Chapter 6 #2
He offered me a gentle smile. “I am.” Then he pressed a kiss to my brow before turning to his father. “Father, would you escort her? I’d really rather she not be traversing the corridors alone just now.”
I recognized this request for what it was—an attempt to convince his father to retire as well. But I also couldn’t help but wonder if he was right to worry. Could the murderer be concerned I’d seen them or that I’d witnessed something damning? Might they try to silence me before I realized it?
The thought sent a chill down my spine. I couldn’t help but recall the unnerving sensation I’d felt when walking through the great hall earlier. Could someone have been watching me from the opposite side of the chamber? Could it have been the killer?
Lord Gage had been on the verge of quarreling with his son, but the words died on his lips as he caught sight of my face. Clearly, I’d not done an adequate job of masking my alarm.
“Yes, of course,” he said instead, reaching for my arm. “But then I’ll check on Birnam. With any luck, Clarke will have already arrived, and it will give me a chance to ask for this alleged note he received from Miss Whitlock.”
Gage didn’t argue, and Lord Gage swept me from the room.
Rather than take me by the route I’d chosen earlier—a fact I was grateful for—he led me down the corridor past the dining room and up the north staircase, affording me little opportunity to peer into the shadowy great hall.
With that room now behind us, the fog of my apprehension began to fade, and my faculties were better able to focus on the rest of my surroundings.
Namely, Lord Gage. With each step we climbed, I could sense his indignation rising as the arm beneath mine turned more rigid and his gait—still slightly hampered from the gunshot wound he’d suffered to his left leg the previous summer—grew stiffer.
Perhaps the wisest course would have been to remain quiet, but after all the progress we’d made in the previous year, I did not want to revert to the chilled silences and strained politeness of before.
That was, when my father-in-law was not being outright contemptuous.
I knew it would fall to me to bridge the divide, because he was not good with complicated emotions.
He preferred to deny them or wrangle them into submission, glossing over them with anger or disdain.
At one time, I’d believed he would rather burn his entire house down than admit to any tender feelings, but I’d since learned that wasn’t true.
He simply had to be shown the way, even if sometimes that meant dragging him kicking and screaming.
So I offered the first olive branch. “I know this house party means a great deal to you, and it has not exactly gone to plan.”
He scoffed. “You think?”
“I believed I was acting in my brother’s best interest, but I see now that I was too hasty. That I should have met the Birnams in another setting before inviting them here. Had I known…well, I would have proceeded differently.”
“I could have told you what a disaster it would be to invite Jeremiah Birnam, had you asked.”
“You told Sebastian and me we could invite whomever we liked. You made no stipulations.”
“I didn’t think you would invite a jumped-up mushroom like Birnam. I thought you would have more sense and taste than that.” He sniffed. “My cork-brained nephew is one thing. Birnam is quite another.”
“Alfie isn’t cork-brained,” I protested, latching on to the thing I could most easily dispute.
“He’s annoying at times, yes, but he’s certainly not a fool.
And as for Birnam…” I exhaled forcefully through my nose.
“I’m more concerned with his daughter. Who is perfectly lovely,” I stated in challenge, lest he attempt to dispute it. “And may soon become my sister-in-law.”
“But not without her father’s approval.”
I turned sharply to look at him. The keen glint of cynicism in his eyes made my stomach pitch. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting nothing, only pointing out that Birnam is the type of man who expects to get his way, and when he doesn’t, he’s not above retaliating.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to make a quip about other men I knew like that—including the one in front of me—but the ramifications for Trevor’s future were too startling.
I’d thought giving Birnam access to Philip and Gage and their connections would appease him, but it had become clear that he was after something else.
His strident efforts to dominate the conversation, his manipulation of the place cards, even his smug attitudinizing all seemed aimed toward one goal—stymieing the revisions to the Factory Act.
If he didn’t get what he wanted, would he refuse Trevor’s suit?
Lord Gage watched as I struggled to reconcile with these implications, but he wasn’t finished. “And I’m not just talking about your brother.”
“You mean Miss Whitlock?” I frowned. “You think she didn’t give him what he wanted.
” I recognized immediately what he meant.
