“If you are as good as the reputation that precedes you,” he began, “then I suspect you already know the answer to that.” He frowned at the rug, the fingers of his left hand restlessly tugging at the wooden arm of his chair. “I am not sorry my brother is dead. He was not a good man. And he loved to torment me.” His gaze lifted to meet mine. “But I did not kill him.”
I was inclined to believe him until he arched his chin in obstinacy.
“I couldn’t have. I was at White’s the entire evening until one of Father’s footmen came to fetch me home. Any number of people saw me. You can ask them.”
“You’re right. You were seen by a number of members of that club,” I admitted.
He sat back, satisfied he’d proven his point.
“But there seems to be a gap in all their remembrances. One that centers around the precise time your brother was murdered.”
His shoulders ratcheted upward again.
“And a witness saw you arguing with your brother in the street outside this house minutes before he was killed.”
His face drained of what color remained, and his knuckles turned white where he gripped the chair.
“Care to explain what you were discussing, and why you were so upset?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Penrose appeared to struggle to find his words, and when he did it was an appeal to his maker. Pitching forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and covered his face. “I swear to you, I did not kill my brother.” His gaze lifted to plead with me. “I . . . I do not deny I wished him to the devil, but I did not send him there.”
“Then what did you argue about?” Gage interjected.
Penrose inhaled a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he scraped them through his hair.
Guessing at what might be the cause for his hesitation, I sought to reassure him of one point. “You know we are only interested in one crime—who murdered Lord Feckenham and why.” I glanced at Gage. “I know I can speak for my husband when I say that all other alleged offenses . . .” I frowned, not liking that word, but I had no better one to use “. . . are not our concern. Not unless they directly impact the outcome of the investigation.”
If possible, this seemed to alarm him more. But after a few agitated moments, my calm regard seemed to work some effect on him. His breathing began to slow, and a welcome tinge of color returned to his complexion. His eyes, which had been as wide as saucers, returned to their normal size and his hands dropped back into his lap.
When he finally spoke, his gaze dipped to the floor again. “I was upset because I’d discovered he had been harassing a . . . particular friend of mine.” His gaze flicked up to meet mine briefly. “He’d threatened to expose my friend’s associations if he didn’t perform a foul task for him.” His eyes blazed. “I’m not going to tell you what it is, for it involves a number of gentlemen who do not deserve to have their names besmirched.”
“And your friend?” Gage asked.
“I would rather not reveal his name,” he bit out. “But if you must know it, I will. Trusting in your discretion.” He sank back in his chair. “The truth is, my brother liked secrets. He liked knowing them. He liked having people either beholden to him or in his debt because of them. And he was forever using what he knew to compel and manipulate others into doing things they would never otherwise contemplate simply for the pleasure he derived from it.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “I should know. I was his favorite puppet. And I hated myself for it.” His chin lifted. “Until one day I couldn’t stand it anymore and I refused. I decided it would be better to face the consequences of his threats, to let him tell our family the truth about me, than to continue to submit to his ploys.”
“And did he?” I said.
He huffed humorlessly. “Oh, yes. He never made idle threats. But . . . the family didn’t react the way my brother thought they would.” His brow furrowed as if he still found this difficult to believe. “They didn’t shun me or cast me from the house. They were upset and worried, and they’ve each tried in their own way to . . . remedy what they see as my problem. Giving me books, or pushing young ladies in front of me, or taking me to visit . . .” He broke off, flicking a glance at me as he cleared his throat. “But they haven’t turned away from me.”
“Which I imagine infuriated your brother,” I ruminated, feeling a bit more kindly toward the earl and countess for not ostracizing their son, as many might have done.
“He tried threatening to make my secret public, but I knew he would never dare do so while Father was alive. Not when he couldn’t be sure Father wouldn’t refute such rumors and keep me close.”
“But once your father died and he became earl, it would be different.”
“As the head of the family, his word would be law. And society would see it as fact.” He inhaled an uneven breath. “I want to believe he wouldn’t actually have had me brought up on criminal charges, but I’ve learned to never underestimate his cruelty.” And given the fact that sodomy was still one of about a dozen crimes punishable by death, this was no mean threat.
“So you’ve been making plans to go to Paris.”
His gaze registered surprise that I knew this and then softened with wry humor. “Yes. Mother told me she made up some faradiddle about my removing to the Albany, that she thought Paris seemed too suspicious. I told her it was a stupid thing to say.”
I studied the earnest young man’s face. “You do realize you’ve only given yourself a stronger motive for murdering your brother.” I couldn’t decide whether he was culpable or not. My instincts were inclined to believe him innocent, but I had been fooled by sympathetic young men before.
“Except I was not going to Paris to stay. Not yet.”
I glanced at Gage, who lowered the leg he’d crossed over his knee at this pronouncement. “What do you mean?”
His fingers tapped restlessly against the arm of the chair again. “I suppose I must tell you all.”
