Chapter 14
I overslept the next morning, barely making it down to the dining room to greet any of the gentlemen.
I took some comfort in the report from Bowcott that all of the ladies had requested trays delivered to their rooms. All save Matilda, that is, who, as a single lady, was not yet granted the privilege.
I would have broken etiquette to allow it, but she seemed content to take breakfast downstairs.
Perhaps because it offered her the opportunity to spend time with Trevor outside the purview of her stringent mother.
Entering the mauve drawing room, I could see them now through the tall windows striding along a path in the garden taking a morning constitutional.
I realized that I’d not yet had a chance to discuss with Lord Gage the changes Matilda had proposed to the plants.
There had been more pressing matters occupying our time.
I turned away, content to leave them to their peaceful promenade, only to find myself cornered by Lady Lyndhurst and Lady Brougham.
“We understand there is to be archery this morning?” Lady Brougham asked with an artful smile, her graying hair tucked neatly into a frilled cap.
“Yes, on the shaded south lawn in a little over an hour,” I replied. It had simply been too hot the previous afternoon, and so the activity had been postponed until this morning. “There will be lawn billiards as well. And battledore and shuttlecock, if anyone feels up to such exertion.”
“Perhaps the men,” Lady Lyndhurst suggested, glancing at her friend. “Though I suppose Mr. Birnam won’t be able to take part in any of it.”
“No, I suppose not.” I couldn’t tell if her concern was genuine or if her point was to another purpose. “But he can still observe. I suspect there will be others who don’t wish to participate.”
Lady Brougham’s gaze was bright with cunning. “Hmm, perhaps his wife. Though I would not like to test her aim. It seems deadly.”
“Yes, indeed,” Lady Lyndhurst agreed, turning to me expectantly.
“You mean to imply that Mrs. Birnam threw the acid in Miss Whitlock’s face,” I stated, following along with their game.
Lady Brougham’s nose crinkled in irritation. “Blunt, as always, Lady Darby.”
I felt the sting of her criticism but ignored it in pursuit of more information. “Do you have any evidence that is what happened? Did either of you witness anything?”
Lady Brougham scoffed. “What evidence do we need? If disfigurement was the aim, then Mrs. Birnam is the obvious suspect. I can’t say I even blame her, ghastly as the act was.
It’s bad enough that men must make mockeries of us outside our homes with their lovers.
But if my husband dared have the gall to hire a girl more than half his age as his secretary, all in the guise of diddling with her underneath my nose, I might very well be tempted to an act as extreme as Mrs. Birnam. ”
I remembered then that Lord Brougham was not the picture of propriety.
Rumors were that he’d fathered at least one illegitimate child and that he’d paid the infamous courtesan Harriette Wilson and her publisher to keep his name out of her memoirs.
This could be coloring Lady Brougham’s view of the matter.
Though the Birnams’ reluctance to confide in us and Mrs. Birnam’s palpable hostility toward Miss Whitlock prior to her death made me hesitant to dismiss the possibility entirely.
However, I couldn’t admit any of this to these women.
“But you haven’t witnessed anything directly that might help prove it?
” I pressed. Surely, they understood the courts couldn’t base their judgments on mere opinion.
Even the coroner’s inquest, which was scheduled for the following morning, would be circumspect, undoubtedly finding Miss Whitlock had been murdered by a person or persons unknown and allowing the magistrate and constable more time to investigate.
Or in this case, allowing the magistrate to allow us more time to investigate.
Lady Lyndhurst seemed almost offended by the query. “Of course not. Or else I would have told my husband immediately.”
I nodded, allowing the ladies to depart and pretending not to notice their falsely affronted looks.
I would get nothing useful from them, and I felt a pulse of impatience with them for broaching the macabre subject purely for the purpose of exchanging tittle-tattle and then acting as if I was the morbid one.
My pique must have still been evident when I turned toward the terrace to find Trevor and Matilda entering through the doors leading into the red saloon. They hesitated, eyeing me warily. I did my best to smooth my features as I entered the saloon and greeted them a good morning.
“Good morning,” Matilda replied, glancing up at Trevor as she explained unnecessarily. “We were just enjoying the gardens.”
