Chapter 17 #3
“I know what it’s like to lose both parents in a tragic accident.” To feel as if you’ve lost your anchor, and there’s nothing solid left to hold. “To fear never being happy again.”
She didn’t look at Hugh. That love was just as fragile.
Lady Bellingham clutched her handkerchief to her heart. “There’s nothing left for me now. That mine took everything.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
“Your daughter is alive and living under an assumed identity.” Hugh’s voice was cold enough to frost glass. “One provided by Mrs Fenwick for a fee.”
The matron put her hand to her brow. “It’s not a crime to seek a new life. Your colleague implied she’s done the same.”
Emma couldn’t argue. She had sought freedom and peace but found something far more rewarding.
“It is cruel to let your parents wake each morning fearing you’re dead.
Your daughter helped Sarah Carson vanish.
I suspect they’re together. I’m sure Mrs Fenwick will confess all when questioned by the magistrate. ”
“Don’t dare repeat that girl’s name in this house.” Lady Bellingham’s nostrils flared, and she hissed through her teeth. “She’s the reason I’ll spend another year in weeds. Her and her delusions of grandeur.”
So it was true.
Miss Carson and Miss Bellingham were alive.
Who were they hiding from?
“Miss Carson’s parents said she came to stay here. That these delusions began after the trip.”
“Stay here?” Lady Bellingham’s lips curled as if she’d smelled something foul. “Have the foreman’s daughter in this house? Don’t be absurd. Lord Preston lives across the street.”
Hugh took his notebook from his pocket and flicked to a page. “The first visit was the autumn of ’31, then again the following May. Can you recall being away from home?”
“No, but I’d know if a foreman’s daughter slept beneath my roof. And before you ask, I forbade Rebecca from seeing her.”
“We know they were friends. We know they both made use of Mrs Fenwick’s services. What we don’t know is why.”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Hugh slipped the notebook into his pocket. “You know more than you’ve said.”
“I know my daughter was foolish.” Her voice sharpened. “That she mistook pity for duty and has destroyed this family.”
Emma stepped closer. “How?”
Lady Bellingham sucked in her cheeks.
“I’m sure you would rather have your daughter home,” Emma said. Short of prising the woman’s lips open or holding her at gunpoint, what else could she do? “Whoever killed your son will find her too.”
A heavy silence filled the darkened room.
The tick of the mantel clock grew louder.
Lady Bellingham looked to the portrait of an older, distinguished man with a monocle and white side-whiskers, as if asking whether he would forgive the betrayal.
“Miss Carson came to my daughter with some hysterical tale about Hartham. It concerned the accident, I suspect, but I couldn’t get a word out of Rebecca.”
“And Rebecca believed her,” Hugh said.
“Much to my chagrin. My daughter sold her sapphire ring and gave Miss Carson the money.”
To purchase a new identity, Emma assumed.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the accident wasn’t an accident at all.” Lady Bellingham reached for the sherry glass and took an indelicate sip. “Robert wanted out of the partnership, and so did Lord Howden’s father. But I’ll not admit to any of this in court.”
Emma ran through the facts. Both men wanted to end their partnership, and within a year of the accident, both were dead.
Sarah Carson knew too much, and Rebecca had paid for her to disappear. Mr Bellingham had started asking questions before someone killed him in a graveyard.
“Your daughter will own half the mine once probate is granted,” Hugh said. “Who will act for her in her absence?”
“I will,” Lady Bellingham replied, with the faint satisfaction of a woman producing an ace from her sleeve. “The shares cannot be sold or transferred unless she is legally pronounced dead.”
“Clever,” Hugh said. “If no one can find her, that’s quite impossible. Your son knew her disappearance mattered. Someone killed him before he could say why.”
Lady Bellingham set down her glass, mindful not to spill a drop. “Careful, Mr Stanton. Grief does not make me a murderess. Nor does a desire to protect what remains of my family.”
No, Emma thought. But controlling the shares gave her a motive. “Perhaps we’ll learn more about the accident when we reach the colliery. We leave for Staffordshire today.”
Hugh muttered something under his breath. Reckless fool, probably, aimed at her. But it was the only way to draw the killer out.
Lady Bellingham’s lids fluttered. “You’re going to Hartham?”
“This is a murder enquiry, my lady. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know we won’t rest until your son has justice.”
“Then I wish you the best of luck. Wickedness has a habit of wearing respectable clothes. I trust you’ll have a care.”
The floorboard beyond the door creaked.
“You may as well show them out, Parker. I know you’re there.”
The butler entered and bowed stiffly. “And if they call again, my lady?”
“Tell them I am indisposed.”
“For how long, my lady?”
“Indefinitely, unless they bring the name of my son’s killer.”