Page 8 of Lord Trafford's Folly
Julius released the baroness and began to pace, his thoughts whirling. “Our investigations are moving far too slowly! There has to be some method of shaking this loose. We know the killer is watching the house.”
Brendan cocked his head. “Well … it is more accurate to state that we know his men are watching the house.”
“What of Smythe?”
“Abbott is following him. He hopes to learn something soon.”
The other heir, the baroness’s brother, had since married the young lady he had compromised on the night of the ball, resulting in an unusual tutoring session from Julius on Abbott’s wedding day.
Their lackluster progress to date had whittled their list of six suspects down to four, including Smythe, who was now Abbott’s father-in-law.
“Yet, we still have another three men on the list and I cannot learn anything new. I have gathered information, followed them around, and nothing … They attend meetings and go about their day as if nothing has occurred. A peer has been killed, his heir has been accused of murder, his bride has been attacked—there must be more that we can do! Something to draw the killer out! We know he lurks about in the shadows! What we need to do is drive him”—Julius yanked the glove off, shoving it into his pocket before twisting on his signet ring—“drive him into making a mistake!”
Julius hoped that Smythe turned out to be innocent, or Abbott would be trapped in hell when forced to accuse his own father-in-law of murder. It was one of several reasons Julius was compelled to spend so much of his time investigating the other suspects. He hoped to reveal a culprit other than Smythe.
Lady Filminster had reseated herself, and was watching Julius with curiosity. “How do you propose to do that?”
Julius paused to stare out the window above her head, thinking. If anything happened to Brendan, or the baroness, Julius would never forgive himself for allowing it to unfold. “I do not know, but I will think of something.”
Brendan cleared his throat. “Thank you … for all you are doing to assist us.”
Julius nodded, but his thoughts were occupied by the conundrum before him. How to draw the killer out and end this farce? “It is nothing.”
He left Ridley House soon after that, a glimmer of an idea beginning to form, but he did not think the others would agree. It was a plan he would need to execute by himself, which was for the best. He worked better alone.
It was early evening,and Audrey was in the library, awaiting the announcement of dinner. Flapper, her wounded starling, was on the mend, and Audrey had found herself, yet again, with little to occupy her attentions. She was reading a fusty tome on physiology when a footman interrupted her from the door.
“Miss Gideon?”
Audrey looked up from her notes. “Yes, Howard?”
“His lordship wishes to speak with you. He is in his study.”
She nodded, closing her journal and stacking her books in a neat pile for her return in the morning. Her endless days of leisure in the earl’s home were driving her mad. She was bored out of her mind, so being summoned for an audience was a novelty to break the monotony of her life since her arrival in London. If she had been able to treat patients, it would have made the grief bearable, but instead she wasted away in this great London townhouse, remembering the past. Perhaps shewould hear from the guild soon, and she could make plans for her future accordingly.
Dutifully, Audrey headed to the study farther down the hall, curious what the earl wished to speak with her about. Lord Stirling had been busier than usual these past two weeks. Since the quarrel with Lord Trafford, if memory served. The earl was always engaged in work, but catching sight of him had been a rare event since the argument. Considering the content of it, Audrey wondered if his son had upset him with the discussion of the earl’s estranged wife.
Audrey had not been aware of why Lady Stirling and her daughter had been absent these past years. Embarrassment assailed her over the knowledge she now possessed because of her inadvertent intrusion into their private family affair. It had been worthwhile, she assured herself, because her little patient would take flight soon.
Audrey stopped in front of a gilt-framed mirror in the hall to check her hair. Re-pinning some of her wayward locks, she reflected on a simpler time when she had been considered an attractive country lass. Here in London, she was a disheveled mess by high society standards. Constant fussing with her appearance to prevent criticism had become an endless chore. Audrey longed to return to the village where she could go about her day unencumbered.
Assessing her hair from different angles, she decided it would have to do. Turning, she knocked on the study door.
“Enter.”
Audrey unlatched the door and stepped inside.
Lord Stirling was an imposing peer with a warm charm that made him likable to most. However, Lord Trafford was correct in that the earl had grown ever more grim over the years. Audrey recollected a time when he had smiled and laughed freely. And, she supposed, the shift to solemnity had been worsened afterLady Stirling’s departure. Not that Audrey had spent much time in their company before Papa had died earlier in the year. But there had been dinners and gatherings in Stirling, where she had observed them from afar. Now that she was thinking on it, it was possible that Lord Trafford’s attire had grown ever more colorful in approximate correlation to the earl’s descent into grimness.
“Good evening, your lordship.”
“Audrey, you look lovely this evening.”
The earl was ever polite, but Audrey could perceive his mind was elsewhere.
“Thank you, Lord Stirling.”
He was standing at the mantel, his expression bemused. He glanced up at the portrait of his wife for a second before continuing.
