Rebecca gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. It must have come as a shock.”
Lady Holbrooke raised her eyes to Rebecca. “Yes. Yes, it was.”
Kendra asked carefully, “Can you tell me if your husband’s behavior changed recently? Did he seem troubled? Upset?”
The widow appeared to think about it. “My husband was a man with enormous responsibilities, Miss Donovan,” she said finally. “He was not a frivolous sort of man, and tended to keep his own counsel.”
Which was another way of saying the guy didn’t talk much, Kendra supposed. “Still, a wife knows when her husband is upset, doesn’t she?” she pressed. “You didn’t notice Sir Giles’s behavior changing in, say, the last month or so?”
Lady Holbrooke looked away. Kendra couldn’t tell if she was trying to remember or trying to come up with a suitable story. “He may have been quieter than usual,” she conceded softly. “I assumed he was preoccupied with governmental matters and had no wish to pry.”
“Do you know if your husband received any threats recently?”
The widow turned back to look at Kendra. “He may have, but he did not confide in me. Undoubtedly he did not wish to worry me.”
Kendra asked, “Did he ever mention a man named Silas Fitzpatrick?”
Her frown deepened. “No, I don’t recall the name. Why?”
“What about Lord Cross?” Kendra asked, and saw Lady Holbrooke’s eyes widen in recognition.
“I know Lord Cross. We’ve been introduced at social events, and I am aware of . . . of a long ago incident involving the viscount.”
“What incident?” Kendra asked, interested to see what the older woman would say.
Lady Holbrooke was silent for a moment, her gaze dropping back to her teacup. “He is connected to a tragic event during the war. A young man serving under my husband was killed,” she said quietly.
“Evert Larson.”
Lady Holbrooke’s eyes flew up and she drew in a swift breath. “You know of Evert?”
Kendra nodded. “I was told your family and the Larsons were close.”
“Yes. We were all devastated when we learned of his death.”
“We?”
Kendra saw Lady Holbrooke’s hands tremble, rattling the teacup she held. Hastily, she set the cup aside, and laced her thin fingers together, resting them in her lap.
“I am referring to Bertel and Astrid Larson, Evert’s parents. Sir Giles and Mr. Larson were boys together, and for many years, our families enjoyed a friendship.”
Kendra pretended surprise. “And Evert’s death changed that?”
Something flickered in Lady Holbrooke’s brown eyes. “Yes.”
“How was Lord Cross involved exactly?”
Lady Holbrooke frowned. “The viscount—he was not a viscount at the time, you understand—”
“Yeah, I realize he hadn’t inherited the title at that time.” Kendra had to control her patience. Maybe it was because she was from the 21st century, or maybe it was because she was an American, but the laws governing inheritance and titles struck her as arbitrary and archaic.
“Yes, well. Lord Cross’s regiment was captured by the French. They were held in a prison camp for months near some maggoty mountain village in the Pyrenees. It sounded quite dreadful.” She gave a delicate shudder. “We were told that Evert discovered the camp while he was working as an agent in Spain. Somehow, his identity became known, and he was taken captive.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t know what happened, except there was a fire or an explosion of some kind. Evert perished in it.”
“How terrible,” murmured Rebecca.
“Lord Cross and another man—I don’t know his name—managed to escape.”
Kendra looked at her. “How did they get away?”
But Lady Holbrooke could only shake her head. “I’m not certain. But as horrible as the incident was, it happened two years ago. How can it possibly have anything to do with my husband’s death?”
“It might not,” Kendra admitted. “But Lord Cross was seen having an argument with your husband on the night he died. Do you know why?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“And Sir Giles didn’t mention Lord Cross recently?”
“No.”
Kendra searched the other woman’s face, but saw only genuine puzzlement. She changed the subject. “What was the relationship like between your husband and your son?”
Lady Holbrooke’s gaze narrowed on Kendra. “What do you mean? It is the same as any other father and son.”
Defensive, thought Kendra. She kept her eyes on the widow when she said, “Most fathers and sons don’t get into public fights.” At least, she didn’t think so.