“That would be best,” I coaxed.
“I was going to Paris to set up a residence, and then I was to return to London until my Father died.” He suddenly found something of great interest to study in the palm of his hand. “His heart is not good. The physicians say it’s only a matter of time. And when he does die, my brother would take control of most of Father’s property and assets. He can’t break the entailment, after all. But he has been quietly selling what smaller properties he can, and placing the sum in an account in my name.” His eyes rose to see how we had taken this news. “And he changed his will so that the guardianship over my mother and my sisters lies with me.”
“That is rather extraordinary,” Gage remarked.
“Well, he couldn’t trust Feckenham with any of them.” This seemed to pain him to admit. “I was to collect my mother and sisters the moment I learned of Father’s death and set off for Paris.”
“That’s why you were so concerned for your father when you returned home the night of Feckenham’s murder,” I guessed.
He nodded. “I knew my duty. And I knew it was a matter of haste. That it must be carried off before my brother knew what I was about.”
All this subterfuge, this urgency in keeping Feckenham away from his sisters, could only mean that the rumors were true, in one form or another. I felt sick in my soul, and somewhat tainted. The reality of such awfulness was like an itch in my brain that crawled down my spine.
“If we speak to the earl, to his solicitor, will he confirm what you’ve told us?” Gage asked, dealing with practicalities, though I could see what it cost him to control his outrage over what Penrose’s revelation implied about Feckenham. It completely rubbed against everything he believed a gentleman should be, as well as heightened the sense of protectiveness he’d developed almost since birth. That a man should seek to exploit the privileges granted to him to harm the females under his protection rather than shield them must disgust hi
m as almost nothing could.
“Yes. It is the sordid truth, and I am heartily sorry of it. That I should have such a brother . . .” He closed his eyes and shook his head, perhaps realizing it was impossible to voice all the shame and affront he must be feeling. When he opened his gray eyes again, they were sharp with challenge. “I trust you will keep this to yourselves.”
“Of course,” Gage snapped back. “I would not see a young lady come to harm for all the world.”
Penrose nodded. “I know you to be honorable. I meant no offense. But I had to be certain.”
“Just so,” he conceded before glancing at me. “I believe that’s all the questions we have for you at the moment. But I ask that you remain in town for the time being.”
He agreed and then rose to leave, promising to send the earl to us.
“You do realize this doesn’t clear him of suspicion,” I said softly after the door shut. “Because I can’t help but notice that killing his brother solves his problems even better than running off to Paris.” I frowned. “For that matter, it solves all their problems.”
“Yes, but I just can’t see him doing so in such a dramatic manner,” Gage replied, his eyes narrowed in contemplation as he settled onto the sofa beside me, taking hold of my hand. “Perhaps if it had been poison. That is a passive form of murder where one can distance themselves somewhat from what they’ve done. But stabbing someone, having their blood literally on your hands, is not so simple to brush aside.”
I conceded his point, pulling my hand from his as I felt a twinge in my wrist.
“And why would he confront his brother in the street outside, where he must have realized anyone might happen across them, before attacking him?” he argued further. “Such an attack would seem to be spontaneous, when the attempted use of the sticking plaster tells us otherwise. No one carries such a thing on their person on the chance it might be needed.”
“Unless he’d already planned what to do if his brother did not agree to stop his threats against his friend.”
“I more readily believe the friend might have done it, to protect himself and Penrose.”
I nodded, such a thought having already occurred to me, and continued to roll my wrist. “We should have insisted he give us his name.”
“I already have a suspicion who it might be, and should be able to confirm it fairly easily.” He reached for my hand. “Why do you keep moving your wrist like that? I noticed you doing so on the way here, though you managed to keep it in your lap during our interview with Penrose.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I retorted as he examined it. “I wrenched my wrist this morning when I slipped coming down the stairs. I had to grab the banister to stop myself from falling.”
Gage’s eyes brightened with concern. “Does it still hurt?” he asked as he pressed a particularly tender spot.
I flinched. “A little. But only when I twist it at a certain angle. Or you press on it.” I glared at him as he did so a second time.
He ceased his ministrations. “Perhaps Dr. Shaw should take a look at it.”
“It’s not as bad as that. But I will have Bree wrap it if it will make you feel better.”
“You must take care,” he cautioned me.
“I’m well aware,” I replied, trying to keep my testiness out of my voice. “It’s quite normal to be a bit clumsy during this stage. I’m still growing accustomed to the changes the baby has wrought to my body, and my balance isn’t what it was.”
“Perhaps I should begin carrying you up and down the stairs.”
I cast him a withering glare. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Far from chastened, he grinned. “You don’t like the idea of being carted about like an empress?”
“I have two perfectly good legs, thank you.”
