Chapter 20 #2
“Because her reasons are her own.” She spoke over her shoulder, not even affording us the courtesy of addressing us directly. “And I would not wish to exert undue influence on her.” She paused at the door leading to her bedchamber just long enough to add, “You can show yourselves out.”
Short of manhandling her or breaking down the door she locked behind her with a snick, there was little we could do. Though judging from the look in Gage’s enraged eyes, that didn’t stop him from considering it. “Undue influence? What rot,” he snarled.
I had to agree. “Obviously, McClintock knows something. Something Mrs. Birnam would prefer she not reveal.”
The problem was, what? Did she suspect her maid was guilty and preferred to avoid the scandal of her confessing? Or was the maid protecting her employer, or perhaps her employer’s son?
I thought of the arrow that had been fired at Mr. Birnam. Jemmy had been among the archers. Could he have made the shot undetected? Or had Mr. Birnam feigned the attempt on his life, hoping to avert suspicion from him? Or from his wife?
I grunted in frustration. “We need to convince Mrs. McClintock to speak to us.”
“Perhaps Mr. Birnam might have some influence over her,” Gage proposed, evidently still irked by Mrs. Birnam’s remarks.
I could think of no better suggestion. “It’s worth a try.”
Exiting Mrs. Birnam’s sitting room, we moved just a few steps down the corridor to Mr. Birnam’s door. But before we could knock, Trevor called out for me to wait. I turned to find him hurrying toward us with a tearful Matilda trailing behind him.
My first reaction was disappointment, thinking he was about to upbraid me for upsetting Matilda. But as he drew nearer, I realized the source of his agitation wasn’t me or Gage but the woman beside him.
No, not beside him. She was just behind him, partially cowering from the trio we’d formed.
I looked from her tear-streaked face to his rigid one in question.
“Can we speak somewhere private?” He appeared to struggle for control of his facade as he turned to his almost-fiancée. “Matilda has something she needs to tell you.”
“Of course.” I scrambled to decide the best place to take them. “Follow me,” I said, opting to lead them toward Gage’s and my private sitting room. It was nearby and we were certain not to be interrupted there.
I didn’t know precisely what had happened between Trevor and Matilda, but it was serious.
I could only think that it had something to do with whatever I’d sensed Matilda was keeping from us.
She’d clearly been anxious about something since Miss Whitlock’s death.
I’d believed she suspected someone in her family of being involved, but maybe it was more than suspicion.
Maybe she knew something that until now she’d been afraid to reveal.
Whatever the case, our discovery that Mrs. Birnam’s maid, McClintock, had been seen with a bottle of oil of vitriol had altered matters. At least, that seemed to be the catalyst for Matilda disclosing to Trevor whatever she was about to tell me and Gage.
I led them into our suite and through the door into the sitting room, gesturing for them to take a seat. But neither Trevor nor Matilda accepted the offer to sit.
Matilda waited just long enough for the door to close behind us, holding her hands out toward me as if in supplication. “It was mine!” She hiccupped on a sob. “Tha-tha-that bottle of vitriol,” she stammered. “It was mine.”
I stared at her in shock before turning to see that my brother’s expression was one of anguish. It was clear from the anger and hurt raging in his eyes that he’d not known about this until minutes before.
“I asked Mrs. McClintock to get rid of it for me,” Matilda continued.
“I thought she would dispose of it in the rubbish, but she said it was dangerous to just throw out acid. She promised to see to it.” Her voice took on a note of pleading.
“So you see, it’s my fault she ever had it.
She’s protecting me by refusing to talk, not Mother. ”
“But why did you bring a bottle of oil of vitriol with you in the first place?” I asked in confusion. It wasn’t something people would typically travel with, and I couldn’t think of any justifiable reason why Matilda would have required it.
She backed away, seeming to shrink into herself, and I realized this was the real crux of the matter. For if she’d had any legitimate reason for having it, she wouldn’t have needed her maid to get rid of it or been so afraid of telling us.
My chest tightened in dread as I looked to my brother to see if he was already aware of the answer to this question, but his eyes bored into Matilda with something akin to dawning horror, making it clear he’d not yet heard this part. Gage observed us both with empathy.
“Matilda,” I prodded gently but firmly even as she bent her head and wept, her chest rising and falling with each sob.
“I…I don’t really know what I was thinking,” she finally managed to say.
“I was just…so furious with Father…and Portia.” She sniffed, wiping her nose.
“I heard all the reports of the mill workers using…it. How most of the time the damage was minimal. And I thought, I thought maybe if Portia wasn’t so pretty…
” Her face crumpled and she covered it with her hands as if to shield herself from the horror of the admission she’d just made.
Trevor’s features were stricken with agony and disbelief.
Matilda inhaled a ragged breath, lifting her head to implore us.
“But I didn’t use it! I…I couldn’t.” It was clear she wanted to believe this.
“After arriving here, I realized what a terrible, awful, despicable thing it would be. And I just wanted it out of my sight. Which was why I asked Mrs. McClintock to dispose of it.”
I wondered if she’d feared she might change her mind if the option was left open to her.
“So it wasn’t me who attacked Miss Whitlock,” she asserted primarily to Trevor. “I couldn’t have done it. I just couldn’t.” When he didn’t respond, her voice cracked. “Please. You have to believe me.”
My brother was struggling with these revelations.
I certainly was, and I could only imagine how much greater they’d affected him.
To think that sweet Matilda had actually considered doing such an appalling thing to another person, that she’d even gone so far as to procure the weapon to do it, made my heart stutter in my chest. And while she’d claimed she’d not gone through with it, I now held doubts.
There were definitely further questions to be answered.
When Trevor turned away from Matilda, pacing toward the window, I pressed for them.
“You said you were furious with your father and Portia. Why?”
She was slow to respond, distressed by my brother’s response.
“I was furious because…because Father seemed to prefer her to me. He never seemed to have time for me. But with Portia…” Her face twisted not just in scorn but also pain.
“There was no one cleverer, no one kinder.” She sniffed sorrowfully.
“I sometimes wondered if he wished Portia was his daughter in truth rather than me.”
From my vantage, I could see Trevor’s shoulders tense as he stared out the window. I wondered if he was fighting the compulsion to comfort her or the desire to throttle her father.