"My lord," he said, placing his hand on the earl's arm, "you need to see to your wife. She is certain to be overset."
Derring looked at him, his eyes dull with horror. "Yes," he said, making no attempt to move. "Daresay you are quite right."
When several seconds passed and he hadn't moved, Adam took matters into his own hands and gestured at one of the remaining footmen. "Your footman will take you to your rooms, your lordship," he told the other man in a gentle but firm voice. "I will see to matters here."
Lord Derring gave another vague nod. "I just can't seem to get past it, you know," he said to Adam, a bewildered note of apology in his voice. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. First the missing papers, and now this. It makes one wonder what will happen next."
After he'd gone, following after the attentive footman like a meek child, Adam took a few moments to steady his own nerves and then turned back to Colburt. He hadn't any real notion what he might be looking for, but a search of the dead man's pockets seemed the most likely place to start. He knelt once again and began carrying out his self-appointed task. He'd only just started when he glanced up and saw Prince Bronyeskin standing in the doorway.
"Elizabeth?" he asked, his concern shifting from Colburt to the one person who mattered most.
"With some of the other ladies," Bronyeskin assured him, walking over to join Adam. "She needed to do something, to be of help. It will take her mind off this." He glared down at Colburt's body.
"Stupid fool," he said, a note of cold disdain in his voice. "He might have chosen a better time to die."
"I have a feeling this wasn't his idea," Adam answered mildly.
The prince merely grunted, making it plain he still held the dead man to blame for his plight. He studied the body for several seconds before gesturing at the blood staining the gray flagstones of the conservatory. "He was shot, yes?"
"I don't know," Adam admitted, the same possibility having already occurred to him. "And to be honest, I'm not certain how to check."
In answer, Bronyeskin joined him on the floor. "It is a small thing," he said, rolling Colburt onto his side and, with Adam's help, carefully pulling up the dead man's coat and waistcoat.
"Not shot," he said, peeling back the badly stained shirt and studying Colburt's back. "He was stabbed with a very thin, very sharp blade; a bayonet, perhaps, or a stiletto. The wound is small, do you see?" His finger indicated the deep cut
Adam swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "Yes, I see," he said, forcing himself to be as cold and contained as the prince.
"An upper thrust, fast and sure," Bronyeskin concluded after examining the wound for several moments. "The amount of blood shows the heart was hit, and he likely died within seconds. It was well done." And with that he pulled the shirt and jacket back into place and rolled Colburt onto his back.
Adam gave him a considering look. "You seem to know a great deal of such things, your highness," he observed, rising to his feet and facing the other man.
The prince's blue eyes were as cold and empty as a winter's sky as he met Adam's gaze. "I was in battle. One becomes acquainted with death rather quickly. And no," he added, his lips lifting in a humorless smile, "I did not kill him."
Adam raised his eyebrows. "I don't believe I asked if you had, your highness."
"Your eyes asked," Bronyeskin said, his chin coming up with regal pride. "Make no mistake, my lord, had he hurt my Elizabeth, I would have killed Colburt with my bare hands and not cared who knew of it. But this"—he indicated the body and the conservatory with a wave of his hand—"this I did not do."
Adam's lips lifted in a half-smile. "Oddly enough, your highness, I believe you. Which begets the rather interesting question, if you didn't kill Colburt, who did? And why?"
Prince Bronyeskin gave a slow nod. "And you think the why more important, yes?"
Adam's respect for the prince's intelligence rose another notch. "I consider it of the greatest importance," he said coldly. "Because once I have the why, I'll have the who."
"And when you have the who?" Bronyeskin's question was faintly challenging.
Adam's eyes took on a decided chill. "Then, your highness," he said softly, "I will have it all."
"Here you are, Miss Mattingale." Lady Elinore's gray eyes were soft with kindness as she handed Elizabeth a cup of tea. "You look as if you could do with a bit of nourishment."
"Thank you, my lady," Elizabeth replied, feeling a sharp stab of guilt at the other lady's thoughtfulness. With Lady Derring indisposed, it fell to her to look after the guests, not the other way around. Never mind that it was just the two of them in the small drawing room; duty was still duty, and Elizabeth vowed to do a better job at carrying out hers. It was the least she could do.
