Indeed, Lady Brompton instructed them all to remain in the house while two footmen stood guard at the scene. It was some twelve hours later when Mr Hope, the middle-aged coroner who sported grey hair and black side whiskers, and reminded Nicholas of a scrawny badger, gathered everyone in the drawing room to ask his probing questions.
“In the absence of a weapon,” Hope began in the tone of an army general, “this is clearly a case of murder.” He stood before the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, and scanned the guests’ faces, doubtless searching for a flicker of guilt. “Now we must look for a motive, and at those who had opportunity. Hence why no one is to leave Grayswood without my express permission.”
Sebastian scoffed. “We’re here for another few days. Might you have concluded your investigation then? I have business in town that cannot wait.”
“One does not like to put a time limit on such things, my lord.”
“You cannot keep us here indefinitely,” Lord Bowden snapped, the odd reaction causing Nicholas to wonder what the man had to fear.
The drawing room door creaked open and Mrs Waltham appeared, clutching Lady Brompton’s arm and sobbing into her lace handkerchief.
The gentlemen stood, and Lady Brompton instructed Chadderton and Hargreaves to move so Mrs Waltham could hear the coroner’s verdict from the comfort of the plush settee.
“We’re looking at murder,” Hope said solemnly in reply to Lady Brompton asking what the devil was going on. “The jurors agree, but I shall arrange for a post-mortem and—”
A mournful cry left Mrs Waltham’s lips. She looked up from her crumpled white handkerchief and pointed a shaky finger at Nicholas. “He did it! He did it, I tell you! He had every reason to hate Charles.”
All heads turned in Nicholas’ direction.
Being a master at hiding emotion, he kept a stony expression.
“Don’t be absurd,” Sebastian said.
A little startled by the outburst, Lady Brompton patted Mrs Waltham’s knee. “I know you’ve suffered a terrible shock, my dear, but you cannot go around accusing my guests. Anyone might have accessed the property. A poacher, for example, a vagrant or an escaped convict. Let Mr Hope gather evidence and—”
“You want evidence?” Mrs Waltham gritted her teeth, oblivious to the line of spittle dribbling down her chin. “Mr St Clair had every reason to murder poor Charles.”
Hellfire!
She surely knew about the scandal.
Helen shocked everyone by jumping to his defence. “I suggest you think carefully before accusing an innocent man, Mrs Waltham. Slander, which may result in punishment for a crime, is an offence in itself. We are all witnesses here. So again, I advise caution.”
Nicholas glanced at her, his heart full of gratitude.
But Mrs Waltham was undeterred. “It’s not slander if it is based on fact. Ask him how he benefits from my nephew’s death. Ask him! I guarantee you will understand his motives then.”
It suddenly dawned on him that he could no longer protect his parents. He could not save his family name, and had to do everything in his power to protect himself. Even if that meant revealing the truth.
Nicholas cleared his throat and avoided meeting Sebastian’s gaze. “I know why Mrs Waltham thinks I’m guilty of the crime, though I assure you I did not murder Charles Holland. He was blackmailing me. He has evidence to suggest he was my half-brother, but I have only seen two documents to support his claim, both of which may be forgeries.”
Everyone in the room gasped, except for Lady Brompton, who sat forward and said, “How intriguing. Doubtless, that accounts for your rudeness yesterday, St Clair.”
“I despised the man, madam, but I needed him alive so he might return the documents once I had paid the demand.”
Chadderton gave a curious hum. “I hear there was a scuffle between the two of you yesterday. A groom told my coachman you punched Holland.”
Damnation!
“What utter rubbish!” Sebastian exclaimed.
Nicholas cast his friend an apologetic look. “Holland said a thief had stolen some of the documents. I hit him before we agreed to work together to find out who.” Nicholas met the coroner’s gaze. “Speak to Laurent, the valet. He will confirm Charles Holland has the documents. Unless the man who murdered him stole them.”
Then it would be impossible to secure their return.
“I suggest we retire to a private room so I may take your statement,” said the coroner, much to Nicholas’ relief. He was tired of being the circus act.
“Wait!” Mrs Waltham cried, jumping to her feet. “That explains my nephew’s ridiculous decision. Yes. Yes. It gives Mr St Clair the perfect motive for murder.”