Chapter Fifteen
Henry
The red ball meandered toward the corner pocket, hovering at the edge of the drop before dipping inside. Henry put his cue stick down and nodded to Lord Havenstone. “Thank you for the game.”
Havenstone blew out a breath. “Nice for you, perhaps. I need a less talented player to go against. Withers?”
Mr. Withers appeared to take no offense and picked up the cue.
Henry turned to the other men in the room. It was after dinner, and all of the men had gathered in the billiards room, drinks of their choice clasped in their hands. Henry hoped the alcohol would loosen tongues.
He went to the sideboard and picked up the decanter of whiskey. “A refill, Mr. Smith?”
“Damn right.” The man of business held up his glass and took the generous pour with a smile.
Henry settled in the chair next to him. “I wanted to express my apologies once more for the confusion over the marriage contract. If I had known earlier that Lord Perrin intended to change the terms, I would have notified you before you’d come and perhaps saved you the journey.”
Mr. Smith flapped his hand. “It wasn’t your error to apologize for. Perrin’s perfidy is on his own head.”
“I know you were anticipating the use of the mine.” Henry gave him a sympathetic smile. One thing he’d learned in his years practicing law was the ability to question people while making them feel comfortable. “I do hope you won’t be too adversely affected by Perrin’s change of mind.”
Mr. Taylor leaned across a low table, breaking into their conversation. “Mr. Smith didn’t need to marry his daughter off to the earl. He is well enough off on his own. He doesn’t have a motive, if that is what you’re implying.”
Henry kept his features even. He might have a talent for keeping clients untroubled, but apparently that didn’t extend to nosy secretaries. And a secretary who had a motive to make sure Mr. Smith remained unconfined and available to become his future father-in-law.
Mr. Smith gave a deep belly laugh. “Is that what these questions are about? Don’t worry about me. My daughter and I are clear with the law. I have no concerns on that point.”
“So your interests haven’t been hurt by not trading for Perrin’s land?” Henry asked.
The smile fell from Mr. Smith’s face. He shifted in his seat. “Everything has worked out for the best.”
Mr. Taylor scooted forward. “I’m sure Mr. Smith is successful enough where he has no need to marry his daughter to someone worthless for profit. From the short time I’ve been acquainted with him, I can tell he only wants his daughter to be happy, and that would include in her marriage.”
Henry leaned back and cocked one leg over the other. “You seem awfully interested in the future of Miss Smith.”
Mr. Taylor tugged on his lapel. “Miss Smith reminds me of my sister, so I will admit to some tender feelings on my part.” He leaned back. “And what wouldn’t a brother do for a sister? There isn’t much.”
A loud sigh came from the billiards table. “Withers, we haven’t got all night.” Havenstone tapped his cue on the floor. “Take your shot.”
Withers did, striking the white ball so hard that when it connected with its red counterpart, the billiards ball hopped over the rim of the table and rolled in Henry’s direction.
Havenstone muttered an oath and tossed his cue stick down on the table. He followed the ball, frowning when he came to the settee it had rolled under.
He dropped to his knees and reached under the settee. “This billiards game is becoming tedious. Anything of interest happening here?”
“Just talking about the earl,” Henry said. “I believe someone will be able to fetch a magistrate tomorrow. The mud should have hardened enough by then.”
Havenstone grunted. “Good riddance. Although the food has drastically improved, I will be ready to depart from this house as soon as possible.” He pulled back, holding the ball in triumph. “Ha!”
“Damn right,” Mr. Smith muttered. “I can’t wait to remove my daughter from this place.”
“You seem to have a knowledge of mining, Lord Havenstone.” Henry rested his glass of whiskey on his knee.
“I would hope so.” The baron shot Withers an apologetic look and plopped down on an empty seat. “I’ve owned and operated over twenty mines in my life, seven currently.”
Henry arched an appreciative brow. “I was hoping you might explain the process of extracting arsenic.”
Mr. Taylor huffed. “Do you suspect everyone of Perrin’s murder?”
Havenstone frowned. “Are you insinuating my knowledge of arsenic makes me a suspect? I wouldn’t appreciate that if it were the case.”
