Chapter 34
The Captain, Mr Wilberforce's friends and the Pearsons had already left at the close of the ball, as expected.
However, the very next morning, the household was turned upside down.
All remaining guests were due to leave and had gathered in the foyer to bid their adieux.
Valets hovered discreetly with travelling cloaks, ladies adjusted gloves and pelisses, and there was the usual low murmur of departure plans, weather complaints, and insincere promises to visit one another in town.
Then Lord Stanley strode in.
There was something in his expression—clipped, controlled, and grim enough—that made the room fall quiet before he had even spoken. His step was purposeful, his jaw set, and if ever a man looked as though he had come to bring judgement upon a household, it was Henry Stanley in that moment.
‘Mr Hamilton and Lord Boulton,’ he declared in a voice that carried across the marble hall, ‘I place you both under arrest for the murder of Lord Wolverton. And Mr Payne, Mr Fraser, and Sir Oswald—under arrest for conspiracy to murder.’
For one long, suspended moment, no one moved.
Then outrage erupted all at once. Several ladies recoiled in horror, the gentleman protested. A handful of Bow Street Runners stepped forward from the edges of the foyer and moved to restrain the accused men.
‘What do you mean, sir?’ Sir Oswald cried. ‘We are not common criminals, old chap. We have rights. You cannot be serious about apprehending us in this manner.’
Mr Fraser, looking scandalised more by the inconvenience than the accusation, added, ‘I say, my good man, this seems highly irregular. You cannot possibly be serious.’
‘I am afraid,’ Lord Stanley replied coolly, ‘that there are some nefarious individuals in this house party whose conduct is under suspicion. Though not all are implicated, the matter must be investigated thoroughly. Gentlemen, ladies, you will please cooperate.’
Mr Hamilton shot him a look of undisguised hatred.
‘You do not know who you are dealing with, Stanley. Release us at once, or you will regret it.’
Charlotte, standing just to one side of Lord Stanley, observed with quiet satisfaction that he did not so much as blink.
‘No more hiding,’ Lord Stanley said quietly to the increasingly red-faced Mr Hamilton. ‘We will root your friends out too.’
‘This is outrageous. How dare you!’ Lord Boulton exclaimed, with such grand offence that Charlotte thought he had practised the expression in private.
Several of the other gentlemen attempted to intervene. The place was threatening to fall into chaos.
Then Lord Stanley’s voice cut through the hall again.
‘Silence.’
That one word landed with force.
The guests froze.
Charlotte let her gaze sweep over the room. Some faces showed only astonishment. Others looked confused, offended, or embarrassed. But a few—just a few—looked distinctly uneasy, and one or two so alarmed that they may as well have pinned written confessions to their lapels.
Interesting, she thought.
She began gently cajoling the ladies back towards the morning room and the parlour while Lord Stanley managed the rest.
He turned again to the Bow Street Runners.
‘Place all the gentlemen in rooms that have been secured, so they cannot communicate. Post guards at the doors. Understood?’
The men nodded at once, recognising he meant the rooms unconnected to the secret passageways.
‘The ladies may wait in the parlour or morning room—’ and, on seeing some ladies on the verge of swooning, he amended, ‘or retire to their chambers.’
A murmur of discontent passed through the foyer, but none dared openly disobey now.
As the household broke into flustered clusters, Charlotte stepped nearer to Lord Stanley.
‘Well,’ she murmured, low enough for only him to hear, ‘if nothing else, the house party has finally improved.’
His mouth twitched despite the gravity of the moment.
By mid-morning, the study had been transformed into an impromptu interrogation chamber.
The fire burned low in the grate. Leather-bound chairs and mahogany tables had been arranged so the room held an air of restrained authority. Charlotte sat beside Lord Stanley at the desk, while two Bow Street Runners stood on quiet alert near the door.
Hamilton was brought in first.
He refused to say a word.
For over an hour he sat with his jaw locked and expression stony, repeating only that he wished to speak to his attorney. At first he sounded indignant. By the end, merely stubborn.
When he was finally escorted away again, Lord Stanley leaned back in his chair with a frustrated exhale.
‘If we cannot make them talk,’ he said, frowning, ‘they may escape every crime besides Wolverton’s murder. We need one of them willing to betray the others. But Hamilton’s silence leaves us very little to work with.’
Charlotte considered this.
‘Their fellowship seems unusually strong,’ she said slowly. ‘Either they have sworn dreadful oaths to one another, or they are simply too arrogant to believe themselves vulnerable.’
Lord Stanley drummed his fingers once against the desk. ‘There must be some way to break them.’
