Chapter 18 #2
For the truth was, we were currently at a standstill.
Without the Birnams confiding in us, without more information about Miss Whitlock’s past and her intentions in asking me to meet her, without some proof of where the bottle of vitriol had come from, we could not move forward.
So what would be the harm in sharing what we knew?
We trusted the five people before us. Trusted them with our lives, with our daughter’s life.
Perhaps they could help us to untangle this Gordian knot.
Taking turns, Gage and I relayed the facts as we knew them, sparing no details, even from Trevor.
Meanwhile, Jeffers entered and took on the task of pouring tea for everyone and passing around the plates of sandwiches.
Once we’d finished, there was a lull of silence while everyone processed the information. There had been a great deal of it.
Philip was the first to speak, obviously trying to use his experience as an earl and a member of the House of Lords to confront the problem.
“Let’s break it down into separate, but related issues.
You said Miss Whitlock was agitated when she asked to speak with you in private, that she referred to your work as inquiry agents.
But she gave no hint of what she needed to tell you.
Your only guess is that it might have had to do with Birnam’s mills and factories. ”
“And that’s based on the knowledge that she’d toured them and spoken to the workers,” I said.
“Paget and Lord Milngavie both confirmed this.” I noted how my brother’s brow had furrowed.
He was not finding any of this easy to hear.
“Paget also said she was meddling where she didn’t belong, and he’d known she would one day cause them all grief.
But none of that is proof that whatever she needed to tell me was to do with the factories.
It might have been something entirely different. ”
“No,” Philip agreed. “But it does make sense. And I can attest that there has been a rash of attacks on mill owners, as well as scuffling between different factions of workers.” He rubbed his chin. “So it’s possible it was as much to do with that as Birnam’s business practices.”
“Birnam has received threats,” Trevor interjected.
Gage and I both shifted in surprise.
“He has?” Gage demanded sharply.
My brother eyed us in confusion. “Yes. Or so Matilda told me.”
“He mentioned the attacks on other owners, but he failed to tell us outright that he himself had been threatened.” My voice was wry. “And I can’t help but wonder why.”
Unless Matilda had lied to Trevor. I supposed we would have to ask Birnam directly.
Alana smoothed the floral muslin of her skirts over her lap.
“So one theory is that Miss Whitlock intended to reveal something presumably unsavory or criminal about Birnam’s businesses, and either Birnam or Paget threw acid on her in order to prevent her.
Which means Birnam picked up the bottle of vitriol to cover his actions and later faked the arrow shot to try to throw suspicion off himself further.
” The same doubt I felt was written on her features.
“It could have happened that way,” Alfie said from his position now seated on the floor with Emma in his lap. She was quietly entertaining herself by examining his pocket watch and chain. “But acid seems an odd choice in that instance.”
Lorna spoke up. “Perhaps if it had happened on the streets of Glasgow, where most of the other attacks have occurred, but here…” She shook her head. “It simply doesn’t make sense. No one in their right mind would blame such a thing on a vengeful mill worker who’d come all the way from Scotland.”
My gaze shifted to Trevor, recalling that it had been Matilda and her father who had separately made such suggestions. However he felt, he didn’t react.
“Why would someone choose oil of vitriol as their weapon?” Alana posited.
“To maim and disfigure,” I supplied. “Not necessarily to kill. Such instances are rare.”
“Because Birnam manufactures it,” Alfie added.
Alana returned to my point. “Then the attacker may not have expected her to die. In which case, how did he expect to get away with it?” She glanced around at us. “Wouldn’t she have been able to identify him?”
“That’s a good point.” Philip tapped his fingers together. “Why would he risk such a thing? Did he believe she wouldn’t identify him? Did he think himself above the law?”
Lorna arched her eyebrows. “Or was he—or she—so overcome by anger or jealousy or righteous indignation that she just didn’t care?”
She was right. The attacker could have been a woman.
Jealousy or anger or righteous indignation could have been the motive.
Perhaps all three. And if Mrs. Birnam had committed the act, she might have believed herself above the law, especially if she’d been convinced her husband was keeping Miss Whitlock as a mistress.
Maybe she’d seen the note Miss Whitlock had slipped under her husband’s door, and assuming the worst, decided to put an end to it once and for all.
“Maybe she even intended to be caught,” Lorna pressed on. “Until she saw how severe the wounds were. Until Miss Whitlock died. Then the attacker panicked and fled.”
Trevor was leaning forward now with his elbows braced on his knees. He knew who this theory implicated, and he could be no happier with it than the previous one.
“You said no oil of vitriol was missing from Bevington Hall’s stores?” Philip verified.
“Correct.” Gage raked a hand back through his hair. “Which means whoever attacked Miss Whitlock brought the acid with them. Suggesting premeditation. Which does not match the notion that this was a crime of passion.”