Nicholas could sympathise.
He had been dealt a poor hand too.
“We’re here because we must find a motive for murder,” Helen pressed. “And we must address the secrets of the past if we’re to clear you of any involvement, Mrs Packard.”
“Me!” The housekeeper blinked rapidly. “Why would I want to murder the master? I’ve not left Oakmere for years. At least ten people can vouch for my whereabouts this last week, including the vicar.”
“You could have an accomplice.” Helen removed a notebook from her reticule and opened it at a folded page. “Monsieur Laurent has no alibi, and he knew of the letters left to Charles, explaining he was illegitimate.”
Mrs Packard shook her head. “I’ve never met him. Mr Holland hired the Frenchman to work at his townhouse and act as his companion.”
Was companion a covert term for lover? Something the housekeeper would strenuously deny, so it was pointless asking. “But you do know what’s written in the letters his father left him?” he said.
The woman shifted in the chair. “Yes, but I only learnt of the letters when the previous master died.”
“The love letters proving Charles Holland is illegitimate?” Nicholas attempted to clarify. “The bills for a midwife and a rented house some miles from here?” He reached into his pocket and handed her one of the few documents he had found in Wigmore Street. Robert Holland’s demand that his wife raise his lover’s child.
She read the first few lines, her sudden sob causing her to thrust the letter back at him. “I’ll not read the rest. I can’t bear it.”
“We understand. You were close to your mistress.” Helen spoke in a sweet voice that would put anyone at ease. “You were her lady’s maid for many years. It must have been difficult.”
Mrs Packard dashed tears from her eyes, her face twisting in anger. “He made her do it. That monster made her cradle his lover’s child and raise him as her own. Oh, it broke her, it did. Broke her spirit.”
Nicholas listened intently, his head and heart at war.
Naturally, a man wanted to protect his mother, but he could not condone Esther’s affair, no matter how much she must have loved Robert Holland.
“Clearly, you find it upsetting,” he said, forcing his mind to focus. “You kept her secret for many years. When you learned Charles meant to blackmail me and reveal the truth, you couldn’t let him tarnish her memory.”
Mrs Packard bared her teeth. “I’d have sooner murdered you to punish your mother. But I had nothing to do with my master’s death. Why would I when it means that witch will take up residence? I’d rather work day and night for a pittance than suffer her lofty opinions.”
“You speak of Mrs Waltham?”
“Thankfully, she barely visits since my mistress threw her out years ago.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. “No one had any time for her, no one but her nephew. Oh, poor Mr Holland.” She burst into tears at the mention of her master.
Nicholas delved into his pocket again and retrieved Mr Hatton’s missive. “Can you explain this?” he said, sliding the black ribbon from the scroll and giving her the rolled parchment.
She stared as if it had teeth and might bite, but read the solicitor’s declaration with obvious reluctance.
Her countenance showed no sign of improvement. “Lord have mercy. What trickery is this? The estate’s close to ruin, and now I’m expected to serve the son of a harlot?”
Nicholas firmed his jaw. “You will have a care when speaking about my mother. And no one is forcing you to remain here. The only person you should be angry with is Robert Holland. The married man who seduced an innocent and stole her child.”
How had that happened? Was the distressing situation to blame for his mother’s fragile mind? Esther had been ill for most of Nicholas’ life. Even simple tasks were too much for her. Yet she had found the strength to visit Old Compton Street every month.
“I must speak to the midwife who cared for my mother,” he began, determined to discover more. “Can you tell me where I might find her?”
No doubt she was buried in the local cemetery.
“Mrs Abbott?”
“I believe so.”
“She lives a few miles from here in Great Barford, in a cottage on the riverbank, opposite the Bull inn.”
Relief raced through him.
Finally, he could speak to someone who knew the facts.