A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,112
was even more heartless than I’d imagined.
“What was he threatening to do?” Gage asked with one eye on me, as if he might have to prevent me from crumpling, not recognizing I was growing furious, not weepy. “Tell his wife? The scandal sheets?”
“Both, I guess. Even mentioned trying to sue him.”
“No court would hear it. And even the scandal sheets might balk at printing such a story out of fear that Helmswick would sue them for libel.”
“Yes, well, as I said before, I told him he would have to take the matter up with Helmswick, and then ordered him to stay away from my sister.”
“And did he listen?”
He blanched. “As far as I know.”
Gage’s eyes narrowed. “What color was Renton’s hair?”
“Light brown.”
He flicked a glance at me. “Sandy even?”
“Maybe.”
He arched a single eyebrow.
“I didn’t notice,” he snapped defensively.
It was true, most people didn’t take note of such things when it came to a casual acquaintance, and light brown hair, whether sandy or not, was not a remarkable feature.
Gage crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you write to Helmswick about this Mr. Renton and his accusations?”
“No. But I intended to have a strong word with him about it when he returned.” The frustrated futility stamped across his features seemed to indicate that he knew his brother-in-law little cared what he thought.
“Did you tell Renton about the tunnel or the crypt?”
“Why would I do that?”
Gage shrugged.
Lord John scowled. “No.”
“Did you tell anyone about Renton’s visit or what he said?”
At this question, he faltered. “Well, yes. I was afraid the blackguard might return, and I wanted the others to be on guard.”
“So who did you tell? Your brothers?”
He nodded. “Yes. And Marsdale.”
But although we spoke to each of the brothers individually in the drawing room, and each of them recalled Lord John’s telling them about Renton’s attempt at blackmail, none of them admitted to ever seeing him. Marsdale had retired early, along with Lady Helmswick, so we could not even try to approach them. However, I was determined to confront Marsdale the next day. Even if I had to charge into his bedchamber and suffer through all sorts of awkward innuendos and double entendres.
We might have tried to force him to speak with us that very night, but my ribs and shoulder had begun to ache, and every step seemed to send a jolt of pain through my body. I tried to hide it, but Gage was attuned to me enough that he noticed. I soon found myself escorted to our set of rooms and handed off to Bree’s tender ministrations.
I stood gripping the bed post as she undid the tiny buttons on my gown and unfastened my stays, gritting my teeth when even her careful movements became too much. I was about to order her to chatter like she normally did and distract me, when her tongue finally came unstuck from the roof of her mouth.
“Lord Richard has returned then? And he saw Lord Helmswick a week ago in Paris?”
That she’d already learned this was not a surprise. After all, there had been footmen waiting at the table when this revelation was made. By now, word was bound to have spread through the ranks of the staff.
“So he says.”
She paused a brief second before resuming her light-fingered work. “Ye dinna believe him?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I admitted with a sigh.
“Aye.” Her voice was soft with empathy. “But what does it mean for our investigation?”
She didn’t say the words, but I knew she was thinking of Anderley in cholera-stricken Haddington.
“It means we shall have to reconsider what we know, and figure out who else that body could belong to.” I turned my head to the side to speak with her as she slid my dress from my arms. “I need you to speak with that footman again who saw Lord Helmswick climb into his carriage. Find out if his valet, a Mr. Warren, was with him.” I narrowed my eyes in consideration. “And find out if any of the staff remember what his hair color is.”
“Ye think the body might be his?”
I grasped the bedpost tighter as I stepped out of the pool the gown formed on the floor before Bree swept it away, draping it over the back of a chair. “Maybe.” Lady Helmswick had told us her husband’s valet’s hair was copper, but I didn’t know whether we could trust her. I didn’t know whether we could trust any of them.