Page 72 of The Gift of Patience
Sir Horace just sat there and looked down.
“We have reason to believe Rupert might have been involved in some sort of scheme that got him killed. He confessed to Patience here at your dinner the other evening that he had recently come into a windfall. He even intimated to my brother that he would let him in on it in exchange for helping him advance his courtship with her.”
Patience could see the man was about to break. His chin was quivering and his head began to shake back and forth as if denying it would make it go away.
“You think it was somehow related to the gang of thieves?” he asked.
“Possibly. Were you aware of what he was in on?”
“No, my lord, but he had been acting strange the last few months. All secretive and sure of himself and dressing like some popinjay with affectations to make your stomach sour. I knew he couldn’t afford that lifestyle on the allowance I gave him.”
“Did he confide anything at all to you that made you suspicious he was into something?”
“At first, it was just his puffed-up consequence. Then he was sneaking off at night. He’d never done that when he was home before. As man of the house, I don’t sleep well and I hear what is going on.”
“Did you ever follow to see where he went?”
The look on the man’s face gave him away. “A time or two he went down to the local tavern. I suppose that’s natural for any man, but he’d have to sneak away as his mother would never let him hear the end of it if he was carrying on with one of the barmaids.” He hesitated. “Another couple of times he sneaked over to your land. I did not follow him any further than that. I’m sorry, my lord.”
Patience could attest to that, but she had never been out at night alone and ran into him then.
“I never thought he could be involved.”
“Do you know who he was associating with?”
Sir Horace shook his head. “All I know of was his two school chums, Layton and Beckett. Bad business the two of them, if you ask me. They used him as their punching bag and as a puppet to do their dirty work at school. Rupert was thrilled to be included and didn’t see that they laughed at him. Beckett and Layton have the dash to pull it off. Rupert did not.”
“When did you suspect that he was into something underhanded?”
“Not until that morning. He insisted on accompanying the prisoner’s caravan. I could not talk him out of it. He was in a panic to do so, and let slip that if he didn’t, something very bad would happen. I never thought he might be involved in smuggling.”
Stuart had mentioned that he had told Sir Horace a brief account of the situation, but not all of the details. He knew that some goods had been stolen.
“Sir Horace, can you think of anywhere on your property that might be used to store the missing goods?”
“Aye, there are any number of places, but there is nothing there now. I looked. I think if they were there, then they are long gone.”
“Did you shoot Rupert?” Patience asked.
Sir Horace looked pensive. “I couldn’t let him shame the family. You must see that.”
Westwood looked at her with disbelief.
“I didn’t mean to kill him.”
He lost his composure, and Westwood handed the man his handkerchief and they waited while he gathered himself.
“If you insist on making it public, at least give me a few moments alone first.”
Westwood sighed loudly. “I do not know that it is necessary to make it public. Do not do anything rash while I think thisover. We still need to discover who was directing Rupert in this scheme.”
“Thank you, my lord. I don’t know what’s worse, though. I’ll have to live every day knowing I killed my son. Can you at least spare Lady Fagge from knowing?”
“Unless it becomes necessary to the overall investigation. I believe knowing that your son is gone by your hand is enough punishment. Unfortunately, I will need to have a quick look through his things. If you show me where they are, we will be as discreet as possible.”
Sir Horace did not argue, probably too relieved to be spared his life. He directed them up a staircase to the end of the hallway.
“We will show ourselves out when we are done,” Westwood said and gave the man a sympathetic squeeze on the arm before Sir Horace hung his head and left them there.
