Chapter 8
Normally at country house parties, the guests were slow to rise, making their way down to the breakfast room at their leisure, or if one was a lady, asking for a tray to be brought to her room.
The gentlemen were expected to appear earliest so that they could set off on whatever the day’s pursuit was to be, in this case, riding and fishing.
While the ladies enjoyed a much more languid start to their day, sometimes not even bothering to make an appearance until after noon.
However, this morning, the servants’ gossip had done its work, as predicted, and by half past seven everyone was gathered in the dining room demanding answers.
I was doing my best to alleviate their fears without revealing more than we wished, but with little result.
Fortunately, when Lord Gage finally appeared, he chose to use his authoritative manner combined with his legendary charm to good effect.
By the end of his concise but dynamic speech, even I felt calmer and ready to comply.
Though I wasn’t sure whether his claim that we had a strong suspect we were close to apprehending was a part of the ploy or if he was ready to blame Mr. Birnam even as our investigation had barely begun.
Unsurprisingly, Mr. Birnam was the only one absent—somewhat conspicuously, considering how ponderous his presence had been the evening before.
This might have given the other guests the wrong impression—or rather the right one, if that was Lord Gage’s true intent—but he was fair-minded enough to mention Birnam’s injuries.
Something that most reacted to with concern and pity rather than suspicion.
How long this would last, only time would tell, but I couldn’t help but think that Birnam’s case would be better served by his absence.
I also learned along with the others that, apparently, Lord Gage had already spoken to Lord Wixford, the local magistrate.
Or at least he maintained that he had. Whether this had been done in the middle of the night or early this morning, I didn’t know, but Gage’s expression suggested he’d also been unaware of it.
Whatever the truth, I was beginning to have the sinking suspicion that my father-in-law was up to his old tricks.
Considering the appalling nature of the attack, it wasn’t surprising when most of the men wished to postpone the morning’s ride in order to remain with the women.
So it was decided that rather than arriving separately, the entire group would set out together for the River Arrow shortly after midmorning.
This afforded Gage and me several unexpected hours to conduct our investigations here at the hall, though I feared most of that time would be eaten up by further queries from guests, particularly my family, who were eyeing me rather insistently. Foremost among them being Trevor.
No sooner had I risen from the table than I found him beside me with Matilda hovering at his elbow. “Is it true…?”
I pressed a hand to his arm to halt his words, offering him a calm smile that I was far from feeling. “Come with me.”
Leading them from the room, I hesitated for a moment, uncertain where to go.
The blue room would have been the natural choice, but not after last night’s events.
The mauve drawing room and red saloon would be put to use by other guests, and the green drawing room connected to the billiards room, where some of the gentlemen might gather.
I entered the great hall but knew immediately it would not do.
It was too exposed, and I would not risk someone overhearing us as the attacker had possibly done with me and Miss Whitlock the previous evening.
The library, then, I decided, crossing the great hall to the southern side of the manor.
The library was a long room with two tall windows at one end, allowing in natural light.
It was perhaps the least ornamented room in the house, with simple crested bookcases lining two of the walls and carved swags over the doors.
Even the white marble fireplace boasted little embellishment.
Once inside, I closed all three doors before allowing my brother to speak. He seemed unnerved by my precautions.
“Is it true? Was Miss Whitlock attacked with oil of vitriol?”
This was a detail we’d not shared directly with the guests, but considering it was not something we’d been able to hide from the servants, I suspected most of them already knew about it anyway.
“Yes. And before you ask, yes, it was a bottle of Birnam’s.”
Trevor turned to Matilda who stared at him with wide, anxious eyes. “But that…?”
“Means nothing,” I finished for him. “Because Birnam’s is perhaps the most widely available.” I nodded. “We know.”
My brother’s gaze searched mine for reassurance. “Then I’m simply misreading the situation. Lord Gage didn’t mean to imply Mr. Birnam is the culprit.”
Though my hesitation was slight, it was long enough to alarm both of them. “At this point, we’re still gathering information and must reserve judgment.”
