Page 65 of Snowbound with the Scoundrel
The countess started.“Oh, did you not know?Five Decembers ago, his wife died in childbirth.The babe did not survive, either.A little girl.”She shook her head.“It was just before Christmas.In fact…” She tapped a finger on her chin.“I believe today might be the anniversary of their deaths.”
“How terrible,” Clarissa said, her thoughts aswirl.That would certainly explain why Mr.Higginbotham had slipped away from the party as the clock struck midnight to hold a silent vigil in the chapel.
Lady Helmsley nodded sadly.“Poor man.It was a love match, you know.I’m given to understand that he couldn’t even bear the sight of his old house in Thirsk.That was the reason he gave up his seat in Parliament, you know.”
Clarissa leaned forward, clutching the counterpane to her chest.“He gave up his seat?Here I thought Mr.Baxter defeated him in the election.”
The countess waved a hand.“He had already filed to run for reelection at the time of his wife’s death, so his name was on the ballot, it’s true.But after Helen’s death, he decided to move to York and return to his first profession as a solicitor.”The countess dropped her voice low.“Just between you and me, Mr.Baxter would never have won that seat had Mr.Higginbotham wished to retain it.Mr.Higginbotham is a local, you see.But everyone in Thirsk knew of his wishes to leave that house where his wife and child died, and that is the only reason they voted for Mr.Baxter instead.”
Clarissa’s thoughts were flying.“So, there is no bad blood between Mr.Higginbotham and Mr.Baxter?”
“Gracious, no.”The countess patted her hand, then stood.“In any case, I wanted to thank you for the kindness you showed to Mr.Higginbotham.”She strolled over to the door, then paused, giving Clarissa a speaking look.“Resolve the other matter.Today, if possible.”
Clarissa nodded.“I will arrange the announcement with Rupert.”
“Good.”
Once she was alone, Clarissa flopped back on her pillow.It seemed that Mr.Higginbotham was not a likely suspect after all.
Who, then, could it possibly be?Their initial trio of suspects did not seem promising, and it turned out that Mr.Higginbotham bore Oliver Baxter no ill will.
Someone wanted to kill the man, though.Clarissa tried to recall the other names Rupert had mentioned in the library.Could it truly be Percival Ponsonby, angry at having been given the nickname Priggish Percival?Or Francis Ditherington, whose fuchsia satin waistcoat Mr.Baxter had derided?Surely men did not kill over such things.
She climbed out of the bed and rang for a maid to help her dress.She paced the room as she waited.There was also Granville Smith-Nugent-Smith.Rupert had said the wager he had lost to Mr.Baxter was for two hundred pounds.It didn’tseemworth killing over, but perhaps the loss had come at a bad time.And it certainly seemed a stronger motive than having been called an unflattering nickname…
She hadn’t thought of any more likely suspects by the time she made her way down to the breakfast room.As it was just past noon, the spread included both breakfast items, for those like Clarissa, who had slept in, and traditional lunch fare for the early risers who had broken their fast hours ago.
She found Rupert standing at the buffet, almost finished filling his plate.Clarissa sidled up to him with an empty plate, striving to look casual.“I learned something from Lady Helmsley,” she murmured.“We need to talk.”
“Meet me at the orangery in one hour,” he whispered.
She gave a subtle nod, and he turned to find a seat.
Clarissa was helping herself to a soft-boiled egg when a man loomed next to her.Startled, she fumbled the spoon, dropping the egg back onto the platter.
She glanced up and saw it was Oliver Baxter.“Mr.Baxter, good morning!”She laughed awkwardly.“How clumsy of me.”
He grunted in response.
She attempted to recapture the egg, but her hands were clumsy, and she struggled to get it into the spoon.“I apologize,” Clarissa said after a moment.“Am I blocking you from reaching the soup?”
His voice was put-upon.“Not the soup, but the rolls.”She stepped to the side, and he took two rolls.“I believe it is crawfish soup.As I mentioned the other day, I cannot eat shellfish of any kind.”
“Of course.I did not realize it was crawfish… crawfish soup.”
Mr.Baxter had already moved away, leaving her talking to herself.But Clarissa’s thoughts were flying.The soup that had been poisoned… that had also been crawfish soup, too.She was almost certain of it.
The poison had been put in a dish Mr.Baxter never ate.Of course, if the would-be assassin was a passing acquaintance, they might have been unaware.
But now that she thought on it, the bullet had been fired into the morning room, which seemed like a more likely haunt for Mrs.Baxter than her husband.
And the wheel of the curricle had been sabotaged.For most couples, one might reasonably assume that the intended victim was the husband.
But Mr.Baxter was a terrible driver.Surely, he did not take the curricle out on a regular basis.
It was hiswifewho was the great whip.
What if… what if they had been wrong all along?What if Oliver Baxter wasn’t the killer’s target?