“That was an unfortunate incident,” Lady Holbrooke snapped, her delicate features suddenly hardening. Then she bit her lip, as though regretting the impulsive rejoinder. When she spoke again, she seemed to weigh her words. “Gerard was not himself at the time. You must understand how young gentlemen can be . . .” She lifted a delicate hand and waved it, as though dismissing the topic.
“Inebriated?” Kendra was curious to see whether Lady Holbrooke would deny it.
The widow’s lips thinned. “I’m afraid Gerard is too easily influenced by his friends.”
“Is that why Sir Giles was sending him to India?”
Lady Holbrooke’s nostril’s flared. “I do not know who told you such a Banbury Tale, but you are mistaken, Miss Donovan. My son has no interest in that filthy, disease-ridden country. My husband would certainly never send him to such a place. The very idea is ridiculous.”
The lady doth protest too much, Kendra thought. “Where was your son on Wednesday night, from nine P.M. to yesterday morning?”
“You cannot possibly be insinuating that Gerard had anything to do with what happened to his father?” Lady Holbrooke pushed herself to her feet in an abrupt, agitated movement. Her gaze slewed over to Rebecca. “I agreed to see you in my time of mourning, Lady Rebecca, in deference to your parents. But this inquiry is beyond the pale.”
Kendra stood as well, and set the tea that she hadn’t touched to the side. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Lady Holbrooke, but these questions need to be asked. Either by me or Mr. Kelly.”
Rebecca spoke up. “Please forgive what must seem like a tactless inquiry, my lady, but we really do have your best interests at heart. Better to clear all suspicion from your son so that your husband’s killer can be found.”
Something flickered in Lady Holbrooke’s eyes. “My son was at home,” she finally said, and locked eyes with Kendra. “He was at home all evening, Miss Donovan.”
“All right. I’ll need to speak to your son.”
“No. He’s mourning his father.” She clasped her hands together, the tension revealed in the white knuckles. “I must ask you to leave.”
“Lady Holbrooke—” Kendra began.
“Please.”
Rebecca leaned forward to set her teacup and saucer on the table. Slowly, she stood, catching Lady Holbrooke’s gaze with her own. “We truly did not mean to upset you, ma’am.”
“I shall show you out,” was all she said, and started to cross the room.
Kendra and Rebecca followed, but before they reached the door, it swung open, and a young man strode in. He was easy enough to identify. Gerard Holbrooke bore more than a passing resemblance to his mother, with dark brown eyes and gold-streaked tawny hair artfully arranged in the trendy Brutus style. Twenty-five or twenty-six, Kendra thought, with a tall, athletic figure that was shown to advantage beneath the navy cutaway coat, black waistcoat, and buff colored pantaloons tucked in gleaming black hessian boots. Attractive in a boyish way. Except there was nothing boyish about the gleam in his eye or the curl of his lip as his gaze traveled over them. If he hadn’t been wearing black armbands to signify his loss, no one would have known he was in mourning.
“I was told that we had guests. You should have informed me at once, Mama.” His ton
e was gently chiding. His eyes flicked over Rebecca, dismissed her, then traveled over Kendra in a once-over that made her skin crawl. “You must introduce us.”
“Lady Rebecca and Miss Donovan came to offer their condolences, but they are ready to take their leave,” his mother said stiffly.
“Oh, no. Please stay. We rarely have such charming company.” He wandered to the side table that twinkled with the various crystal decanters. He pulled out a stopper to one, and poured what looked like brandy into a glass.
“I can call for another teacup, darling,” Lady Holbrooke said, her brows pulling together as she eyed her son.
“You know I detest tea.”
“I’m sorry about the loss of your father, Mr. Holbrooke,” Kendra offered.
He looked at her as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a slow sip. “Did you know him?”
“No.”
Holbrooke’s lips twisted. “Well, he was a bit stiff-rumped.”
Lady Holbrooke gasped. “Gerard, darling, do not tease.”
