Chapter 18 #3
Philip’s warm brown eyes narrowed as if trying to see his way through the problem. “It’s seemingly a dichotomy.”
“Precisely.” Gage scowled. “And yet there must be some solution that reconciles that fact.”
Having lost interest in Alfie’s watch, Emma now noticed we were eating without her.
I urged Alfie to hand her to me and then sat her on my lap to feed her small bites of my cucumber and watercress sandwich.
Her tiny face screwed up at first at the taste—much to all of our mirth—but then she began contentedly consuming it, opening her mouth like a baby bird whenever she wanted another bite.
Lorna chuckled. “Rory does the same thing.”
“They’ll grow out of it,” Alana advised.
“I don’t know,” Gage proclaimed doubtfully. “Alfie still does it.”
Hearing this teasing remark, Alfie tipped his head back and opened his mouth, tossing in the last bite of roast beef and horseradish, earning himself a great deal of laughter. Even Trevor cracked a smile. I wished I could make all of this go away for him.
For perhaps the first time in the course of one of our investigations, I felt the impulse to turn a blind eye.
But one could never really pretend something this heinous hadn’t happened, and not knowing what exactly the Birnams were capable of would surely eat at Trevor, would surely consume me.
Not to mention the injustice it would be to Miss Whitlock, and the abject failure it would be to the principles Gage and I strived to uphold.
“Trevor, you said that Matilda told you that her father was trying to convince her brother to wed Miss Whitlock?” Alana queried.
He frowned. “No. Matilda told me that her father kept forcing them into proximity to one another.”
“Implying he meant them to wed,” Alana pressed.
But Trevor wouldn’t agree. “Maybe.”
She scowled.
“Perhaps he was forcing them into proximity for another reason,” Philip said, playing the peacemaker.
“Such as?” she challenged.
“When Miss Whitlock was sent away,” Gage interjected, “maybe the cause was a rift between her and Jemmy. Maybe Mr. Birnam wanted it healed.”
“But Jemmy wasn’t interested in mending any rifts,” I reminded them. “He called Miss Whitlock a deceitful liar, and he was angry with his father for not seeing her that way.”
Trevor shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
I turned to Alfie, who now sat in the second cane-back chair. “Has he told you anything else?”
He grimaced. “Not worth repeating.”
Which was saying something if Alfie was the one who didn’t wish to repeat it.
“You’ve been ingratiating yourself with Jemmy?” Trevor demanded to know. He sounded outraged.
“It’s not like that,” Alfie protested. “I’ve simply been bending an ear to listen to his sorrows. Of which he has many,” he quipped wryly, earning a scowl from me.
“And you asked him to do it?” Trevor accused me.
Emma began to fuss because I’d stopped feeding her.
“Jemmy was already speaking to him,” I countered in my defense. “I merely asked him to pass on anything pertinent that he might share.”
Trevor pushed to his feet. “That’s underhanded, Kiera.”
“How do you think an investigation works, Trevor?” I snapped, struggling to tear the cucumbers into small enough bites. Gage took the plate and sandwich from me, assuming the task while Emma continued to grunt. “We’re not forcing him to incriminate himself or anyone else.”
“No, but you’re tricking him!”
I blinked back at him in shock, struggling to understand why he was riled.
“You’ve sat here with us listening to all the evidence.
You comprehend how guilty the Birnams look.
” He shrank back from me, but I would not let him retreat.
“I know you do. I can see it in your eyes. Yet they will not talk with us. They will not attempt to explain. So what are we to do?”
“Do you know something, Trevor?” Alana’s gaze was probing in the way only an older sister’s could be. “Something you haven’t yet shared with Kiera and Sebastian?”
“No!” Trevor denied. “No, I’ve shared everything of pertinence that I know.” He plopped back down in his chair, mocking my earlier choice of words. “But I still think what you’re doing is dishonest.”
Maybe it was. After all, this wasn’t the first time I’d worried about the morality of such an action.
It wasn’t the first time one of our inquiries had required us to do something I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
But I knew, without a doubt or hesitation, that the intentions behind those acts had always been good, and the response measured.
Just as I knew without a doubt or hesitation that Trevor was lying.
I had always been able to tell when my brother was fibbing, even as a child. He simply wasn’t good at it. This was something I’d always taken comfort in, but now I was conflicted. Should I confront him now or give him time to decide to confide in me later?
When Emma suddenly demanded my attention, asking for a drink of my now cold tea, I accepted my choice had been made for me. But that didn’t mean I didn’t keep one eye trained on Trevor.