Page 53 of The Trouble With Titles
“What about Miss Bigsby? Did you poison her tea earlier?”
Still no response.
“What of Lord Blackwood? Have you been administering poison to the baron?”
Trafford paused, but no reply was forthcoming.
“Did you, perchance, help Lady Blackwood to kill Lord Filminster?”
Shutting his eyes tight, Roderick’s mouth moved as if he were praying.
“Damnation, you scoundrel! Give me an answer! What about hastening Mr. Scott’s father to an early grave?”
Roderick’s eyes flew open in shock as he exclaimed loudly, “That was an accident!”
Simon’s stomach dropped, his breath catching as he whipped around to stare at Trafford, aghast. The lord simply shrugged, his expression nonplussed. “I was only guessing, old chap. With the creeping shroud of death haunting this house … I thought I’d toss it out there. I fully expected him to deny it, I swear.”
When Simon turned back, Roderick had crumpled again into a shivering terror. “Where … where is Isla?”
Trafford snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. “Lady Blackwood is dining with the devil in the depths of hell, answering for her sins. If you hurry, you might just catch her there.”
Simon sputtered, turning to meet Trafford’s strange green-brown eyes again.
His companion shrugged once more without a hint of remorse. “What? It is this or a public hanging for the murders of not one but two barons. And three more counts of attempted murder. Not so, Roderick?”
The footman declined to address the question, instead concentrating on the one thing he seemed to care about.
“Isla is dead?”
“She is.”
Roderick swallowed hard, turning his head to gaze down at the ground three stories below. He scrambled up the trellis, and Simon, realizing his intention, made to climb out onto the window ledge to grab him.
Trafford clasped hold of him in a tight embrace. “You will not risk your life for a cold-blooded killer, Simon Scott! Ye gods, if he fights you off, you could fall with him, and for what he has done, the sentence is death. If not today, then soon.”
“Dammit, Trafford!”
They struggled against the frame until an unearthly howl caused both of them to pause in their scuffle and spin back to watch as Roderick, having climbed up to the attic level, had released his hold to plummet to the ground. A loud thud from below introduced a deep silence. Both men gazed down at the broken body lying at the foot of the house for long minutes until Simon roused himself.
“Is it over?”
Trafford raked a hand through the mass of wheat curls at the crown of his head, blowing out a shaky puff. “I believe it is. Is it not horrifying to witness a man, a valued retainer of many years, trip and fall out of a third-story window before your very eyes? Discovering the baroness’s dead body must have addled his brain with grief to make him so clumsy.”
Simon frowned, his thoughts as thick as a heavy downpour as he tried to follow what Trafford had said. “What?”
“Your footman. It was a tragic accident that he stumbled and fell when he discovered Lady Blackwood had expired from an opium overdose.”
Thinking he might have imagined the past few minutes, Simon stepped away from the window to fall against the wall, sliding down until his buttocks hit the floor.
“Is that what happened?”
Trafford joined him, sprawling his legs out. “I know Lord Filminster and his bride would enjoy some peace after all they have been through these past weeks. A lengthy inquest which links these deaths to that of his father would be quite a public spectacle to entertain the masses for the months to come. I suggest you take those journals”—Trafford indicated the notebooks that his mother had referred to—“to your study so you might learn what all of this was about, and we summon the coroner to report the dreadful mistake in medication and the terrible accident it instigated.”
“Will that work?”
“With the duke’s support, it should. Home Office has proven themselves indiscreet, so I would leave it to Halmesbury to explain these tragic accidents away. It will allow your family to heal in private, and Lord Blackwood will need peace to recover his health.”
Simon contemplated months of scandal and found that the alternative was far more appealing. The villains had been uncovered and were now dead. There was no specific reason to endure further suffering. “Thank you.”