"How is Lady Derring?" Lady Elinore asked, her back ramrod straight as she studied Elizabeth over the edge of her teacup. "Have her nerves recovered as yet?"
Elizabeth thought of the near-hysterical woman she'd left tucked in her bed. "I am afraid not," she said, sighing. "Dr. Lambert had to be summoned, and he prescribed laudanum for her ladyship and some of the other guests."
Lady Elinore's lips curved in a half-smile. "That would explain the blessed silence, then. With all the wailing and howling going on, I'd begun thinking the Hall had been invaded by a tribe of dervishes."
Elizabeth choked on the mouthful of tea she'd just sipped, her eyes wide as she gazed in amazement at the other woman.
"Now you think me quite dreadful," the pretty brunette murmured wryly, "and I would suppose you are right. But really, I hardly knew poor Mr. Colburt, and what I did know of the man was scarce flattering. I refuse to be a hypocrite and feign grief for a man I could not like. Have I offended you?"
"Not at all, my lady," Elizabeth replied, not certain how she felt about the other woman's shocking candor. "I—I wasn't all that well acquainted with Mr. Colburt either, and I fear I didn't care for him as well." She bit her lip and glanced down, shamed by her lack of compassion. "How awful that sounds."
"It is honest," Lady Elinore responded coolly. "The fact that he was murdered doesn't change the fact that Mr. Colburt was a thoroughly reprehensible fellow. Only saints are canonized after death, and from all accounts saint is hardly a word one would use in connection with Mr. Colburt."
"Perhaps not," Elizabeth said, thinking of her suspicions regarding the missing papers. "But that doesn't mean he deserved to be murdered."
"Are you speaking of poor Mr. Colburt?" Lady Barrington came into the room, her pale cheeks and red-rimmed eyes mute testimony to her overset nerves. "I vow, I cannot bear to think of it, and yet that is all I can think of."
Since her grace's feelings so closely approximated her own, Elizabeth felt another flash of kinship with the other woman.
"Please, your grace, will you not join us?" she asked, indicating one of the empty chairs. "Shall I pour you some tea?"
"That would be lovely, my dear, thank you," the duchess said, offering a wan smile as she sank onto the chair. "I tried laying down in my rooms, but I couldn't get comfortable. I kept seeing poor Mr. Colburt facedown in his own blood and—" She broke off, clearly unable to continue.
"It is all right, Lady Barrington," Lady Elinore soothed, albeit in a cool tone. "This has been hard on all of us."
"Do you know, this all seems so strange," her grace continued a few seconds later, after taking a sip of the tea Elizabeth had given her. "I know this is real, and yet it feels like part of some macabre dream. I keep thinking I will awaken, even though I know I am already awake. Odd."
"I would think anyone unused to violent death would feel that way, your grace," Lady Elinore said, her voice thoughtful as she studied the duchess. "Your sentiments do you credit. For myself, I must own to being more curious than anything else."
"Curious?" Elizabeth and Lady Barrington echoed the word in unison.
"Of course," Lady Elinore replied, her eyebrows arching. "Oh, come, you must be wondering who killed Mr. Colb
urt the same as I."
Lady Barrington looked more stricken than ever. "But surely that is a matter for the magistrate?" she protested, hands shaking as she set the teacup and saucer to one side.
"Indeed," Lady Elinore agreed, inclining her head, "but that doesn't mean we can't discuss it amongst ourselves. Have you a theory, Miss Mattingale?" Her sharp gaze cut to Elizabeth.
"I—I don't know," Elizabeth stammered, blushing and turning pale by turns. She wanted desperately to discuss her fears and suspicions with the others, but it didn't feel right discussing it with anyone other than Adam. For whatever reason, he was the only one she dared trust with what she feared was the truth.
"Well, I for one think it must have to do with the missing papers," Lady Elinore declared with a decisive nod.
"What?" Elizabeth gasped out the word, wondering how many more shocks she could be expected to bear in one day.
