Page 97 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
“That is a possibility,” Finn said, doubt clear in his tone. “Macie, Nell, look away. This is not a fit sight for yer eyes.”
“I need to see this,” Macie said, holding her voice calm despite the quivering of her hands. “I need to know what has happened.”
Finn came to his feet. “I will summon the authorities. But not until after we’ve left this place. Not until ye’re home behind a heavy door with a solid bolt.”
“Do you think... someone did this to him?” Nell asked, her voice quaking.
Finn’s expression was grim. “There’s blood on the cane. Most likely his.”
“It’s happened,” Macie murmured. “Again.”
Finn caught her hand in his. Warm and strong and reassuring. “I need to get the two of ye away from here.”
“Wait. Do you see it? There’s something there,” Nell said. “Something near his right hand.”
Crouching down, Finn retrieved a small, torn piece of stationery that lay behind the counter. “This scrap?”
“Yes,” Nell said as he brought it to her. As she examined the ragged paper, she appeared to steel herself. “How very peculiar.”
“What is it?” Macie asked. “What have you found?”
“I’m not entirely certain.” Nell stared down at the scrap, her eyes widening. When she spoke, she kept her voice to a near whisper. “Mr. Caldwell, we must leave this place. Now.”
*
“My dear, areye feeling unwell?” Mrs. Johnstone’s eyes betrayed her concern as she strolled into the parlor of Macie’s townhouse.
Macie straightened her spine and forced a small smile. “I’m a bit weary. Nothing more serious than that.”
Mrs. Johnstone went to the sideboard and poured two cups of tea. “Ah, my dear, I know how upset ye must be.”
“I’m not destined for a career on the stage, now am I?”
“This is all so very troubling. I’m more than a bit shaken myself. I was not even there to witness the horrible sight.” Mrs. Johnstone placed the cup on the table beside Macie. “This may help to calm yer nerves.”
Macie inhaled the rich aroma of the oolong as she pulled in low breaths. She had to compose herself. She’d be of no use to anyone, not even herself, if she could not calm her own fear.
“It does seem rather like a bad dream, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Johnstone perched upon a wing chair. “So, what has the inspector determined about Mr. Neville’s death?”
“They have assumed natural causes.” Macie sighed. “While Inspector Bradley took meticulous notes on what we’d all witnessed, he seemed to have already reached the conclusion that Mr. Neville had suffered a spasm of the heart.”
“A rather convenient deduction,” Mrs. Johnstone said with a frown. “Less possibility for scandal, I’d say.”
“Indeed. At this time, the detectives have established no connection between his death and Professor Smythson’s murder.” Macie pressed her fingertips to her temples. “It’sbaffling to me that they cannot see the similarity. When Professor Smythson collapsed, the physicians believed he had suffered a heart attack. But later, they noticed the signs of poison.”
Mrs. Johnstone’s brow furrowed. “I understand that Finn spotted a tear in Mr. Neville’s coat.”
Macie nodded. “Someone might have rummaged through his pockets. Finn also noticed blood on the man’s walking stick. It simply doesn’t make sense.” Macie stared down at the painted flowers on the teacup, gathering her thoughts. “And then, there is the matter of the scrap of paper Nell spotted near Mr. Neville’s hand. It’s quite small and rather ragged, but I do recognize my grandfather’s handwriting.”
Mrs. Johnstone nodded with interest. “Might I have a look?”
“Of course.” Macie went to her desk, retrieving the scrap of paper she’d carefully stored in the drawer.
Mrs. Johnstone took her spectacles from her pocket and examined the ragged-edged remains of what might have been a letter. “This does look rather like the writing in yer grandfather’s journals. Pity all that is left is this snippet.”
“I believe Mr. Neville had been clutching a letter and someone tore it from his hand,” Macie explained.