I realized she was nervous, though I wasn’t certain why. “Yes, I saw you through the windows. I do think they are loveliest during the early hours of the day.” I turned to my brother, silently asking for an explanation.
“Matilda has something that could be important to tell you,” he prompted with an encouraging tone, his eyes warm with the promise of his support.
I rocked forward on the balls of my feet, eager to hear what she had to say, but I forced myself to ask if she’d like to be seated first. She shook her head as if she was simply ready to have it over with. Obviously, whatever she had to tell me about her family and Miss Whitlock must be upsetting.
But it was not about her family.
“Mr. Thorndike…”
She faltered, biting her lip, allowing me time to adjust to the unexpected direction of her confession.
“He said some rather inappropriate things to me about Miss Whitlock,” she finished in almost a hush.
I frowned, glancing at Trevor, who was now struggling not to show his disapproval of Lord Gage’s secretary. “What sorts of things?”
“He…he suggested Portia was applying to be my stepmother.”
I failed to mask the surprise that I knew must have shown on my face. That Mr. Thorndike would make such a rude and improper remark to one of his employer’s guests, particularly a young lady, was appalling. “When was this?”
She had folded her arms over her chest rather like a shield. “Before dinner the evening he joined us at the table.”
The evening Miss Whitlock died.
She gestured with her head toward the chamber next door. “Here in the drawing room. We were among the first to arrive. I’d risked aggravating Mother by not waiting for her. I wanted to arrive when Trevor did.”
It was clear from the apologetic look in my brother’s eyes that he had not appeared early enough, likely because I’d delayed him with my questions.
“Tell her the rest,” he urged.
Matilda swallowed. “He also said that Portia ought not be dabbling in men’s work. That it was unnatural, and she was stealing employment from a man who needed it. That…” She faltered, inhaling a taut breath. “That someone ought to teach her to mind.”
Anger stirred within me upon hearing many of the same arguments I’d heard aimed at me for daring to create the detailed illustrations for my first husband’s definitive anatomy textbook.
Never mind that these had been generated under duress and that I was not paid nor would I receive credit for them.
Sir Anthony was determined to keep all the glory, which was why he hadn’t hired a draftsman in the first place but rather married one, placing me entirely under his authority and all of our funds at his command.
I wasn’t surprised to hear that Mr. Thorndike possessed such opinions. After all, I’d been aware of his disapproval of me without his ever verbally mentioning it. But I was shocked to hear him make such comments aloud to Matilda, specifically the veiled threat.
“We will speak with him,” I promised her before turning to Trevor, hopeful there might be more. “Thank you for telling me,” I added. “The more we know—about Miss Whitlock, about her past and the events surrounding her death—the better able we will be to figure out what happened.”
But all Matilda did was nod, seeming determined to keep anything else she knew about the things I’d mentioned to herself. For his part, Trevor didn’t press her.
I stifled a sigh, turning to go. If he could not convince her to confide in us, we might have to resort to a more direct confrontation.
Because while Mr. Thorndike needed to be questioned and his whereabouts ascertained, I was all too conscious of the fact that Matilda—and even my brother—would have been looking for any motive outside her family to assign blame to for Miss Whitlock’s death.
This meant her interpretation and recall of her conversation with Thorndike might be skewed.
Until we spoke to the pompous secretary, we couldn’t know for certain.
As such, the sooner the interrogation transpired, the better.
—
Unlike my husband and his father, Mr. Thorndike was not difficult to track down.
He was hunched over his desk in one of the smaller chambers behind Lord Gage’s study.
Another of the rooms belonged to the steward, while the third was utilized for storage.
The complex of offices boasted a separate entrance leading to a servant stair or alternatively the library, as well as the door into my father-in-law’s study.
When Lord Gage opened this last door to request that Mr. Thorndike attend him, I spared a moment to wonder if the secretary had overheard any of our conversation the previous afternoon when we had returned from the banks of the River Arrow.
There had been nothing to stop him from eavesdropping except his own compunction unless my father-in-law had sent him away on another task.
Mr. Thorndike strode promptly to the door that had been left ajar for him. “Yes, my lord.” He drew up short at the sight of me and Gage, either not realizing we were present or pretending not to.