Page 30 of Long Live the Baron
“I hope so. I truly do.”
* * *
“Briggs is here.”
Michaels’s disapproving tone was all too obvious. Brendan gritted his teeth. The source of the butler’s animosity was unknown to him. It had been present the very first night he had arrived in London, freshly booted from Baydon Hall by his uncle-father on his twenty-first birthday. He should be accustomed to it by now, but now that he was to be the new baron, perhaps he should retire the supercilious servant.
“Show him in.”
The duke shifted in his seat while Richard turned from the towering stacks of musty books he had been glaring at since his arrival a few minutes earlier. The earl was still bristling with umbrage over the situation with Miss Abbott, but he had arrived as promised to meet with the runner. Now that Brendan’s name had been cleared, the true identity of the baron’s killer needed to be uncovered.
Kneading his temples, Brendan steeled himself. The lack of sleep, along with the altercations at the Abbotts’ home, were draining the last of his energy, but this matter had to be dealt with urgently.
The runner finally appeared in the doorway, bowing slightly. “My lord.”
Apparently, now that Brendan was not under arrest, Briggs had settled on how to address him. He supposed that was a good omen.
“Please, have a seat.”
The runner walked up, looking uncomfortable but taking a seat next to the duke and removing his battered hat.
The duke cleared his throat. “We wish to hire you to pursue the matter of the baron’s death.”
Briggs nodded. “I was hoping you would, because I have concerns for Lord Filminster’s safety.”
Brendan had barely been listening, the pressure in his skull distracting him, but the statement had him straightening in his chair. “What?”
“Before I raise my concerns, I must ask … Would your father have answered the door himself?”
Frowning, Brendan shook his head. “Never. The baron would not lower himself to fulfill the duties of a servant. He was … a vain man.”
“I was afraid of that.”
Halmesbury leaned forward in his armchair, his concern clear. “What are you thinking, Briggs?”
“Lord Filminster”—Briggs bobbed his head toward Brendan as clarification—“spoke of being let in early in the morning. None of the servants admitted to being the one who opened the door for him. That is suspicious in itself, but …”
Brendan’s impatience got the better of him. He had been living on a knife’s edge, and his equilibrium was long since eroded to dust. “But?”
Briggs tugged at his mustache, his expression displaying his reluctance to continue. “The baron was murdered by one of the servants, or a servant knows who killed him because they provided the killer access to your home.”
Brendan groaned, dropping his face into his hands. Of course! He had been so consumed by problems, he had not applied logic. Vaguely aware that the murder must be solved, Brendan had failed to realize the perpetrator was close to hand, or a traitor was in residence in his home.
“Bloody hell,” the earl muttered beneath his breath. “We have been contending with family pressures, so we did not stop to think about the implications.”
The duke sighed. “I, on the other hand, have had time to think on it, which is why I insisted we meet with Briggs. Annabel reached the same conclusion that the baron would never lower himself to answer the front door. Michaels informed me that the door had been locked, and verified as such, because there have been reports of break-ins.”
Briggs nodded in agreement. “I do not wish to cause any panic, but I think it is imperative that the servants be questioned again. With Grimes overseeing the investigation, I was not free to act, but he is tart about how things have turned out, so he is focusing on the inquest. I wish to speak with them again without supervision, so I might compile a list of suspects.”
“What of Grimes? Is he likely to pursue me?”
Halmesbury shook his head. “Fortunately, since Miss Abbott has provided you with an alibi, I was able to persuade the Home Secretary to intercede with Grimes about pursuing proper lines of inquiry.”
The anxiety Brendan had been feeling dissipated at this news. “Briggs, you may have whatever you need. The safety of my household must be secured.”
He made arrangements with the runner, offering him double his usual fee along with a bonus, so he would turn over his cases to other runners. It was imperative the man prioritize the baron’s murder.
Calling Michaels back to see to Briggs’s needs, Brendan found himself alone once more with the duke and the earl. Silence had fallen the moment the door closed, and Brendan realized that the subject of their discussion was to shift to Miss Abbott.