Something ugly flashed in his eyes, but then was gone. “Forgive me, mama. I am teasing. I’m certain the ladies are aware.”
“Everyone reacts to grief in different ways,” Kendra murmured drily.
Holbrooke appeared surprised, then he laughed appreciatively. “Quite so. And now I have shocked and dismayed my mother again. But my father and I were not close.”
“Gerard, Miss Donovan has been here inquiring into your father’s death,” Lady Holbrooke told him, and there was no mistaking the warning note in her voice. “I explained that we were at home on Wednesday night.”
Kendra’s jaw tightened, irritated. This was why suspects were always kept separate during interviews, to stop them from feeding each other information or possible alibis.
Holbrooke looked at Kendra in surprise. “That’s a devilishly odd thing for you to do. Pray tell, what does my father’s death have to do with you?”
“He was murdered. Finding the murderer should be of interest to everyone,” she said, and braced herself for what he was going to say next.
“But you’re a woman!”
“Believe it or not, I figured that out a long time ago.” She kept her gaze on his. “What were you and your father arguing about at Tattersalls?”
His expression closed down. He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I can scarcely recall.”
“Can you recall Sir Giles finding you a position in India? I heard you didn’t want to go.”
Lady Holbrooke’s brown eyes flashed as she rounded on Kendra. “I told you, Miss Donovan, that you were given faulty information. My husband would never have sent my son to such a horrible place.”
“I can speak for myself, Mama.”
“Of course, darling,” Lady Holbrooke said quickly.
Holbrooke studied Kendra for a long moment. The boyish charm had leached away. “My father and I quarreled often, Miss Donovan,” he admitted. “We did not see eye to eye on a great many things. He may have mentioned finding me a position in India, but I had no intention of traveling to that godforsaken land, so it was a moot point.”
“Would he have given you a choice in the matter?” Kendra asked bluntly.
Holbrooke’s lips twisted. “I guess we shall never know.”
Kendra paused for a heartbeat, then switched the subject. “Does the name Silas Fitzpatrick mean anything to you?”
Holbrooke frowned. “No.”
“What about Lord Cross?”
“Eliot Cross—Viscount Cross? We attended Eton together, although we were barely acquainted. Why?”
Kendra glanced at Lady Holbrooke. “You didn’t mention your son was in school with Lord Cross.”
“I didn’t think of it. It never occurred to me.”
“It wouldn’t,” Holbrooke said easily. “We were not in the same class. He was a year behind me, and not a friend. Do you have any idea how many boys attend Eton? I would have no reason to speak of him.”
“What about at parties, social events?”
He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “I’m certain we have attended the same social events, cricket matches, whatever. But we had no dealings with each other. As I said, he was not a friend. What is this about?”
“Lord Cross was seen talking to your father at White’s on Wednesday night. Arguing. Do you know what that could have been about?”
“I can’t imagine. I didn’t realize my father even knew Cross, except for Spain.”
“When Evert Larson was killed,” Kendra added.
Holbrooke’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. You know about Evert?”
“Yes.” She caught the speculative gleam in his eyes.
“If you want to know who had vengeance against my father, I suggest you take your questions to Bertel Larson,” he said. “Evert’s father.”
Lady Holbrooke drew in a quick breath. “Gerard, do not tease so.”
“I am not teasing. Not this time.” He glanced at his mother. “If you recollect, Mr. Larson threatened to kill Father.”
“Two years ago! Bertel had only learned his son was dead. He said that in his grief.”
“Sometimes the past has a funny way of resurrecting itself,” Kendra said softly. For just a moment, her mind circled back to Yorkshire, where the past, present, and future had tangled dangerously for her. “Did Sir Giles say anything about Mr. Larson recently? Was there any indication that maybe Mr. Larson made recent threats?”
“If there were any, I doubt my father would have said. Despite everything, he was always protective of the Larson family.”
Kendra heard the strange note of anger in Holbrooke’s voice. “I heard that your father and Evert were very close.”
