Page 128 of Never Beguile a Duke
He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded the page.
“First,” he said, dropping his steel-gray eyes to the parchment, “The bodies of both men have been removed, and, per your request, a maid was employed to scrub the drawing room and the first-floor corridor of anything related to Miss Fernsby-Webb’s abduction.”
Silas nodded his approval. “You’ll advise me of the final cost.”
“We developed a small issue in regard to Miss Mead.” Mr. Hughes glanced up with a grimace. “In exchange for her discretion, she requested a position at the Webb residence instead of a singular payment. I informed her I wasn’t able to make that decision and would speak with you about the request.”
“If Mrs. Webb approves of the girl, I will pay Miss Mead’s wages,” Silas said, and frowned when Roxburghe scowled over the rim of his glass.
Peering around Mr. Hughes, Silas raised his eyebrows. “You disapprove of my offer to assist Mrs. Webb?”
Roxburghe’s glass dropped from his fingers and hit the table with a heavy thud. “If it jeopardizes my wedding date, I do.”
“Mrs. Webb holds no sway over her daughters, and I doubt Miss Webb is generous enough to give her wedding date to her sister. Unless…” Silas cupped his hand and his mouth and loudly hissed, “Is Miss Webb reconsidering a match with you?”
An inhuman growl rumbled in Roxburghe’s chest.
“Mr. Hughes,” Warwick said, shifting his cane out of Roxburghe’s reach, “perhaps you should stay after your business is concluded. I suspect another murder may be committed this evening.”
“Potentially a double homicide,” Mansfield said, snickering as he scraped the coins into the sack.
“If Roxburghe kills Beaufort?—”
“Thanks,” Silas muttered, glowering at Warwick.
“Who would kill Roxburghe?” Warwick continued, ignoring Silas’ interruption.
“There are several potential suspects,” Mansfield replied as he handed the coin bag to Warwick. “Mrs. Webb, her daughter, Miss Juliette, and any number of servants who happen to enjoy their employment with Beaufort.”
“Thus, a need for the parish constable.” Warwick lifted his glass and drained it.
Mr. Hughes’ gaze bounced between the four men as though attempting to discern the seriousness of their claim, then returned to his notes.
“I recommend summoning a doctor first,” he said, without lifting his head.
Silas chuckled. “Doctor Barnes is currently my guest.”
“That’s quite convenient,” Mr. Hughes said, his gaze finding Silas.
“His presence is due to Mr. Curtis’ attack on Mrs. Webb,” Silas said, his reply sharper than he intended.
“Ah.” Mr. Hughes ran his finger down the paper and stopped halfway down. “I have a notation regarding that incident. It’s my conclusion that the assault was meant to drive Mrs. Webb from the residence, not to actually take her life. With her afraid to return to her home, Mr. Curtis was able to come and go freely without notice.”
“And Mr. Hollingsworth?” Silas asked, a dull twinge slicing through his chest. “How have you ended his story?”
“As an unfortunate victim of Mr. Curtis.” His voice trailing off, Mr. Hughes released a heavy sigh. “To take a person’s life as callously as he did, I must assume there are more innocents who’ve lost their lives to his hand. It’s unfortunate that we may never learn their names.”
“Miss Phoebe Ridlington.” Silas’ soft reply drew the attention of every man. “She was also one of the victims.”
Mr. Hughes raised his eyes. “I’ve not been informed of Miss Ridlington’s death.”
“Her employers hid the crime and disposed of her child,” Silas growled, his hand trembling as he squeezed the empty snifter.
“Do I need to investigate…”
“The Hills,” Mansfield answered when it became apparent that Silas had lost his ability to form intelligible words. “And no, the Hills have no connection to Mr. Curtis’ crimes, and the child under discussion was rescued and currently is residing in this house under her father’s watchful, yet somewhat strict, eye.”
Silas shot a withering glare at Mansfield.