I was saved from whatever quip had brought a roguish twinkle to his eyes by the arrival of the Earl of Redditch. Whatever I’d expected of the earl, it was not to see him looking even haler than he had a week ago. The dark circles under his eyes were gone, and his complexion exhibited a healthy flush. Evidently, he wasn’t losing sleep over the loss of his heir.
“My son said you had a few questions for me about my will.” A slight puckering of his brow was all that showed he was even concerned.
“Yes,” Gage said, taking the reins of this conversation. “We have it on good authority you’ve been ill.”
This appeared to disconcert him, for he sniffed and fidgeted with the front of his frock coat. “I’m not sure how that pertains to your investigation, but yes, I have.” Evidently he didn’t want word of the seriousness of his ailment spreading.
“And you recently changed your will because of it?”
He scowled. “I suppose George told you. The boy must have had no choice.” He heaved an aggravated breath. “Yes, I changed it.” His already ruddy face reddened further. “Do you need to know the specifics?”
“I’m afraid so. If you please.”
In the midst of much harrumphing, he relayed most of the details Penrose had told us, though he remained stubbornly silent on why. We did not press the matter, but Gage did ask if he would write to his solicitor, asking him to speak with us about the will. To this request, the earl flatly refused. But he was willing to send his secretary, Mr. Poole, to us, as well as Hotchkins, who both served as witnesses. The butler would only share the bare basics, but Mr. Poole was more forthcoming.
“To be honest, I was surprised by the earl’s ingenuity,” he confided to us, sitting tall and straight in the chair Mr. Penrose had vacated. “I doubt it will surprise you that I am privy to more than my fair share of the family’s confidences, and it pains me to say I’d long despaired the earl would do anything to counter his heir before his own demise and the full weight and power of the earldom had descended to him. I was relieved to discover I was wrong, and quite happy to sign it.”
“So you did not help with the arrangements?” Gage clarified.
“Of the will? No, sir. But I was parcel to the selling of the earl’s smaller properties and investments, and the management of the account the proceeds were deposited into for Mr. Penrose.”
“Feckenham was unaware what was happening?”
“It was imperative he not know.”
“How were you able to do that? What if he’d chosen to visit one of these smaller properties?”
“Lord Feckenham rarely traveled outside of London, and most of these properties were far from the city. So long as his suspicions were not aroused, it seemed unlikely he would take such an initiative.”
I turned to stare at the display of Meissen figures adorning the mantel above the fireplace, finding it difficult to accept what a scurrilous fellow Feckenham was that his own father—an earl, no less—had to tread so delicately around him. How much power had Feckenham wielded? And who else had suffered for it?
“It truly seems better for all that Feckenham is dead,” Gage remarked with surprising candor.
Mr. Poole hesitated and then nodded, his expression strained. “It does.”
We departed the earl’s townhouse with a cloud hanging over us, both literally and figuratively. The sunny skies of earlier that morning had turned leaden, casting a wintry pall over the city.
It did not take much insight to understand what troubled Gage, for it was the same thing that troubled me.
“How do you continue to investigate the murder of a person so abominable?” I posited, staring out the window of the carriage at the bustling midday streets of Mayfair, willing to broach the subject even if he couldn’t. Girls carrying pails of milk skirted carefully around smartly dressed ladies and gentlemen. Near the corner, a smattering of people gathered around a hot potato seller, eager to warm their hands as much as consume the tasty fare.
“I admit I’m conflicted.” He crossed his arms over his chest and appeared to scrutinize the Moroccan
leather across from us as if it held the answers he sought. “If Feckenham was killed by someone who was angry because they’d gambled and lost to him, or because they were too weak to refuse whatever foul demands he made of them, then I do not believe they should escape punishment.” His voice deepened. “But if it was a member of his family, someone seeking vengeance for the abominable things they’ve hinted he has done, or to prevent further outrages in the future, then I find it harder to condemn them.”
“Maybe they saw no other way.”
Gage turned to me in interest, and this time I met his gaze.
“They must have realized what a remorseless monster he was. Maybe they realized they couldn’t let him inherit. Men with such lofty titles are too protected. They wield too much power. While the earl was alive, he held some sort of check over him, small though it might have been. After he died, there would be none.” I allowed the ramifications of that to hover in the air between us, unspoken. “The only other way they might have stopped him was to bring him up on charges, if they could gather the proof. But that would mean a scandal of immense proportions, and would forever shame anyone connected with it, regardless of whether they were innocent victims.” I plucked at the hazelnut wool of my redingote. “Maybe they felt they had no other choice.”
“Kiera, are you suggesting the entire family was party to it?” Gage whispered in astonishment.
“No, they couldn’t be,” I protested, but then paused. “Could they?”
He didn’t respond, and I could tell the same incredulous doubt had crept over him as it had me. Neither of us spoke again, not even when we returned to the townhouse. We were both too absorbed in our own unsettling contemplations. Contemplations we took along with us to our evening engagement and into our disturbed slumber.
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