Chapter 11
The remainder of the picnic and fishing party passed rather sedately.
The chief topic of conversation turned to the heat, which had forced us all to cling to the trees and the cooling shade they cast. Few could remember a summer more intemperate sprinkled with days like this one which were warmer than we were accustomed to.
Those who had arrived from London commented on the stench that had enveloped the city as it did every summer, but usually not until August when much of society made their escape to the country.
Mr. Birnam, in particular, was suffering from the heat, as well as the pain of his hands, but he would not be swayed to return to the manor like his wife.
Whether he thought this would make him look too delicate or he feared missing an opportunity to press his cause, I didn’t know, but his weakened state proved to be an unwelcome distraction.
Birnam and the men might have removed some of their clothing or even waded into the river for a swim to gain some relief by at least cooling themselves, but with the ladies present that option was not open to them.
Eventually, it was decided we should all return to Bevington Hall.
So while I helped situate the guests back into the carriages, Gage had a word with staff, urging them to take their time cleaning up and not to overtax themselves.
He also instructed them to enjoy any of the food left over that they wished—and there was plenty of it!
The heat had blunted appetites and also made it unsafe to return many of the items to the larder.
It had to be eaten soon or tossed out with the slop for the pigs at the estate farm.
By the time we’d seen everyone else off, Gage and I found ourselves the sole occupants of the final carriage.
“Now, isn’t this a happy accident,” Gage declared, draping an arm around me.
“Yes,” I agreed, pushing against his chest. “But darling, can you scoot to your side of the bench? It’s simply too hot.”
He didn’t take offense. “Quite right,” he declared with a weary sigh, sinking into the opposite corner.
For several minutes, we lounged in blissful silence, enjoying the light breeze created by the movement of the carriage while Joe, our coachman, munched on the plate of sandwiches I’d passed up to him before we departed.
But our current predicament soon intruded into my thoughts.
Truthfully, the memory of Miss Whitlock’s ravaged face was never far from my mind.
I suspected it would be with me for some time.
I hoped bringing her killer to justice might help lay her to rest, but the workings of the brain were a mystery, and the memories that haunted us were rarely so compliant.
“Did you have any luck?” I prodded my husband, trusting he would understand what I meant.
“Not much,” he roused himself from his stupor to reply. “Lord Brougham trapped me for some time.” His brow furrowed. “Scared all the trout away, too, with his angry prattle.”
“What was he prattling on about?”
“The Slavery Abolition Act. He thought he was here chiefly to strategize and discuss its passage with some of the lords who are on the fence. But Birnam and this murder have rather impeded his efforts.”
“He understands you support the act?” Which would abolish slavery throughout the British Empire.
If anything, Gage and I both believed the act didn’t enact reform fast enough, for emancipation was gradual and compensated the slave owners for the loss of human “property” to a filthy degree.
We hadn’t been entirely certain which side of the issue Lord Gage landed on, but I was encouraged that he also supported it given the assortment of noblemen he’d brought together at this house party as the crucial vote in the House of Lords approached.
He grimaced. “Yes, but that didn’t stop him from practicing his arguments on me.”
I couldn’t halt a spark of amusement. “Well, Lord Brougham is lord chancellor and a rather celebrated legal counsel.” After all, as Queen Caroline’s attorney general, more than a decade earlier he’d successfully defended Her Majesty against her husband King George IV’s attempts to see their marriage dissolved and her royal titles stripped from her, causing the campaign against her to collapse.
Gage grunted. “Perhaps we should put Brougham and Birnam in a room together and just let them pontificate at each other. I wonder who would outlast the other.” A smile creased his face as he opened his eyes to find that, unable to contain my mirth at the image that sprang to mind, I’d dissolved into laughter. “You find that quite amusing.”
I shook my head, struggling to regain control of myself. “I think…it’s less the notion…and more…the heat and…” I stammered out before adding with one last gasp “…this murder.” That word certainly had the ability to take the wind from anyone’s sails.
My husband’s pale blue eyes shone with empathy. “Did you learn anything?”
