s, voice cracked out like a whip, and the men around him fell silent at once.
He was standing in his cousin’s study, surrounded by the Bow Street Runners, his uncle, and the coroner. He massaged his temples between his fingertips. The smell of blood and bile lingered, and he saw the stains on his shirt. Rothwell.
“If I wanted to be badgered by fishwives, I would go to the docks. Each of you is spouting utter nonsense. Theories with no evidence to support your claims. I thought the Bow Street Runners were professionals. At this rate, I would have better luck letting a headless chicken conduct the investigation.”
The men shifted uncomfortably, looking from one another, but none of the Runners interjected, nor did the coroner.
“We must deal in facts, not fiction. There is too much we do not know and too much we need to find out.” His mind raced, running through lists of acquaintances and people who might have wished his cousin harm. “Who had the most to gain by his death?”
“You and you.” He pointed to two of the Bow Street Runners, one with short with red hair and another tall with black hair. “Round up the guests and get their statements. I want to know who saw what and when. Every detail they can recall. No one is above suspicion, do you understand?”
“What of the guests who have already left? Some left the breakfast early and others fled when the… when the Marquess…” The man with short black hair looked at Duke Erindale, whose gaze had not left his shaking hands, face ashen and numb.
He is a broken man. Warner owed it to his uncle and his cousin to take charge of the investigation; he owed it to him to find justice. Perhaps it would give his uncle some semblance of peace.
“There will be a guest list.” Warner pointed to another of the Bow Street Runners. “You, go through it, and bring someone with you to hunt down the people who have left.”
“At once, Your Grace.” Two men nodded vigorously.
“I want to know exactly what killed my cousin.” Warner turned to the coroner.
The coroner nodded. “I will do what I can, Your Grace.”
“Then get to work.” Warner turned and looked out of the window. He saw a flash of light blue fabric and the remembered scent of roses filled his mind.
Rothwell’s wife.
No, his widow.
His newly wealthy, now very free widow. Warner rubbed a hand over his mouth as he paced.
It had been after he kissed her hand that Rothwell had collapsed.
The image of Lady Adelaide’s wide brown eyes swam before him, full of innocence and shock.
Or had they truly been? She has the most to gain from his death.
Anger rose up within him, but he clamped it down hard.
He needed to stay in control; he needed proof.
He clenched his fist, the memory of the slight flush of her cheeks when they had met, the pretty way she had blinked at him and then looked away, her lips slightly parted.
Who would suspect a pretty thing like her?
With those big, brown eyes and her shy smile? He growled.
“And somebody, find me that widow.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” a chorus of voices sounded, and the last of the Bow Street Runners and the coroner left the room, leaving Warner alone with his uncle.
His uncle stared around the room as though he were not seeing what was there. His hands shook; his lips trembled. His hair was in complete and utter disarray. Warner doubted he looked much better.
“Uncle?” Warner’s voice was gentle, as though he was talking to a scared, wounded animal. I suppose in some ways he is. The man has just lost his son.
The thought pierced his heart like a blade, but he pushed his pain aside. There would be time for that later. He cleared his throat and moved closer to his uncle, trying once more to get the broken man’s attention.
“So much blood. So quickly. The sound…” His uncle shook his head and clutched his stomach. “I did not know a man could make such a sound.”
Warner swallowed, the memory of his cousin’s last breaths playing in his mind, and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “We need to write to Tobias. To tell him what has happened and that… and that he must come home and take up his duties as heir.”
His uncle nodded but made no move towards his writing desk. Warner was debating whether to gently guide him to it when there was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Warner called when his uncle remained silent.
The door swung open, and the smell of roses told him who it was before she even entered.
Lady Adelaide walked into the room. There were no signs of tears around her eyes, and she walked with a calm grace that surprised Warner. The Bow Street Runner who had fetched her closed the door, leaving the widow, Warner, and his uncle alone.
Flecks of blood spattered her dress, and her russet hair was wild and messy. Warner realised that he had been reaching towards her and clenched his fist, curling his arm behind him.
“Duke Erindale, I… I do not even know what to say.” Lady Adelaide curtseyed, her voice gentle but unshaken. “I am so sorry for your loss. How are you?”