“But Trevor told me that Mr. Birnam doesn’t…
” I stumbled over the word “…didn’t want her for himself, but for his son.
I demanded he explain Miss Whitlock’s relationship with the family after Mr. Birnam all but forced me to have her dine with us. ”
“And presumably he heard this from Miss Birnam, who as the daughter of the family is the least likely to know the truth.” His biting voice made it clear how na?ve he thought I was being.
“You think young ladies aren’t attuned to what’s going on in front of them, especially when it has to do with their father and a woman nearly their own age?
” I countered, letting him know I thought he was the one being credulous.
I lowered my voice as we reached the upper landing, nearing the bedchambers.
“But I admit, it’s possible Miss Birnam lied for her own reasons. ” Shame. Embarrassment. Willful denial.
“Regardless, Mr. Birnam could have had other motives for attacking Miss Whitlock—motives we’re not yet aware of—and note or not…” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust him.”
I didn’t disagree. I didn’t trust him either.
Though that didn’t mean I was prepared to accuse him of throwing oil of vitriol in his secretary’s face.
I felt it more likely he was the cause of the attack, that his actions had either directly or indirectly led to it, rather than the attacker himself.
It was as yet just a suspicion, but I sensed Birnam would somehow play a part in the guilt that should be meted out.
“Birnam’s reputation isn’t exactly angelic,” Lord Gage continued.
“What do you mean?” I asked in interest.
“Let’s just say, there’s a reason he doesn’t want a Factory Inspectorate established.
There have been a number of accidents in his factories and mills, and a number of violations reported.
If the law was enforced by a professional inspectorate—one less inclined to be bribed—he could face some very serious fines. ”
My eyes widened at his mention of bribes.
“Just as he bribed a member of my staff to move place cards before dinner.”
My gaze darted to his harsh gray one in surprise before I could stop myself.
“Yes, I figured out what happened. You may be a trifle graceless, but you’re not so witless as to put Melbourne next to Birnam.”
The comment stung, though I guessed Lord Gage thought it was a compliment.
“It was obvious he bribed someone to switch Melbourne’s and his bottle-headed son’s cards.”
I was trying to find a way to persuade him to allow Bowcott to deal with the issue without actually confirming his suspicions, when he pivoted subjects.
“Though your handling of matters in the drawing room after dinner was quite expertly done. I’d feared Birnam would attempt to dominate the entire evening.” He smiled with fierce delight. “But you neatly waylaid his plans without being obvious you were doing so.”
I couldn’t halt the warm glow his approval gave me, though I was careful to temper it. After all, I’d not acted just in his interest, but that of the entire party. I also suspected he was more pleased by the fact that Birnam had been foiled than any skill I had shown in doing so.
By then we’d reached the door to Gage’s and my suite and I bid him a muted good night.
He waited until I’d closed the door before presumably haring off to further harass Birnam.
I pivoted to find both Bree and Anderley standing in the doorway between the suite’s sitting room and dressing room.
The anxiety writ across their faces told me they were at least aware of my urgently summoning my husband.
“Miss Whitlock is dead.”
Bree crossed herself, I suspected without even realizing she was doing so, for she normally preferred to keep her Catholicism private.
“How?” Anderley asked. I could read in his eyes that he already knew we were dealing with more than a simple accident.
“Oil of vitriol. Someone threw it in her face.”
Bree gasped in horror, pressing a hand to her mouth. Even steadfast Anderley appeared a little shaken, his olive complexion turning waxen, but he rallied swiftly.
“Does Mr. Gage need my assistance?”
“He may,” I said. “You’ll likely find him somewhere between the blue room and the cellar.”
Anderley nodded, moving toward the door.
“While you’re at it, see what you can learn from the footmen who were on duty,” I instructed him. “They may be more comfortable revealing something they saw to you rather than the master’s son.”
The valet nodded again, though he’d probably not needed this reminder. He and Gage had been working together on inquiries long before Bree and I came along. He knew what was expected of him.
As did Bree, I realized, when I turned to face her as the door shut behind Anderley. “Let’s get ye oot o’ those clothes, m’lady, and intae somethin’ more comfortable.”