Mr Hope turned to his associate. “Perhaps we should hear what his lordship has to say. Only proven evidence, of course. We won’t consider anything circumstantial.”
Sir Percival was desperate to tighten the rope around someone’s neck. But he grumbled and sighed and said, “Very well. You have five minutes to convince us St Clair is not our man.”
The tension left Nicholas’ shoulders, albeit temporarily. He drew the miniature from his coat pocket and handed it to Mr Hope.
“That is Laurence Russell, otherwise known as Monsieur Laurent. He is Charles Holland’s secret brother.”
Helen pointed to the likeness. “Monsieur Laurent wears a periwig, but if you ignore his brown hair, you can see it is the valet. I was present when Mrs Russell gave a detailed statement.”
Nicholas reached into his valise and gave the coroner the written account of Mrs Russell’s connection to this sorry mess.
Mr Hope read it before handing it to Sir Percival.
“What is his motive?” the magistrate said.
“Jealousy. After injuring himself in France, his mother claims he was not of sound mind.” Nicholas had comforted the woman who insisted they hear every detail before leaving. “News of his illegitimacy left him angry and full of hatred. It is unclear why he waited before acting on his rage.”
“We believe the valet tried to kill Mr St Clair,” Helen said before explaining about the accident on the way to Grayswood. “The ring places the valet at the scene. And Mrs Glover, and those working on her farm, can testify to seeing the wreckage and our injuries.”
“Give us a moment.” Sir Percival led Mr Hope away, and the two men were soon engaged in a heated discussion. They seemed to find a resolution and returned to declare their position.
“We’ve agreed to find Monsieur Laurent and question him,” the magistrate said. “In the meantime, we are placing Mr St Clair in your care, my lord. We will hold you responsible if he absconds.”
Sebastian cursed and shook his head. “The valet journeyed to Grayswood alone in a hired carriage because Mrs Waltham refused to travel with a servant. That gives the valet opportunity. If you don’t believe me, ask the head groom.”
With tempers frayed, Mr Hope raised his hands and pleaded for calm. “Sir Percival will put these questions to Monsieur Laurent. Assure us you will keep Mr St Clair in Grosvenor Street, and he is free to go for the time being.”
“I refuse to abide by the terms,” Nicholas said. Time was of the essence if he hoped to find the valet. He would not wait like a sitting duck for these men to lose the prime suspect. “I have a better idea. One which will ensure I walk free and you don’t look like bumbling buffoons. Peel will sing your praises and consider you both a shining example of law enforcement.”
Sir Percival eyed him suspiciously. “What do you propose?”
“I can lead you to the murderer. Together, we will catch him tonight.”
ChapterNineteen
“You must let me approach the valet alone,” Nicholas said from the dark confines of Sir Percival’s carriage. “I must gain a confession if I am ever to walk free.”
Squashed beside Nicholas and Sebastian on the seat, Helen inhaled deeply before making a shocking suggestion. “Let me go. I shall tell Monsieur Laurent I’ve come to check he is well and to ask about the funeral arrangements.”
“Like hell you will,” Sebastian and Nicholas said in unison.
“But he won’t feel at all threatened by me. It makes sense—”
“No!” came their resounding answer.
“My dear, he will find it odd a lady is out alone at night,” Sir Percival said in a condescending manner.
She knew that.
She was a woman, not an imbecile.
“I shall say my brother refused to let me visit, and I had to sneak out of the house while he was at his club. I shall say the coachman is my chaperone.” Knowing Sebastian would dismiss the idea, she used logic to press her case. “He will suspect Mr St Clair’s motives straight away. And one glimpse of you, Sir Percival, and he’ll lie through his teeth.”
“We do need a confession,” Mr Hope said sheepishly.
From their position parked further along Wimpole Street, Helen pointed to the row of elegant townhouses. “I’ll use the gate in the railings and enter via the servants’ door. Sir Percival, you will follow behind and show your credentials. That way, the servants won’t charge at you, thinking you’re a burglar.”
Sebastian sighed. “While every bone in my body fights against the idea, my sister is right. The valet needs to think he has a chance of escaping if he’s to let his guard slip.”