His uncle made no answer, and Warner cleared his throat. “My uncle is as well as can be expected, Lady Adelaide.”
Spots of colour appeared on the woman’s cheeks. Her eyes flitted to his and then away quickly. The hairs on the back of Warner’s neck prickled.
Avoiding eye contact. Interesting.
Still looking at the floor, Lady Adelaide asked, “You wished to see me, Your Grace?”
“Yes. I have some questions for you, some things that I must know if we are to get to the bottom of all of this.” He gestured to the empty sofa, and she sat down, curling her hands into fists in her dress. “Please sit down.”
He sat in the chair across from her, straightening as he did. She fidgeted beneath his gaze, and he leaned forwards. Silence stretched between them. Her wide, warm eyes made her look so young, innocent, and he felt an urge to go to her and shelter her. His brow creased. Focus.
“I imagine you had a rather different image of your wedding breakfast.” He arched an eyebrow at Lady Adelaide, watching for even the smallest movement.
“Just a little.” Her smile was small and brittle, not quite reaching her eyes, and it tugged at something within his chest. “I doubt many women expect to become a widow on the same day as they are married. His death… it has changed everything for m-me.”
Lady Adelaide’s eyes widened as she stumbled over the word, and she hastened to add, “What I mean is… well, many people will have been imagining a future with him, not just me. I mean with him in it. After all, your uncle… I mean… I doubt even you expected your farewell to be quite so permanent. Not that I am making light of this. It is awful, truly awful what happened.”
She shuddered, wringing her hands in her lap.
Warner surveyed her. Her hands were clenched tightly, delicate bones showing white at the knuckles, and her slippered foot tapped on the floor.
The movement of her foot brushed aside the fabric of her dress for just a moment, exposing the bare skin of her ankle.
Warner’s mouth went dry, and he swallowed, looking up into Adele’s face.
Did she do that on purpose? “And what do you think happened?”
“I assume he was murdered.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his, her head canted in question.
There was a clatter from behind them, and they turned to see his uncle clutching an upset ink bottle. “I should leave.”
“Duke Erindale, I —” Lady Adelaide began, but his uncle cut her off. “Forgive me, Lady Adelaide. I… I cannot be here.”
Without waiting for a response, his uncle slipped out of the backdoor to the drawing room, the door closing behind him. Lady Adelaide looked from Warner to the door and back again, her pretty brown eyes wide and a slight tremor to her lips.
“Will he be all right?” she asked.
“I will see that he is looked after.” Warner watched the widow closely as she perched on the edge of her seat. “I believe we were talking about the events of the wedding. You do not think his death was an accident?”
“Would the Bow Street Runners be here if it was thought to be natural? Especially in such numbers?” She jerked her head towards the door. “Who would want to kill Lord Rothwell?”
The fire that had briefly blazed in her seemed to have dimmed, replaced by something softer. Warner would have been impressed by it in other circumstances.
“The Bow Street runners will discover the reason. They have ways of rooting out what others wish to keep hidden.” Warner made a dismissive gesture.
If he had not been watching her so closely, he might have missed her flinch at his words. She swallowed, her fingers twisting in her dress. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. What secrets are you hiding beneath that pretty smile, Lady Adelaide?
“I hope they discover it soon.” Her voice wavered slightly.
“Do you?” Warren asked.
“Of course.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I do not wish for the killer to go unpunished.”
“Nor do I.” His gaze lingered on hers, and he noticed the catch in her breath. “Do I make you nervous, Lady Adelaide?”
“No.” The lie was obvious, highlighted by the flush of her cheeks and the way she bit her lips. “I… I am unused to being alone… with a man.”
“But you are used to being alone?” He quirked his lips upwards as he watched the colour on her cheeks deepen.
“I do not like to be too reliant on anyone.” Her voice tightened, the muscles in her neck tensing.“Your independence is important to you then?” He steepled his fingers together. “And yet you were getting married?”
“The two are not mutually exclusive. Lord Rothwell and I… I was not worried about a loss of my freedom — not with him.” She looked away, her fingers curling into a fist.
He pushed her. Something lurked beneath the surface of those innocent brown eyes. “Rather a lot of trust to place in one person.”