"Yes," Lady Barrington said slowly, tilting her head to one side and looking thoughtful. "I must admit I wondered, but hearing you say the words convinces me you are right. It is the only theory that makes any possible sense."
"But how do you know—" Elizabeth broke off, drawing a shuddering breath to calm herself. "That is," she tried again, "what makes you think that?"
"Well, my dear, it stands to reason, does it not?" the duchess asked, smiling at her in her kindly way. "If you didn't take the papers, then someone else did. And that someone killed Mr. Colburt because of it. We've only to learn the gentleman's name, inform the magistrate, and you shall be free of any taint of suspicion."
"In taking the papers?" Elizabeth's head was beginning to reel. Too much had happened too quickly, and she felt like a piece of crystal that would shatter under the smallest amount of pressure.
"In killing Mr. Colburt," Lady Elinore corrected, her manner as imperturbable as always. "Because if we have connected the murder to the missing papers, you may be quite certain we won't be the only ones to do so. And since you already have been accused of the one, it is likely you will be accused of the other."
She gave a cool nod at Elizabeth's horrified gasp. "Yes, Miss Mattingale, I see you take my meaning. Someone is trying to put a noose about your neck, and unless we can think of some way to stop them, they are very likely to succeed."
Nine
"Then you agree with me," Adam said, his eyes narrowing as he studied the young man sitting across the desk from him. "Whoever took the papers killed Colburt."
"I beg pardon, my lord, but what I said was that it was possible," the young man, Henry, corrected. "But it's just as possible he was killed because he owed money to the wrong sort, or cast his eye upon the wrong lady." Pale green eyes challenged Adam with surprising coolness. "He had a habit of that, one hears."
Adam's lips thinned at the reference to his own confrontation with the late and unlamented Charles Colburt. When he'd first met the erstwhile footman he'd been less than impressed, thinking the lad too young and too diffident to be an effective agent. It seemed now he had misjudged the situation . . . and the man.
"Is that what you believe happened?" he asked, deciding the less said of his quarrel with Colburt, the better.
Henry was quiet for a long moment. "No," he admitted, leaning back in his chair. "But it's safer to consider all possibilities. I've learned the hard way that the surest way to miss a vital bit of information is not to be looking for it in the first place. If I start thinking Colburt died because of the papers and no other reason, the true cause could be staring me in the face and I'd not see it. If I want to learn what killed the man, I must first discover what did not."
It made sense in a convoluted sort of way, and Adam gave a slow nod. "And how does one go about discovering that?" he asked, intrigued by the machinations involved in uncovering a killer.
"Nosing about, asking questions, buying my mates a pint at the inn and letting them win from me at cards," Henry replied. "A man can learn a great deal that way. For example, I've learned from his man that Colburt was deep in Dun territory, and that he had a new conquest he was mad about."
It came as no surprise to Adam that Colburt had been in debt, but it did surprise that him he'd found himself a new mistress. He tried to think of any of the ladies who'd shown Colburt the slightest degree of partiality, but none came to mind.
"Did he say who she was?" he asked curiously.
Henry shook his head. "He didn't know the lady's name."
"But he was certain it was a lady?" Adam pressed, recalling the conversation he'd had with Colburt that day in the library. Perhaps he could enlist Elizabeth's assistance in questioning the maids, he thought, since it was more than likely Colburt's ladylove came from the lower orders.
"Aye, and a regular high flyer to hear his man tell it," Henry said, his lips curving in a sneer. " 'Not at all his gentleman's usual style' is I believe how he phrased it."
A sudden memory of Lady Barrington meeting her unknown lover in the conservatory flashed in Adam's mind, but he quickly brushed it aside as ludicrous. His pockets were scarce deep enough for her grace's exacting expectations, and he couldn't believe she would squander her talents on a penniless nobody like Colburt.
"What else have you learned?" he asked, turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand.
"The way Colburt was killed leads me to believe it's unlikely he was murdered by a jealous husband. A man defending his lady would be in a wild fury, and I can't see he would limit himself to a single stab wound. A killing over money would be equally heated, and equally bloody. No, this was done coolly, efficiently; not in the heat of the moment, but thought out instead. The killer knew precisely what he was doing."
