Lady Brompton tugged the woman’s arm. “Sit down, Agatha. In your grief, you’re muttering gibberish.”
“It’s not gibberish.” Bursting with indignation, Mrs Waltham faced the coroner. “You may visit Hatton & Sons solicitors in Old Compton Street. They will provide evidence to prove Mr St Clair had a good reason to kill Charles.”
Nicholas released a weary sigh. “Explain yourself, madam, for I have never heard of Hatton & Sons solicitors, nor are you making any sense.”
The lady’s lips twitched in satisfaction. “It is simple, Mr St Clair. Charles named you heir to his estate in Bedfordshire. You’re now master of Oakmere Hall.”
ChapterEight
When a man had his back pressed to the wall, he had two options. Run or face the consequences. Nicholas might have put his faith in the justice system, but had to admit all evidence pointed to his guilt.
He had much to gain from Charles Holland’s death, including a debt-ridden estate in Bedfordshire, if Mrs Waltham was to be believed. Was he a scapegoat, or was this an elaborate plot to punish him and bring about his downfall?
But a plot by whom?
And why?
“Are you listening to me, Nicholas?” Sebastian complained.
He shook himself from his reverie. “You shouldn’t be here. They’ll arrest you for aiding a felon.” Since making his damning statement last night, his bedchamber was his temporary prison. “How did you get past the guard?” Or should he say Lady Brompton’s strongest footman, who was as lean as a beanpole and none too bright?
It was laughable.
The only thing stopping Nicholas from leaving was his conscience.
Sebastian grinned. “I bribed him.”
“That won’t help my cause.”
“Neither will refusing to discuss the situation.”
“I’m hardly in the mood for conversation. I can’t concentrate on anything when consumed by thoughts of the hangman’s noose.”
“It won’t come to that.” Sebastian glanced at the door before lowering his voice. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about Holland? I’d have broken into his house and stolen the evidence. We could have dealt with the matter months ago.”
Explaining Holland kept the letters in various places was pointless. “You know how I feel about my parents. I couldn’t risk the fool revealing the truth.”
Now he had no idea where to find the incriminating evidence.
A thief, and likely a murderer, had his mother’s letters.
As it happened, Charles Holland was a menace even in death.
“I’ll deal with the magistrate.” Doubt marred Sebastian’s tone when he usually sounded so confident. “Make him see that you’re incapable of committing such a heinous crime.”
“No. I shall deal with the matter myself.” Nicholas was firm in his resolve. “Everyone downstairs believes I’m a killer. I’ll not have yours or Helen’s name tarnished by association.”
Someone had told the coroner about the incident with Parbrook. It showed Nicholas to be a man of violence, as did the groom’s testimony that Nicholas had assaulted Charles Holland in the stall.
A witness had testified to seeing two people walking towards the folly on the night in question, but had only identified Nicholas.
Then there was the matter of blackmail and the inheritance.
With his back to the wall, he had decided to run, a decision that would invariably make him an outlaw.
“We’re family,” Sebastian countered.
“Hence why I mean to deal with this matter alone.”