I briefly recapitulated my conversations with Jemmy, Alfie, and Trevor, and informed him that Alana had returned to the hall early with Mrs. Birnam.
“I wondered about that.” He dipped his head out the window, either gauging the distance to the manor or simply trying to feel the wind on his face. “Upset about the row between her husband and Foley?”
“She claimed it was the heat—and it quite possibly was—but Alana and I also believe the confrontation played a part.” I forced myself to straighten from my slouch, echoing Gage’s movements. We must be close to the hall. “Hopefully, my sister was able to learn something from her during their drive.”
Gage reached for my hand as I smoothed my skirts, lifting it to his mouth.
He smiled apologetically over my knuckles after placing a kiss there.
A smile which turned into a grimace. “Since it’s too bloody hot for anything else.
” My husband rarely swore, and almost never on purpose, but this heat was tiresome to everyone.
Bowcott was waiting for us at the door as we climbed from the carriage and mounted the left arm of the curved staircases constructed of rusticated stone up to the portico.
Bevington Hall was Palladian in style, with four unfluted Ionic columns and pediments over the entrance at the center.
Three round-arched French doors marched across the portico, the central of which was most used, and where Bowcott stood at the ready.
“Has everyone been settled?” I asked, only slightly out of breath after such a climb in this heat.
“Yes, my lady.” He stepped back, allowing me to enter, but I could tell there was more. “His lordship asked that you both join him in his study when you returned.”
And since the study was immediately to the left, overlooking the front drive, he knew we’d already arrived.
I shared a wary glance with Gage before nodding. “Thank you, Bowcott.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgment before closing the door and retreating deeper into the house.
“I suppose there’s nothing for it,” Gage muttered, fastening a baleful glare on the study door. Apparently, he was no more optimistic about what his father had to say than I was.
He rapped perfunctorily but did not wait for Lord Gage to reply before opening the door. A fact his father noted with a scowl as he turned from the tall window he stood looking out of.
“I am not pleased,” he stated without preamble, crossing toward his large oak desk. “This murder overshadows everything. And as much as I’d like to blame Birnam…” he gritted his teeth “…I don’t think he did it.”
My astonishment must have been evident, for a cynical smirk creased his lips.
“You seem surprised by this, but I can be a fair man.” He arched a single eyebrow. “I changed my mind about Lord Drummond, didn’t I?” he said, referring to a previous inquiry.
Only after the evidence I’d gathered—against his wishes—had forced him to.
Gage’s scowl matched my own. “Let’s not put forward that particular example.”
Lord Gage ignored this in favor of his own agenda. “I want you to get to the bottom of this.” He pressed his index finger into the center of his desk as if this would make his point stronger. “And I want you to do it as swiftly as possible.”
My husband’s rigid countenance tightened even further. “What do you think we’ve been doing?”
“For one, you let Brougham corner you,” he criticized. “And that man could talk the clothes off a pauper’s back.”
Gage’s face reddened. “Then, let’s gather everyone together and have it out directly.”
“Good God, Sebastian,” his father snapped. “Have you lost your wits? You do realize the importance of the men we have gathered here. You cannot simply accuse them of murder or put your other suspects on display for them. There must be decorum. More than my future is at stake.”
Before Gage completely lost his temper and said something he would later regret, I stepped in.
“But surely you realize that one of those men might have done it. We haven’t yet ruled anyone out.
” And given the hour the murder had occurred, I didn’t anticipate there being many alibis.
Wives might vouch for husbands, and friends for friends, but unless a member of the staff or someone from my family substantiated their claim independently, I wasn’t certain I trusted it.
Lord Gage turned to me impatiently. “Yes, but until you have substantial proof of their culpability, we are not going to disturb them.”
I wanted to know exactly how we were supposed to gather information to solve Miss Whitlock’s murder if we weren’t to “disturb” their lordships, but Gage was still focused on an earlier remark.
“When you say, ‘more than my future is at stake,’ I do hope you’re referring to Emma’s future marriage prospects.” Gage’s fists were clenched at his side. “Because we’ve been over this.”