Chapter 22 #2
“He came here under false pretenses,” I protested, pivoting angrily back in the direction I’d come.
“He and Mrs. Birnam, because I don’t believe for a second that she didn’t know his plans once he told Matilda.
” I flung my arm out, pointing at the door near where Gage, Anderley, and Bree stood as I passed by.
“I only invited them because I thought Trevor was on the verge of asking for Matilda’s hand and that her father would accept.
I only asked them here—risking my father-in-law’s wrath—because I wished to smooth the way for the couple and show them what a worthy suitor Trevor is.
Not to grant Birnam access to your father’s political cronies for his own means.
Not to break my brother’s heart!” My voice cracked and I stumbled to a stop, clasping a hand over my mouth to hold back the sob that threatened to escape.
Gage came to me then, wrapping his arms around me so that I could bury my face in his chest. I wanted nothing more than to weep all over his waistcoat, but I was afraid that if I started, I might not be able to stop, and we would have two dozen guests downstairs awaiting our appearance in less than half an hour.
So I gathered my tattered composure, squeezed the bridge of my nose, and inhaled a ragged breath as I forced myself to step away from him.
“I suppose we know now why Birnam was so insistent Miss Whitlock join us for tea and dinner,” I quipped faintly.
It seemed foolish now that I’d worried we were courting scandal by possibly allowing his mistress and his wife to dine with us, even though it was impossible that I could have guessed the truth.
“We’ll need to speak to Mrs. Birnam again,” Gage said, eyeing me in concern.
“And Matilda, and Trevor, and Jemmy,” I added with a heart-weary sigh as I sank down on the edge of one of the chairs. I didn’t want to consider my brother as a suspect.
“Anything to report on Mrs. McClintock or the others?” Gage asked Bree and Anderley.
“She went straight tae Mrs. Birnam,” Bree replied. Which was to be expected, given she was her maid. “Hasna spoken tae anyone else, that I’m aware.”
“Nothing to share about the other potential witnesses in the laundry,” Anderley supplied.
“Except that Mr. Simpkins looked rather cross when he returned belowstairs after being summoned to attend to the younger Mr. Birnam. A few of us attempted to get him to confide in us, but he remained close-lipped.”
“Which I gather isn’t typical for him.”
Anderley shook his head. “That one’s got tongue enough for two sets of teeth.”
“Must’ve been given a good reason tae stubble it, then,” Bree remarked.
Gage considered them both. “It would be interesting to know why.”
Anderley grinned. “I’ll see what I can do to loosen him up.”
“Get approval from Bowcott first.” His eyes narrowed. “And invite Mr. Armstrong, for good measure.”
I turned to him in surprise. “Lord Milngavie’s valet?”
He shrugged. “The more people, the less obvious it’ll be. Ask Barnes as well.” Philip’s valet. “He’ll prove a help. And he’s got a strong head.”
“He’s a Scot,” Anderley replied as if that explained his tolerance for strong drink.
Bree’s gaze met mine before she looked to heaven as if seeking patience.
I smiled weakly.
“Come, m’lady. Let’s get ye changed,” she urged, ushering me toward the bedchamber while Gage and Anderley continued to plot.
—
Had I been able to come up with any plausible excuse to avoid dinner, I would have used it. But as hostess and investigator, pleading a megrim or an indisposition simply would not do. Not when I was supposed to see to the comfort of our guests and ensure justice was done for poor Miss Whitlock.
At any rate, it should not have been me who felt awkward sitting down to dine with Birnam and his wife and their daughter or even Trevor.
They were the ones who should have felt trepidation about what Gage and I might reveal.
While this could be said of Matilda, who struggled to hide both her misery and her unease, periodically darting glances at me, Gage, and my brother—glances I didn’t know whether my brother returned because I was avoiding looking at him—the same was not true of Mr. and Mrs. Birnam.
Mrs. Birnam was as abrasive as ever, making her displeasure over everything known to anyone who would listen.
However, it was Mr. Birnam who most disconcerted and flustered me.
Considering everything we’d just learned from him and the scandal the information could cause, I’d expected at least compliance from the man if not some form of contrition for his previous behavior.
Instead, he became even more tenacious in his initiative to dominate the conversation and bully the noblemen present to accept his opinion about the revisions to the Factory Act.
This was not well received by the majority of the table, particularly my father-in-law and Lord Milngavie who, true to his earlier promise to me, managed to temper his responses.
I found that I was not equal to the task that evening of helping to suppress and redirect Birnam.
At first, I was too shocked by the nerve of the man, and later I was too furious.
He was clearly relying on our desire to shield the innocent from harm to keep us quiet when that should have been his concern.
I wanted nothing more than to defy his challenge, but I couldn’t bring myself to harm either the living or the deceased simply to spite him.
Doing so could also prove to be detrimental to our inquiry, for we had not yet established who knew the truth about each aspect of the investigation.
But I struggled mightily with the impulse to lash out at the man who had so wounded my brother in addition to his own daughters—Matilda and Portia.
I could tell that Gage was equally perturbed, though he was able to verbally spar with Birnam without letting slip any of the secrets we were now privy to.
I trusted he’d not yet spoken to his father about what we’d learned, or I doubted Lord Gage could have resisted upbraiding him, given the way Birnam continued to provoke him.
It was almost as if Birnam had decided he no longer had anything to lose by being so unpleasant.
Perhaps he expected us to ask him to depart, but we could not do so until Miss Whitlock’s killer was discovered.
I also refused to be party to his machinations to separate Trevor and Matilda.
At least, not until they themselves had come to some conclusion about the matter.
At this point, I was willing to aid and abet them in making a dash toward the Scottish border so that they might be married over the anvil, so to speak.
Of course, such an elopement was never ideal, but if my brother loved Matilda and wished to marry her, regardless of the consequences, I would help him see it through.
Unless one of them was a murderer.
I balked at the notion—particularly in regard to Trevor—but the facts still had to be wrangled with.
They both had lied. They both had motive.
They both might have had the opportunity if they’d discovered Miss Whitlock’s intentions or followed her.
Matilda had access to the weapon. None of this meant either of them was guilty, but it raised questions that needed to be answered.
Answers I feared. Answers that kept me silent even though it played into Birnam’s hands.