Page 36 of The Trouble With Titles
“Blast it, Simon! You almost seem pleased at this unfortunate turn of events.”
I am. If I can settle this murder investigation, I will be able to court Madeline.
He was not going to inform John of that. He would fight that battle at the appropriate time, which was not while he awaited the arrival of Marco, nor while he needed to persuade the Duke of Halmesbury that he had not brutally clubbed the nobleman’s father-in-law to death. How grisly to consider the late baron bleeding out on the floor of his own study!
Simon glanced over to the open area, which was adorned by a rich rug of navy, gold, and ivory, with a shiver of repulsion at the imagined bloodshed. Recalling his promise to speak with Halmesbury, Simon shook his head to clear his thoughts. It would have to wait until he met with their legal firm, but he wished he could call on the duke to clear the air and offer his cooperation.
“I am merely pointing out it might not be so terrible to invite them into our lives.”
“Personally, I wish we had never learned of their existence and could have continued in ignorant bliss.”
John rarely spoke of Peter. Simon glanced at his oldest brother, for just a second wondering if he might have done something to keep their nephews from being uncovered, but dismissed it as disloyal. John was not a bad person, even if recent illness had made him more inconsiderate this past year. It must be difficult for him as the baron, that he had never been able to produce heirs, only to discover his late brother had had two healthy boys. It was odd to consider that Simon himself had had a brother he had never met, to his knowledge, considering how much he liked the two he had grown up with.
Perhaps a change of subject was in order. “What of the questioning of the servants?”
“From what I gather from MacNaby, three of the servants cannot confirm their whereabouts at the time of Lord Trafford’sattack. Do you think his letter had something to do with it, or did some ruffian follow him home to relieve the fop of his valuables?”
Simon growled in disappointment at this news. “Which three?”
“MacNaby, Duncan, and Roderick. MacNaby said he went to the market after a botched delivery left Cook without ingredients for breakfast—she apparently has arthritis in her knees and did not trust the kitchen maids to make purchases on her behalf. Duncan said he was in the attic to stow away furniture from the guest bedroom, which is being refurbished, but no one saw him for those hours, while Roderick was sent by your mother to Covent Garden to purchase violets.”
“Bloody hell! All the way to Covent Garden?”
John shrugged at the vagaries of women. “She favors a specific flower seller there that sells the best blooms, and she had an urgent need to make violet water to freshen her handkerchiefs.”
“Do you think any of the three are involved?”
John straightened in horror, staring at Simon from across the desk with his mouth agape. “What are you asking? You wish to know if one of us—a Scott—instructed a servant to run off and kill this Trafford fellow while they were running errands? Have you lost your mind?”
Simon rose, walking over to the window that faced the garden. “I do not know. It is possible that someone in our household killed the baron? These lords seem so utterly convinced I am guilty, which does give one pause, does it not?”
“Who, then? You think I went to dinner and decided to kill Filminster on the drive home because he irritated me at the ceremony? Or perhaps it was Nicholas who somehow learned of this baron he has never met and pretended to go out carousing, so he might stop over and murder Filminster for upsetting hisolder brother. No! It must be your mother, because Filminster is an obnoxious old goat, and she thought it would be aesthetically pleasing to rid the world of his ugly mug.”
Simon decided it was not the most opportune time to point out that John had revealed the murder victim had been accusatory at the ceremony of him hiding heirs—a fact which he had shared with the entire family before they all departed for their evening arrangements on the night of the coronation. It was the reason Simon even knew who Filminster was before the news of his murder. Yet … what was he suggesting? That one of his brothers or his own mother was a cold-blooded killer?
These accusations had him on edge, seeking shadows within shadows. He did not envy Filminster’s family for what they must be feeling under such trying circumstances. It was astounding to consider that a violent brute had attacked a peer, ushering him to meet his maker decades before he was ready.
“Calm yourself, brother. It was a fair question, but I take your point. I do not think anyone in this household committed a brutal murder, but it is unfortunate that MacNaby, Duncan, and Roderick cannot be accounted for when Trafford was accosted.”
John settled back, placated by Simon’s words. “It would be the men who have worked for us the longest. MacNaby has been our butler for three decades, while Duncan and Roderick have each been here for more than a decade. Why could the three in question not have been retainers we hired in the past few months, to soundly disprove the theory that we have a member of our staff so loyal they would kill a peer for one of us?”
Simon stroked his beard, appalled at what John had pointed out. “Blast! I never even thought of that. Deuce it, John, they grow even more convinced I am guilty. We need to find them another suspect because they are not going to let this rest!”
“Nay, brother. I see no sign of them backing down.”
Madeline accompanied Molly into the Scotts’home. She had instructed her coachman that she would be leaving for the manufactory later than usual, having no pressing appointments this morning and the need to learn the truth compelling her to begin their search. Molly and she had worked out the details, and the hope was that by the end of the evening, they would have searched through the things of all four Scotts.
It was daunting, daring, and reprehensible, but Madeline had been frozen by inaction after Nicholas had had his accident, and she would not repeat the same mistake. She would do whatever it took to prove that the Scotts were blameless, or to uncover the fiend who attracted this cloud of trouble to the man she loved. Molly and she both had reservations about what they planned to do, but deemed it a necessary evil if there was a dangerous assailant lurking in the house. Murder was not a trivial subject.
Molly knocked on the study door, both women glancing at each other in apprehension. They were both in disbelief that they were going to proceed.
Simon called out for them to enter, rising in surprise when he caught sight of Madeline in the doorway. “Madel—Miss Bigsby!” He caught himself at the last second, flickering his gaze to Molly before returning to find her. It was good to see him, even if she felt rather guilty about the subterfuge they had planned.
Madeline approached his desk, spreading her skirts to take a seat on the facing chair, while Molly came to stand by her side.
“I have invited Madeline to dinner.” Molly sounded breathless as she stated what they had rehearsed in the garden. Madeline suppressed a wince. She did not think either ofthem were accomplished at pretending, but they were going to do their best in Simon’s best interests. Madeline had reached the same conclusion as Molly—there was no reason to burden Simon with suspicions about his family, but, nevertheless, someone had to pursue it to a proper end.
Simon squinted, evidently perplexed as to why he was being informed in this manner or why Madeline needed to attend this briefing with Molly. “Ah … I … yes, of course. You are a member of the family, so I suppose you are at liberty to invite guests to break bread with us.”
