Page 84 of No One's Bride
“Losing a trusted employee must be distressing,” Ailsa said with a hint of sympathy. “Losing a beloved son must have been a terrible blow.”
Miss Chadwick froze. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“Mr Hibbet was yer half-brother?”
Her eyes widened. “Who told you that?”
“Mr Murden,” Sebastian interjected. “When we questioned him about the assistant’s murder. And Hibbet told a colleague he had been given the apartment because he was Chadwick’s son.”
“His son? That’s preposterous.” Miss Chadwick’s shoulders shook. “I’ll not hear any more of this nonsense. Good day to you.” She shooed them towards the door. “My father is ill and of no mind to speak to you. Be on your way.”
A sudden flash of anger forced Sebastian to straighten. “Enough!” he cried. “I am a peer of the realm, madam. A man of noble blood. You will do as I say, or I shall arrest you for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice.”
The lady jerked. She snatched the card and studied the script before blanching. “Forgive me, my lord. My nerves are frayed. I’ve not left the house since hearing about that dreadful murder.”
That was a lie.
She had been creeping about Hibbet’s apartment.
“We must speak to your father, but perhaps you might answer a few questions first. I don’t want to disturb him any more than necessary. Nor do I wish to return with a police entourage.”
She offered a watery smile. “Of course. Let us go to the drawing room, and you may probe me at length. Pickson will have the maid bring tea.”
The drawing room was an emporium of gaudy trinkets and useless knick-knacks. They were forced to move cushions, a tapestry and a stuffed stoat to make room on the sofa.
Miss Chadwick sat perched in a wing chair and spent an age straightening her robe and patting her blonde locks.
“I’ll get to the matter of Mr Hibbet shortly,” Sebastian said as another thought struck him, one he had not considered important before. “But we need a list of people who sold items at auction on the day of the murder.”
Who had owned the grimoire?
In light of Smith’s revelation, it was of vital importance.
Miss Chadwick shrugged. “How should I know? My father deems women too silly to cope in a man’s world. I’m called upon to entertain clients, smile, nod, and discuss the weather.”
No wonder she despised Hibbet.
He’d been treated like the prodigal son.
“How long has yer father been ill?” Ailsa said.
“A year or so.” The lady sighed like she wished the man would stop breathing.
“What ails him?”
“A weakness of the muscles and bones. His speech is slow, his thoughts often incoherent. His condition confounds the most educated physicians.”
A deep mistrust made Sebastian question if Mr Chadwick was ill or being subdued by a drug or poison.
“I’m told you disliked your brother,” he said, provoking a reaction. “That you were jealous because he gained your father’s attention.”
“Jealous?” The lady slammed her hand on the arm of the chair. “Who told you that? Not Mr Murden. He despised Mr Hibbet and knew him to be a fraud.”
“Yes, he said you doubted the man was your brother. When did news of his illegitimate offspring come to light?”
The lady fixed them with an irate glare. “A month after my father became ill. The delirium had taken hold, and Mr Hibbet used it to his advantage.”
Perhaps Chadwick panicked at the prospect of leaving this woman in charge of his precious business. Or Hibbet may have invented the tale and fed a sick man a diet of lies.
