Page 50 of The Trouble With Titles
It was an excellent question, and one he had to contemplate with great attention. His mother had always seemed something of an empty vessel. She never displayed much emotion, and her statements were usually repetitions of his father’s thoughts about the topic at hand. There was only one character trait he knew for certain … “Vanity.”
Trafford cocked his head. “I do not understand?—”
“I know not the details, but I can assure you that whatever her motive is, it can be summed up in one word as some form of vanity.”
“Well, perhaps … I should have my footmen come in to help the ladies while you and I go have a little word with Lady Blackwood?”
Considering how far his mother had taken things, she had to be considered a danger. The time had arrived to confront her before she could wreak more havoc.
“If Lady Trafford believes Miss Bigsby will be all right without us?”
The viscountess was helping Madeline to drink down a fresh cup of the magnesia mixture when they approached the table. She listened to their plan.
“Miss Bigsby has informed me that she received the arsenic minutes before Mr. Scott discovered her, which means we began treatment in good time. Our men can assist me so you can put an end to the danger.” Lady Trafford pressed her lips together, frowning as if weighing the gravity of the situation. “A lunatic did this, and their freedoms must be curtailed before another person is harmed. Instruct the kitchen staff to discard all food and drink in the house. It is better to err on the side of caution.”
Simon placed a hand on Madeline’s shoulder. “Would it be all right if I left you? I promise to return soon.”
Madeline’s face was pale when she glanced up, her amber eyes red-rimmed and her skin blotchy but less swollen than he had initially found her. She raised a hand to brush it over his, nodding in agreement. “Put … an … end … to this.”
He released her to step back, but she shot out a hand to stop him. “My reti … cule.”
Simon looked down to find a fat, embroidered reticule dangling from her wrist. He gently unlooped it to set it aside.
“Nay … open it.”
Simon tugged it open to find a number of letters jammed inside the bulging fabric. He pulled them out, raising his head in question. Madeline was drinking, but she bobbed her headtoward the letters. He looked down, not understanding until he caught sight of the return address inked on the outer fold.
“Bianca Scott? Peter’s wife?”
Madeline paused her drinking. “Found … them … mother’s … desk.”
Simon raked a hand through his hair, staring down at the damning letters. “She did it! She killed Lord Filminster!”
Trafford reached out to grab the stack, leafing through with dexterity. “There are letters from your brother Peter here. You have not seen these before?”
Simon shook his head. “Certainly not.”
“I believe we know why no one knew about your nephews. She must have hidden any correspondence that mentioned them. We need to confront your mother, and then find the servant who has been assisting her. There is more than one killer in this house.”
“Sodding hell!” He clapped a hand over his mouth, mortified to curse in front of the ladies, but he had forgotten all about the attack on Trafford. Dealing with his mother was indeed an urgent matter. She would have needed a servant to help her intercept incoming mail, which proved there was a manservant involved.
Madeline finished her cup of magnesia, pulling her bucket close to her torso as she began to heave. “Rod … rick … made … tea.”
“Roderick!” Simon’s mind flashed to various incidents over the years as he pieced together the past. “He has always been rather solicitous to my mother. Perhaps he is infatuated?”
“Perhaps they are engaged in an affair.”
Trafford’s remark was tossed out in an off-hand tone, but the sentiment had all eyes in the room rivet to him in dismay. He shrugged. “It is not unheard of for a noblewoman to take up with one of the servants. If Roderick is a footman—” Trafford paused to throw Simon a questioning glance. He nodded in acknowledgment. “—they are hired for their height and handsome appearance. Not just noblewomen are drawn to them, but gentlem—” Trafford stopped abruptly, his eyes darting over to his wife and the heaving Madeline who, despite the fact that she had resumed retching into the bucket, was peering at him with wide eyes. “Never mind,” he mumbled, evidently remembering at the last second that the ladies present might not be aware of the sort of thing he had been about to mention.
Simon suppressed a shudder. Now that Trafford mentioned it, it was conceivable that his mother and Roderick might be engaged in carnal relations. There were numerous opportunities in a household such as theirs, and the day’s revelations had proved he did not understand the inner workings of Isla Scott’s mind.
Trafford thankfully interrupted his musings, which were repulsive to consider. “Scott, you summon my men from the mews for me, and I shall stand guard until they arrive.”
Simon nodded, striding to the kitchen exit that would take him up a short flight of stairs to the garden. Despite the unexpectedcamaraderiethey were forming, he understood that Trafford did not yet trust him sufficiently to leave him alone with the women. Given the miasma of death permeating his home, Simon could not blame the viscount for his prudence.
The kitchen staff were milling in the garden as he crossed, at a loss about what they were meant to do since they had been chased from their posts, as they chattered in nervous groups. Beckoning them over, Simon informed them that Madeline and the baron had consumed tainted food. He wished he could inform them of the truth, but it was best they remain ignorant until his mother and her manservant had been confronted and … arrested … he supposed?
Deuce it! This will prove to be the biggest scandal of the century!