Henry gritted his teeth and managed not to glare at the secretary. “Not at all. Perrin owns some mines of his own, some quite close. Anyone could have procured the arsenic. Your knowledge of a potential poison could help to catch the killer, however.”
Havenstone pursed his lips. “Well, there isn’t much to it.
As I said before, arsenic is a by-product of processing tin and copper, although it can be mined directly, as well.
When you take the raw metal ore and roast it at high temperatures, the arsenic burns out, turning into a vapor.
When the vapor cools in the flue or chamber attached to the furnace, it condenses into a white powder that can be harvested.
There was a period where I had my workers collect the arsenic and I sold it to a paint producer, but that became unprofitable. ”
Henry cocked his head. “Do you know if arsenic powder has a strong taste? Would it have been noticeable in Perrin’s wine?”
“I never tried to taste it,” Havenstone said dryly.
Henry inclined his head. Another person with knowledge and access to poison. He hadn’t realized just how many ways to kill had existed.
“Well, my glass is empty.” Mr. Smith placed his empty tumbler on a table. “Shall we join the ladies?”
Everyone agreed, and they filed out and went to the rear sitting room. The room was quiet, only a couple hushed conversations between the ladies.
Miss Walker was slouched in a wingchair when they entered. She popped up straight at the sight of them. “Oh, good. Fresh blood. The women here are very dull and don’t want to play any games. Now that you’ve arrived, does anyone want to play Consequences? Charades?”
Lady Mary sighed. “What is it with you and charades? Why are you so eager to make silly pantomimes?”
Miss Walker drew her shoulders back. “It is an amusing activity for house parties. For the right sort of people at least.”
Henry’s gaze was drawn to Miss Smith, and he repressed his smile at her eye roll. She held an empty glass, and her lace fichu had come a bit untucked, exposing a hint of creamy skin above her bosom.
Henry shifted, and dragged his gaze back to her face.
He wondered about the lady. She had sounded convincing, but a doubt still lingered in the back of his mind.
He was hard-pressed to envision her smuggling a vial of poison into the house and pouring it into Perrin’s wine, but her secret conversations with the secretary still struck him as suspicious.
As if to further his misgivings, Taylor made a straight line to Miss Smith. He stood behind her chair and leaned over to greet her. Giving the man, Henry suspected, a clear view straight down her bodice.
Henry narrowed his eyes.
“Katherine,” her father called as he settled in his own chair. “How about some music? Show me that my money on that piano tutor was well spent.”
“Yes, Father.” Katherine rose and moved to the pianoforte in the corner of the room.
Taylor followed after her, cocking his hip against the instrument as she began to play.
“If Miss Walker is so eager for entertainment, how about a game of whist?” Lady Havenstone suggested. “I know my husband is always ready for a game.”
Miss Walker stood and moved to the gaming table at one end of the room. “Sounds lovely. Mr. Smith, will you make our fourth?”
Smith chuckled. “Not hardly. I’ve never been much for the games of gentlefolk.”
Miss Walker covered her disappointment well. “Mr. Withers? Surely you won’t refuse a lady’s request.”
He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and shuffled the cards with one hand.
One card escaped his control and drifted to the floor.
Withers plucked it up, a red stain darkening his face.
“I’ll do so if we can play without small talk.
” He went to the table and fluffed out the tails of his jacket before sitting.
Miss Smith hit a discordant key, drawing some gazes. She was focused on the sheet music, but her shoulders were curled inward. Mr. Taylor hovered close, ready to turn the page of the song.
Lady Mary caught Henry’s eye. She tilted her head toward the pianoforte while pulling her foot from underneath Southey’s sleeping form.
Henry remained where he stood. He’d done his part for the investigation for the night. On the morrow, they could relay all that they knew to the magistrate and be done with it. No one else seemed to be in danger.
Frowning, Lady Mary again nudged her head in Mr. Taylor’s and Miss Smith’s direction.
Henry grumbled. There was no way to discreetly circle behind them in order to listen in on their conversation, if there was any. He didn’t see the point.
But, as he had little else to do, he made his way to the pair.
