“I will.”
She gathered herself and recalled Lady Brompton’s comment that a woman had to fight for what she wanted. In this battle, she couldn’t use her fists and had to rely on her wits.
With caution, she climbed the basement steps and entered the hall, aware Nicholas was a few paces behind, watching her intently.
Nausea roiled in her stomach when she heard a man cough, but she gathered herself and approached the room. She was about to enter when a woman’s voice broke the silence.
“The lease on the house ends in two months,” Mrs Waltham said in the grating tone most people found annoying. “We’ll keep Anne on for a few weeks, but will dismiss David tomorrow.”
Helen was only mildly shocked to find the woman visiting at this late hour. After all, she had been tasked with managing her nephew’s estate. If anything, her presence made Helen’s job a little easier.
“Sir Percival came to see me earlier,” Mrs Waltham continued, sounding far too friendly. “He believes St Clair is in London, and it’s only a matter of time until they catch him.”
“Then we can put this business behind us,” the valet said in what was certainly a fake French accent. “How lucky we are to have an idiot working the case.”
Helen glanced behind to see Sir Percival’s cheeks turn beetroot red. The man was ready to barge into the drawing room and unleash his indignation, but Nicholas whispered something in his ear to calm his temper.
Fearing the magistrate might give the game away if she didn’t act quickly, Helen called, “Hello! Is anyone home? Mrs Waltham?” Then she entered the drawing room to find the couple seated on the sofa next to the fire. “There you are. I knocked four or five times. They told me in Warren Street that I might find you here.”
“Miss Langley?” Mrs Waltham’s shrill voice cut through the air. Her eyes grew wide as she struggled to keep her composure. “We didn’t hear you knock. Who let you in?”
“Oh, the footman. I spotted him in the kitchen. Forgive me. I went down to the servants’ door to get someone’s attention. I wanted to see you, to pay my respects and ask if there is anything I can do to ease your suffering.”
Straightening his white periwig, the valet stood but said nothing.
“Monsieur Laurent is helping me sort through my poor nephew’s things.” Mrs Waltham gave a weary sigh. “With a murderer on the loose, I’ve barely slept all week. God bless Sir Percival. He assures me he will catch St Clair soon.”
Helen pasted a smile. Somehow, she had to force the valet to confess before the magistrate became restless.
“That’s what I’ve come to discuss with you,” she said, quickly altering the plan before Laurent made excuses and left the room. “Like you, I want to see the murdering devil punished, but I don’t believe Mr St Clair is guilty of the crime.”
Mrs Waltham’s smile died. “No one wants to believe a family member is capable of such a violent act, and you are rather fond of the gentleman. Are you not a little biased, my dear?”
“Of course. I’m in love with Mr St Clair. Hence why I have spent the last few days gathering evidence to prove he is not the killer.”
Mrs Waltham exchanged glances with the valet.
That’s when Helen knew this devious pair were in cahoots. That they had colluded to blame someone else for a crime one of them had committed.
But why, and what did they hope to gain?
“Evidence?” Mrs Waltham seemed to find the idea amusing. “St Clair had motive and opportunity and ran to avoid capture. My dear, you are letting your affections for the man affect your rationale.”
“Perhaps, but may I tell you what I’ve learned?” She feigned the tone of a naive chit. “Then you may judge me differently.” When the valet moved, she said, “Please stay, monsieur. You’ve admitted your witness statement was false, that you were mistaken and cannot confirm who you saw that night. Let me prove Mr St Clair did not kill his brother.”
“Madame, I am merely a servant in this house,” he said in his fake French burr, “and can offer no opinion on the matter.”
“On the contrary, you may know something about Mr Thorndyke or Lord Bowden that may add to what I know already.” She spoke the men’s names to confuse the couple.
“I barely left my master’s room,” he countered.
“What about servants’ gossip, monsieur? It was the head groom who told me you journeyed alone in a hired carriage to Grayswood. So you may have information and not realise it is important.”
He eyed her suspiciously.
“You may as well sit and hear what she has to say.” Mrs Waltham gestured to the sofa. “Your duties can wait.”
Reluctantly, the man obeyed her instruction.