“But it can’t be Father,” Matilda blurted in horror at the same time Trevor protested, “That’s ridiculous! Why would Birnam injure his own secretary? And with his own factory’s vitriol.”
I could sense my brother’s rising anger, but I couldn’t allow myself to be swayed by it. “There are facts that you are not aware of,” I replied evenly.
“Then enlighten us,” he demanded.
My eyes bore into his, urging him not to press, not in front of Matilda. “Facts I am not at liberty to discuss. But we are still investigating, and neither Gage nor I are ready yet to pinpoint a specific suspect.”
“It’s not my father,” Matilda stated even louder, drawing our attention. Her face was flushed, and her chest heaved beneath the primrose and coral print of her bodice. But for all her adamance, she couldn’t continue to meet my gaze as I scrutinized her.
“Are you saying that as a loyal daughter, or do you know something?”
When she failed to answer my question, failed to even lift her head, allowing the silence to stretch, Trevor took a step toward her uncertainly. “Matilda?”
She released the piece of ribbon trim she’d been fretting and paced several steps away before pivoting to return. “As a loyal daughter…but…He thought of Portia as practically a daughter, too. He couldn’t have done this to her.”
I narrowed my eyes, unable to help the impression that there was something Matilda wasn’t saying.
Something that had held her immobile as if in the grip of fear until she’d deliberately turned away to regain her composure.
It was startlingly akin to Miss Whitlock’s behavior in the great hall the previous evening.
I looked at Trevor, whose expression seemed to suggest he’d seen it, too.
But Matilda interpreted this in a different manner.
“I know Trevor has informed you about Portia’s connection to our family,” she said. “That he had no choice but to do so after Father cornered you into including her at the dinner table yesterday evening.”
My brother’s lapis-lazuli eyes glinted with apology. Evidently, he still felt guilty about that, believing he may have betrayed her trust in doing so.
“That may be, but he only informed me of the bare minimum,” I told her. “Enough to ease my fears that in complying I wouldn’t risk insulting your mother, but not enough to explain why someone would do something so malicious to her.”
Matilda paled.
“Do you have anything you can add to what Trevor already explained? Anything that might help us better understand.”
“I…I don’t know,” she stammered.
Trevor reached out to take her hands, offering her comfort.
“You said she was practically like a daughter to your father,” I said.
“Yes,” she replied weakly.
“But it was obvious yesterday that there was some sort of rift between her and your mother and brother.”
She looked up in alarm.
“Can you explain why? Did something happen? Something that made your parents send Miss Whitlock away?”
“No,” she exclaimed before rethinking her words. “I mean…I don’t think so. I believe it was always the plan that she should go away to school.”
This hadn’t been what Trevor had seemed to convey to me earlier, though I supposed it wasn’t surprising that she was now attempting to temper the matter. She was clearly afraid I was about to blame her mother and brother for Miss Whitlock’s murder next.
“There was no rift between them,” she insisted, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and Trevor. “Only…Father’s clumsy attempts to promote a match between Jemmy and Portia.”
“Jemmy wasn’t interested?” I attempted to verify.
She frowned. “Didn’t you hear me? She was like a sister!”
I had heard her, and she hadn’t mentioned anything about her brother’s feelings about Portia.
This was also not the impression I’d gained from seeing them together.
His animosity toward her had been obvious.
It wasn’t the impression Trevor had gained either, if his puzzled attentiveness to her was anything to judge by.
But I decided there was nothing to be gained at the moment from disputing this.
Not when she was obviously protecting her family and I needed more information.
“And you have no idea whether any of the other guests have a connection with Miss Whitlock?” I tried again. “You have no idea why one of them might wish her harm?”
She paused, appearing to consider the question, but then shook her head.
I glanced at Trevor, who seemed equally bewildered.
I realized I would get nothing helpful from him while we were in the presence of Matilda.
Any further conversation would have to wait until I could speak with him alone, so I turned to go.
“Perhaps it’s to do with Father.”
I stopped to peer over my shoulder, waiting for Matilda to elaborate.
“With his mills and factories.” She worried her thumbs. “After all, Portia was his private secretary. Maybe…maybe it’s an angry mill worker.”