Chapter 24 #2
Lord Stanley picked it up first, his expression darkening with every line he read. Without a word, he handed it to her.
I am not able to bear the guilt of the part I played in the kidnappings of Lucy and the others, and can no longer live with myself. I am taking my own life. Forgive me.
Matilda Dent
The handwriting was undoubtedly Mrs Dent’s.
Which meant either the confession was genuine—or someone had forced her to write it.
Slowly, Charlotte surveyed the chamber. It was austere: a narrow bed, a washstand, a small wardrobe, and a writing desk upon which several untouched books sat in perfect order. Nothing appeared disturbed. There were no signs of struggle.
Too neat, she thought.
Lord Stanley uncorked the bottle carefully, sniffed it once, then handed it to her.
‘Laudanum,’ he said quietly.
He summoned two footmen and questioned them again in meticulous detail. Neither had seen anyone enter or leave Mrs Dent’s chamber after she retired for the evening. Their answers were concise, direct, and entirely believable.
On the surface, the conclusion appeared undeniable.
She had taken her own life.
Yet Charlotte remained silent. Mrs Dent had undoubtedly played a monstrous role in the disappearances of those girls, yet death still felt like a grim and hollow end.
Charlotte’s anger, once fierce and righteous, had dulled into something heavier.
Pity, perhaps.
Lord Stanley immediately sent for both a constable and a physician. After examining the body, they reached the same conclusion with disappointing speed: suicide by laudanum.
By mid-morning, the coroner had arrived to remove the body.
Lord Stanley stood motionless in the centre of the now-empty room, staring at nothing in particular. Though his expression remained composed, something about him seemed altered—disturbed in a way she had not seen before.
Stepping closer, Charlotte asked gently, ‘Should we search her things?’
The question appeared to rouse him from his thoughts. He gave a curt nod.
Together they moved methodically through the room. Charlotte examined the wardrobe, shook out folded garments, and checked each book upon the desk for hidden papers or hollowed pages. She searched for coded letters, secret instructions—anything linking Mrs Dent to the Odd Fellows.
Meanwhile, Lord Stanley searched carefully around the bed, lifting the mattress and turning over every pillow. The only noteworthy discovery proved to be a small bundle of money hidden at the back of a drawer.
No labels. No explanation.
Merely a concealed accumulation of coins that spoke eloquently enough of bribery and corruption.
But beyond that—
nothing.
No names. No correspondence. No ledger.
Only silence, and the lingering impression of a woman who had died carrying terrible secrets and damning regret.
The household descended into fearful agitation.
Throughout the afternoon, Lord Stanley questioned every maid and footman in turn, yet none possessed any knowledge of Mrs Dent’s intentions.
Charlotte was startled to learn the maids had been bolted into their rooms each night by Mrs Dent herself, ostensibly to prevent improper conduct with the male servants.
Apparently this was common practice in large country houses.
Only when Mrs Dent failed to open the doors that morning, as she usually did, had Holden come to release them.
The maids spoke freely of their dislike for Mrs Dent, describing her as severe, distant, and joyless.
Yet none could plausibly have been involved in her death.
They had all remained confined to their chambers whilst the Bow Street Runners disguised as footmen kept watch outside her room throughout the night.
Mrs Dent, it seemed, had lived an isolated existence and had no family to inform of her demise.
With little more to be done, they finally left the servants’ quarters.
‘You have been an immense help today, Miss Lucas,’ Lord Stanley said as they ascended the stairs together.
The quiet sincerity of it caught her off guard.
‘Your handling of both my sister and the staff was well done.’ His voice sounded weary now, fatigue finally breaking through his rigid composure.
‘May I rely upon you to manage the guests for the remainder of the day? Minerva, once she learns what has occurred, may not bear it well. Mrs Dent served here for years.’
‘Of course,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Will you tell her about her involvement with the Odd Fellows?’
He gave a faint shake of his head.
‘No. It would only break her heart. I would rather spare her from the ugliness of all this.’
Charlotte nodded in understanding and turned to head towards her bed chamber.
But before she could leave, Lord Stanley caught her gently by the wrist.
The touch sent an altogether inconvenient warmth through her.
His expression, however, remained steel.
‘Be cautious. Be discreet. There is a strong chance they know we suspected Mrs Dent.’
Charlotte stared at him in alarm.
‘How? No one knew except us—and the footmen.’
Lord Stanley’s gaze grew colder.
‘Precisely,’ he said quietly. ‘That is what troubles me.’