"Prince Bronyeskin said it was well done," Adam murmured, recalling his conversation with the prince.
"Did he?" Henry looked thoughtful. "He would know. As a soldier I am sure he has killed any number of men, and would best know how to go about it."
Adam didn't care for the direction the conversation was taking. "His highness has said he didn't kill Colburt, and I believe him."
"As do I," came the surprising reply. "But I still mean to investigate the matter further. Until the true villain is caught, no one in the household can be considered above suspicion. No one," he added, his gaze meeting Adam's.
Adam swallowed a flash of anger and a considerable portion of his pride. "I understand," he said tersely. "I don't like it, mind, but I understand."
"Do you?" Henry's smile was cool. "I hope so, for as it happens, sir, I wasn't referring to you."
Adam's stomach tightened in a sudden awareness of danger. "To whom were you referring?" he asked coldly.
"Miss Mattingale." It was obvious from the way he tensed, that Henry was aware of Adam's mounting anger. "And before you tear off my head, Lord Falconer, let me remind you that she is the one with the best cause to want Colburt dead. She is known to have disliked him immensely, and with good reason, I am sure. And more importantly, she is also the one most likely to have taken the papers."
"Why?" Adam demanded, furious at everyone's eagerness to see Elizabeth convicted of a crime he knew she could not possibly have committed. "Because she is well-traveled? Because she speaks French? For God's sake, man, the same can be said of me!"
"And of most other gentlemen and ladies of your station," Henry conceded the point with a cool nod. "But none of you have a father in America who has been bragging to his friends of his daughter and her highly placed friends."
Adam jerked back his head. "Martingale has been doing that?"
"An agent we have in Richmond says it's all he ever talks of," Henry continued in a grim tone. "He says Mattingale even claims his daughter will be sending him important information 'soon.' "
Adam felt physically ill. My God, he thought, struggling to keep his emotions from overwhelming him. With such evidence weighed against her, it was no wonder the duke and the others were so convinced of her guilt.
"Perhaps Colburt learned she'd taken the papers and meant to blackmail her,
" Henry said, seeming unaware of Adam's anguish. "Perhaps he helped her with the theft and then had a change of heart; we may never know. But we can't discount the possibility that she may have done so merely because it is displeasing."
Creshton had said much the same thing, Adam remembered, and wondered if the duke had been trying to warn him. He could now admit his feelings for Elizabeth went far beyond anything so lukewarm as mere affection, and he could also admit that short of betraying his duty and his country, there was little he would not do to see her safe.
"Will you arrest her?"
"If I must," Henry said, "although I should prefer not to tip my hand unless I have no other choice. It was very foolish of Derring to have confronted her about it," he added, his thin lips making his displeasure plain. "If there was any evidence to be had, I shouldn't wonder it has all been destroyed by now."
"When?" Adam asked, a daring plan forming in his mind.
"I've orders to see the matter resolved by the time the Czar arrives," Henry admitted with visible reluctance. "If he arrives when he is scheduled, that gives me less than a fortnight."
"Give me that fortnight, then, to prove you are wrong. To prove you are all wrong," Adam said urgently, infusing every ounce of his considerable will into his voice. "I know Elizabeth could never kill anyone, and I damned well know she wouldn't betray her country, regardless of what her father might say!"
"My lord—"
"Two weeks, that is all I ask," he interrupted, feeling raw and desperate. "For God's sake!" he snapped at the other man's hesitation, "we are talking of a woman's life!"
Henry was quiet a long moment, his face a study in conflicting emotions. "Very well, Lord Falconer," he said at last. "Two weeks. But no more," he added, his expression harsh. "In two weeks' time I will have the traitor in custody. If not Miss Mattingale, then whoever else is to blame. I give you my word."
After Henry took his leave, Adam took a few minutes to compose his thoughts and then set out in search of Elizabeth. He didn't have to look very far. She was coming out of the dining room, a list in her hand.
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