Chapter Seven
Henry
The mouse was limp in his hand, a pathetic little creature. Henry couldn’t help but feel guilt over its death.
“Well, this muddles the matter.” Lady Mary stood and started pacing. “Poison could have been put in Perrin’s wine at any time, and I know very little about how poisons work. Do you?” She looked over her spectacles at him in irritation.
“Not a part of my legal education.” Poisoned and stabbed.
Someone wanted to make sure the earl wouldn’t survive.
Henry had known the earl for several years, first when he’d apprenticed with a senior solicitor, and then becoming Perrin’s attorney after the other man retired.
He’d never particularly cared for the earl, but then, it wasn’t his job to like his clients.
Only to give them the best legal service he could provide.
He looked down at the mouse. Even as disagreeable as Perrin could be, Henry still found it hard to fathom someone killing him. But the proof was in his hand.
Lady Mary picked up the decanter of wormwood wine.
“I’ll make sure this goes under lock and key, then I’ll head to Perrin’s library.
Perhaps he had more of an interest than we did of substances that kill and I’ll find a book on poisons.
” She glared out the rain-streaked window.
“If only this dratted weather would let up. I feel in this instance we’ll need a magistrate. ”
Henry pursed his lips and watched her go.
Which instance like this one had she felt she hadn’t needed the proper authorities?
Sighing, he went out the glass doors onto the terrace, trying to stay under the shallow overhang.
The rain seemed to delight in coming at him sideways, drenching his trousers in moments.
He found a large potted lily of the valley at the corner of the terrace and dug a hole in its dirt.
He laid the mouse inside. The bell-shaped white flowers seemed a fitting memorial for the animal.
“I’m sorry you died before your time, but your life held meaning. Or your death, at least.”
He covered the carcass, then brushed dirt from his hands.
Lady Mary was right. If they were to be stuck in this house for the next few days, they needed to discover who had killed Perrin. Either that, or lock everyone in their rooms until the constable could arrive.
He didn’t think the rest of the guests would stand for that.
Turning on his heel, he went back inside and headed to the earl’s study.
Cabinets lined a side wall, with diamond-shaped cubbies built in above and stuffed full with surveyors’ maps and grant deeds.
A low bookcase ran under the window on the far wall, and Perrin’s wide desk sat before the double windows looking onto the front drive.
He made a quick perusal of the contents in the desk drawers.
Ink and paper. Some recent correspondence.
A pair of button hooks. He pulled out a file of newspaper clippings.
At the top was an opinion piece in The Times by Mr. Enoch Ryder railing against Lady Mary’s The Minerva Club.
He flipped through the pages. All of the clippings had to deal with Lady Mary in one way or another.
Efforts to shut the club down. Details of a gruesome murder that had happened within its walls. A fire. Another fire.
Henry let out a low whistle. He hadn’t thought Perrin had invested in his sister-in-law’s business, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps cutting out these articles was Perrin’s way of keeping track of his investment. He returned everything to their drawers and turned to the cabinets.
Henry started with the top drawer, removing the stack of documents and seating himself at the desk with the papers spread out before him.
He looked for any contract or communication with any present guest and put those aside in the corner of the desk.
By the time his stomach started grumbling in earnest, he’d gone through eight drawers in two cabinets.
He leaned back, stretching. He hadn’t eaten any breakfast, and the clock by the door told him it was nearing two in the afternoon. Well past time for a repast.
There was no one in the dining room, but crumbs were on the table and a napkin on the floor.
Henry picked it up on the way to the sideboard, folding it neatly before picking up a plate.
Thankfully, food remained on the dome-lid covered dishes.
The kitchen staff had seemed to be trying to make up for the lack of its popular chef by providing an abundance of food.
If they didn’t have quality, then quantity would have to do.
He loaded his plate with cold ham, several hard-boiled eggs, bread and jam, and the end of a nut loaf that remained. The coffee and tea were cold, but Henry didn’t have much of a thirst, not knowing that someone liked to put poison in the beverages.
He sat and tucked in. Didn’t poison have a warning taste? Scent? The acute bitterness of the wormwood wine would most likely have covered any warning signs, he supposed. Did the killer know that no one else would touch Perrin’s special wine, or did he simply not care if anyone else died?
Movement at the glass doors caught his eye.
Henry stood, wondering who would be out in this weather, and caught sight of Mr. Taylor leading Miss Smith down the terrace, his hand at her elbow, a rain umbrella in his other hand.
They passed from sight, walking in the direction of the sitting room next door.
Henry gritted his teeth. In other circumstances, it would be none of his business.
But seeing as how nothing connected Perrin’s secretary and his almost-betrothed except the dead earl, Henry decided to make their little assignation his business.
He left the dining room, emerged from the house out a side door, and walked as softly as possible to the corner.
“You don’t have to worry,” Taylor said. He bent down, a look on his face that Henry could only assume was meant to be comforting but looked eager instead. “I’ve taken care of everything. There’s no….” The wind whipped away the rest of his words.
Miss Smith had her back to the house, a look of distress on her face. Probably from the wet and cold.
Henry frowned. Couldn’t Taylor make sure she was properly dressed before taking her out-of-doors? At least the man could give her his damned jacket.
Her words were quieter. All Henry could make out was “I think we should…” before the storm’s voice drowned out hers.
Taylor stepped closer to her, making the hair raise on the back of Henry’s neck. “We can go away together now. I have the money. We can—”
The doors to the sitting room opened. A small bundle of fur shot through, followed by Miss Walker’s head. “Oh, hallo. Southey needed letting out. We didn’t expect to find anyone else out here in this weather.”
The terrier sniffed at a garden hedge before doing his business. He seemed not to care about the rain and mud. The servants would likely feel differently when he came back inside.
Miss Smith sidled past Mr. Taylor and gave Miss Walker a bright smile. “The weather is atrocious, but sometimes one just needs some fresh air. Mr. Taylor was kind enough to attempt to block the worst of it from me. It is chilly though. Time to come inside, I think.”
Taylor opened his mouth, his brows drawing down. Whatever he wanted to say, he thought better of and closed his mouth again.
Henry went back to the side door, desiring to get inside before Southey discovered him and gave him away.
The secretary and the affianced. Henry hadn’t noticed a relationship between them before. Taylor was more amenable to her than the other guests, but she was a pretty girl. His attendance had seemed natural.
But was there more to it than that? And if Perrin had discovered his intended in a relationship with his secretary, what hell would he have put them through?
Henry headed back to the study, his shoulders set.
The question that burned most in his mind was the money Taylor professed to have come into.
Henry needed to look through the ledgers thoroughly.
Perrin hadn’t been a romantic man. His pride would have been hurt if he’d lost his intended to his secretary, but not his heart.
But Perrin did care about money. If Taylor had been stealing from the earl, and Perrin had discovered it, Perrin would have done everything in his power to destroy the young man.
Perhaps Taylor had decided to strike first.