‘There is,’ Charlotte said, as an idea came to her.
He turned towards her.
‘Of course there is,’ he said dryly. ‘You have that look.’
Charlotte lifted a brow. ‘What look?’
‘The one that appears when you are up to no good,’ he said, a faint amusement in his voice.
She huffed. ‘Now do try to listen while I rescue your interrogation strategy.’
A glimmer of interest sharpened his gaze.
‘Proceed.’
‘We tell the others Hamilton has confessed and blamed them. Use details about the dagger, the passages, your stolen pin—enough to convince them he has betrayed the society entirely.’
Stanley’s attention sharpened.
‘They do not realise I overheard everything,’ Charlotte continued. ‘We may use that against them.’
For a moment he merely looked at her.
Then, more quietly, ‘Miss Walker, your talents never cease to amaze me.’
Charlotte gave the smallest shrug, though absurdly, she was far too pleased to hear her real name upon his lips.
‘Father taught me that immoral people are rarely as loyal as they pretend.’
His mouth curved faintly before straightening once more.
‘Remind me never to become your enemy.’
Lord Boulton was brought in next.
He entered in a state of theatrical agitation and had scarcely crossed the threshold before beginning.
‘I demand to see my wife.’
Lord Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture Charlotte had seen his sister employ when thoroughly exasperated.
‘My lord,’ he said evenly, ‘we are conducting a murder investigation. Surely you understand why suspects cannot be permitted to wander about the house speaking freely to one another.’
‘This is preposterous,’ Boulton snapped. ‘Holding us here against our will, Stanley. What the devil do you think you are doing? I assure you I had nothing whatsoever to do with Wolverton’s demise.’
His outrage was so convincing that, had Charlotte not known better, she might almost have believed him.
‘Tell us about your business dealings with Hamilton and Payne,’ Charlotte asked.
He shot her a sharp, displeased stare, narrowing his eyes as though only now realising Charlotte was not quite as empty-headed as he had assumed.
‘I fail to see how that concerns anyone.’
The answer came too quickly.
‘I must say, Stanley, if you intend to let females run your investigation, I have very little faith in your solving anything at all. She is asking impertinent and entirely irrelevant questions.’
He gave a disdainful sniff.
‘What about your involvement with the Odd Fellows?’ Lord Stanley asked, sliding Lord Boulton’s ring bearing the Odd Fellow symbol across the desk. ‘We found this amongst your belongings.’
At that, his expression betrayed him for the briefest moment.
Then he masked it with a dry laugh and picked idly at his cuff as though the entire affair bored him, refusing to answer.
‘I suggest you do answer,’ Lord Stanley said, his tone deepening.
Boulton’s mouth tightened.
‘I have no dealings with anyone here beyond ordinary acquaintance. You have clearly been misinformed. Now release me. It is perfectly obvious you possess no evidence against me.’
‘Not yet, Boulton,’ Lord Stanley replied.
His voice cooled further—dangerously so.
‘It appears your fellowship is not quite as loyal as you imagined. Mr Hamilton has confessed.’
Boulton froze.
‘He has admitted to assisting you in Wolverton’s murder,’ Stanley continued calmly, ‘though he claims you wielded the dagger and that he acted under coercion.’
The colour drained from Boulton’s face.
‘That is a lie.’
Lord Stanley then began recounting specific details of the evening—conversations held, movements made, incidents only someone present could possibly have known. Charlotte interjected now and again to confirm certain particulars, and gradually, to her immense relief, it began to work.
Boulton’s pallor deepened.
‘He also identified you as one of the Grand Fellows.’
Sweat appeared at his temples.
‘Hamilton, as an accomplice, may receive leniency for cooperation,’ Lord Stanley went on. ‘But you, my lord, would bear the full burden of the crime.’
Boulton tugged at his cravat as though it had suddenly become too tight.
‘I... I...’
Charlotte remained perfectly still as Lord Stanley allowed the silence to stretch just long enough for Boulton’s composure to begin visibly fracturing.
Then he added, almost casually, ‘Unless, of course, there is more you would like to tell us.’
And there it was.
The break.
‘I did not stab Wolverton,’ Boulton blurted suddenly, the words tumbling out as though dragged from him. ‘Hamilton did. Hamilton was the one who stabbed him. I only helped him.’
Charlotte’s brows rose before she could stop them.
A brief silence followed whilst Lord Stanley regarded Boulton unflinchingly. The Bow Street Runners shifted near the door.
Their plan had worked. Boulton had just confessed, confirmed his involvement with the Odd Fellows, and accused Hamilton in a single sentence.