His lips curled into a sneer. “Oh, quite close. He treated Evert like a prince. But then he was descended from the Norse gods themselves.”
“Norse gods?” Kendra wondered if she was missing some sort of 19th-century catchphrase.
“My son is joking,” Lady Holbrooke said quickly, casting a worried glance at him before shifting her gaze back to Kendra. “The family claimed that they could trace their lineage back to the kings of Norway. A silly fantasy, of course. They are as English as anyone.”
“Evert and David would boast of the gods. They were quite taken with the Scandinavian legends.”
Kendra looked at him. “David?”
“Bertel and Astrid’s youngest son,” identified Lady Holbrooke.
The son in Larson & Son, Kendra realized. “I wasn’t aware there was another son. I had only heard of Evert.”
“Of course.” A nasty edge came into Holbrooke’s voice. “Whenever Evert was around we all faded away.”
“Darling—”
“Do you know that Evert spoke five languages by the age of ten, Miss Donovan? Father was impressed. So impressed that I sometimes thought Evert hadn’t been boasting, and he was descended from the gods after all! Even our headmasters at Eton admired him.”
“You were at school together?”
“Naturally. Evert and I were the same age, but he had advanced to the class ahead.” He tossed the remainder of his brandy back, but not before Kendra caught the glow of rage or resentment in his eyes. Probably both. He went back to the side table to set his empty glass down. “Father cultivated Evert, convinced him to become a barrister and then work for him in the Home Office. They had much in common.”
Kendra didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to recognize Holbrooke’s jealousy or understand the root of it. Everything she’d learned about Sir Giles showed him to be a workaholic, dedicated to his job and devoted to his country. But when he hadn’t been working, he had apparently been more interested in cultivating a relationship with Evert over his own son. If Evert had been the one murdered, Holbrooke would have been at the very top of Kendra’s suspect list.
“Evert was brilliant, but so are you, darling,” Lady Holbrooke interjected, her gaze on her son, almost pleading. “Your father was very proud of you, Gerard.”
T
his time Kendra recognized the glow in Holbrooke’s eyes as contempt. His jaw tightened and he gave a jerky shrug. “If you will excuse me, ladies, I must return to the study. I am now the head of this household, and there are many matters to which I must attend.”
Kendra watched him move to the door. “If you discover anything in your father’s papers that might be relevant to the investigation, you will send word to the Duke of Aldridge’s residence, won’t you?” Without a badge, Kendra was forced to use the next best thing—name dropping the Duke.
Holbrooke paused, glancing back at her. “I shall most assuredly be keeping you in my thoughts, Miss Donovan.” He sketched a mocking bow in their direction, and left the room.
Kendra let her gaze drift back to Lady Holbrooke. The widow had been composed when they’d first arrived, but now her face seemed older, her features strained.
Rebecca took it upon herself to end their visit. “Thank you so much for seeing us during this difficult time, ma’am.” She eyed the other woman, and perhaps saw the same tension in the fine-boned face that Kendra had, because she added, “Please sit . . . we shall see ourselves out.”
“Mr. Holbrooke may be wearing armbands, but his grief for his father was noticeably absent,” Rebecca murmured once the elderly butler had closed the door behind them. She glanced at Kendra as she tied the ribbon of her bonnet into a bow beneath her chin. “He has considerable hostility toward Sir Giles.”
“Yeah, I noticed. And Lady Holbrooke is very protective of her son.”
“’Tis natural, I suppose, for a mother.”
“She’s in a difficult position,” Kendra conceded, and then frowned. Her attention was drawn to the Yew shrubs on the side of the portico. There was no breeze, and yet the branches were trembling. Curious, Kendra walked to the edge of the porch and peered down. Big brown eyes peered back at her through the greenery.
Kendra smiled at the little girl. “Hi, there.”
The child frowned up at Kendra. “That is a very odd thing to say,” she commented with surprisingly crisp enunciation. “I am not up high at all. I am standing on the ground.”
Betrayal in Time Page 14