You know that perfectly well because you checked before you came. Jared kept quiet, leaving the family doctor to do the talking. He knew Felbrigg of old because he had been Sophie’s doctor before she married and he had become Cal’s too, after setting a dislocated shoulder. He was level-headed and would not allow the Coroner to goad him into any heated responses.
‘Certainly. Both the daughters of the first marriage are on excellent terms with Lady Northam.’
‘One hopes that the prospect of a comfortable widowhood will make her grief easier to bear.’ The Coroner was examining the room as he talked, peering at window latches, running one finger down the frames, opening and closing doors.
‘You must ask her lawyers about that,’ Felbrigg said, with rather more of a snap. ‘I have no idea of the settlements.’
‘I will most certainly do so.’
The words, spoken calmly, were as good as a threat, Jared realised. It was natural that the Coroner would suspect Guinevere of poisoning her elderly husband to enjoy the freedoms of a wealthy widowhood. Which would make the inept attempts on her life seem all the more sinister in a way none of them had considered before. If Guinevere had orchestrated the attacks herself, confident of being unharmed…
Jared eased out of the room, walked soft-footed along the corridor then ran down the stairs and into the drawing room. The women – Sophie and Guinevere on the sofa, Faith on a seat to one side – looked up as he came in, their expressions compounded of grief, fear and expectation, uncannily similar.
‘Guinevere, there is no comfortable way of saying this. You must be prepared. I believe Runcorn suspects – ’
‘That I killed Augustus.’ Guinevere was white to the lips and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap as though she could not otherwise control them, but her voice was steady. ‘He thinks that the attacks on me were a blind, that I arranged them so that when the poisoning happened it would look as though Augustus had eaten the sweets meant for me. That is it, is it not?’
‘Yes.’ And, heaven help him, he wondered if it were true himself. Was this an innocent, grieving widow or an exceptionally clever young woman who had ensnared a rich old husband, woven a mesh of conspiracy around herself, involved himself – and now, thanks to him, the Duke and Duchess of Calderbrook – in her wicked schemes?
He did not want it to be true, his emotions told him that it was not, but his head cautioned distance. I have known her for what? – barely three days. I know nothing of her except that she is lovely and intelligent and, fool that I am, I want her. In a fight he knew better than to let his emotions overcome his judgement, now a pair of mysterious blue-green eyes were turning his cold rationality into heated partisanship.
‘Yes,’ Jared repeated. ‘That is exactly what he thinks, although he has said nothing directly.’
‘Then he must be disabused of this notion,’ Sophie said, on her feet, her expression militant. ‘I will – ’
‘Do nothing. I should not have asked you to come, Sophie. It was an error of judgment and now the Coroner suspects that we are trying to use your influence, and Cal’s, to cover something up.’
‘That never occurred to me. Hell.’ Sophie could usually be relied upon for the unladylike response. ‘Hell and damnation.’
‘Quite,’ Jared agreed. ‘I understand that Guinevere will be glad of your support, but I suggest you take yourself home now, Sophie. Tell Cal what is going on and do nothing to inflame the situation.’
Sophie left in a flurry of hugs and promises of whatever support was asked for and nothing more. ‘For the moment,’ she added darkly.
‘Do you think she is planning a dramatic rescue from the steps of the gallows?’ Guin asked. Her laugh was just a trifle shaky, she found.
‘Stop that,’ Jared said sharply. ‘You are becoming hysterical.’
‘You think so? I think I am being completely rational. There is not one of those attacks I could not have orchestrated myself, there is nothing I could not have paid some petty criminal to carry out. Then last night I could have left those sweets just where Augustus would see them and be tempted.’
‘Do you know what you stand to inherit?’ he asked. He was not bothering to be tactful, but he was right, pussy-footing around this would not help.
Guin frowned in thought. ‘Let me see. The use of the Dower House and an annual pension of one thousand pounds, both while I remain unmarried. To keep everything that Augustus gave me as presents – and I believe he catalogued anything of any value in case of dispute – and the contents of this house with the exception of family paintings, silver and items of furniture and china. All those and the gifts would be mine whether I remarried or not. Essentially, the things we chose together come to me. Again, it is all catalogued.’
‘So you could probably live in circumstances slightly
reduced from your present state. There is no large inheritance. It is hardly an incentive to murder a doting and attentive husband.’
‘I hope that is what the Coroner thinks. But of course, he has only my word that Augustus was such a good husband. He probably believes I would be desperate to escape him or that I have a lover or something.’ The view from the window blurred as tears swam up again. ‘I should order all the curtains drawn and the knocker draped in black.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Jared, someone killed Augustus, the kindest, dearest man.’
She knew that he watched, unmoving as the tears over-spilled, dripping onto the silk of her peignoir. ‘Faith will have trouble removing the marks,’ she said vaguely, scrubbing at her eyes like a tired child. ‘Did he… Would he have suffered? The thought of Augustus alone, in pain and fear in the darkness… It has been growing at the back of my mind like a great black thundercloud. The bedclothes were not much disturbed which gives me some hope.’
‘I think you are correct, but I am not going to speculate, at least, not with you. The less you know about whatever killed him and its effects, the better.’
Guin hesitated over the words, then blurted them out anyway. If she could not be honest with this man, who seemed her only hope of help, who could she trust? ‘I do not want to be afraid. I want to mourn Augustus, to grieve for him, and all I can think of is that I might be suspected of killing him.’
‘I know. Whoever has done this has that to their account as well.’ He turned his head and looked at her, serious, intent. ‘This is not going to be pleasant or easy, but we will fight, and we will win through. But you must play their game, Guinevere. You must let those tears flow, you must keep those intelligent thoughts to yourself. You will send for your lawyer and you will cling to him and be the image of the widow too distressed to think clearly. And you will call me Mr Hunt at all times, in public and in private.’
‘But why?’