With a sharp glance at Henry, Miss Smith muttered to Mr. Taylor, “I’ve told you, I do not wish to marry. I have told my father and others about what happened, and I will tell the magistrate the same. As Perrin was poisoned, I have done nothing to cause me trouble. I thank you, but no.”
Taylor flipped another page over, his movement jerky. “You are making a mistake.”
“Perhaps, but it is mine to make.” Her forehead wrinkled as she played a section of the song that had a particularly quick tempo.
Taylor’s knuckles went white. “What are you doing loitering about, Evans? Can’t you see I’m assisting Miss Smith?”
“It looks more like you are annoying the lady,” he said mildly. “She has given you her answer. Stop pressing the question.”
“You know nothing of what we were speaking.” Taylor straightened, his height still a good three inches shorter than Henry’s own. “You need to mind your own business.”
Henry smiled, but there was no kindness in it.
“On the contrary, I know exactly what you were speaking of. And I know what you did.” He didn’t know which was worse, desecrating a body or attempting to pressure Miss Smith into marriage.
Both actions were contemptible. And they made it easier to believe the man might also have been the one to kill Lord Perrin.
Taylor’s face went ruddy. “You told him?”
“Keep your voice down.” Miss Smith spared him a quick glare before turning back to the music. “And yes, Mr. Evans is one of the people to whom I confessed my actions. And yours.”
Taylor tightened his fist further, and Henry hurried to his side. As discreetly as possible, he pushed his way between the secretary and Miss Smith. Taylor looked ready to lash out, and Henry wouldn’t put it past the man to strike a woman.
“Calm yourself,” Henry said. “You made the decision to do what you did. If there are consequences for it, you will have to face them.”
Taylor ignored Henry. He gripped the edge of the pianoforte and bent over to speak around Henry’s middle. “I would have taken care of you. I would have shared my good fortune. You have shown yourself not to be worthy of my attentions, however. You will regret not accepting my proposal.”
Miss Smith finished the song with a flourish, then neatly folded her hands.
“I think not. I think marrying you would have been worse than marrying Lord Perrin. Perhaps even worse than prison. I’d thought there was a possibility you’d acted out of kindness, but now I see that isn’t a characteristic you possess. ”
Henry casually knocked Taylor’s hand from the instrument, causing the man to stumble forward a step. “I will turn the pages for Miss Smith. Your services are no longer needed.”
Taylor’s face darkened to brick red. “I’m better off,” he said before stomping out of the room.
Henry’s shoulders lowered an inch. “I can’t believe you seriously contemplated marrying that man.”
Miss Smith’s nostrils flared. “I didn’t feel I had many choices. I still don’t. My father will find another man of means and contract my services to him.” She nodded to the sheet music.
Henry closed his gaping mouth and turned the page. Surely she didn’t mean services in that way. A lady would hardly allude to that. He cleared his throat. “Your father won’t take your preferences into account when he makes his decision?”
She gave him a look from the corner of her eye. “The fact that it is his decision to make is the problem.”
Henry couldn’t deny that a woman of Miss Smith’s station often wasn’t able to choose her own husband.
Miss Smith lived in comfort and never had to worry about her next meal, but she had fewer freedoms than women from his own class.
Most women he knew would gladly trade their poverty for their independence, however.
“I’m certain your father would only have you marry a man who he thinks will take care of you.”
Miss Smith’s fingers slowed to a finish. “Are you?” she said quietly. “Are you certain? I wish I could be.”
The sorrow in her voice tugged at something deep inside of him. The problem was he wasn’t certain. People traded other people all the time, often times those to whom they were closest.
She stood from the piano bench, the faint scent of flowers wafting from her body. Her big, brown eyes held an almost accusatory glare in them when she lifted her head to his gaze.
He hesitated a moment, his body having the inexplicable urge to lean closer to hers, to lower his own head to meet hers.
Which was all kinds of foolish. He stepped back, giving her space. But he couldn’t stop from holding up his hand, nor the quick surge of pleasure that raced through him when she gave him hers and he helped her step out from the bench.
Perrin would have been a fortunate man had he married Miss Smith.
He let her go and watched as she joined her father for a drink.
And perhaps it was Miss Smith’s good fortune that Perrin was dead.