Page 40 of Who Will Remember (Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery #20)

S ebastian returned to Brook Street to find Hero out on an interview and his friend Hugh Chandler pacing up and down in the library. The Major’s face was ashen, his breeches, boots, and coat liberally splashed with mud, and he still held his riding crop gripped in one hand.

“I’m damned sorry for making myself at home like this,” he said without preamble when Sebastian walked in the library door. “But I had to see you.”

Sebastian closed the door behind him. “What is it, Hugh?”

Tossing the crop onto a nearby table, Hugh went to stand at the windows overlooking the street, his fists opening and closing at his sides. “I’ve just had a visit from that bloody Bow Street Chief Magistrate, Sir Nathaniel Conant. He…he’s discovered I wasn’t exactly honest about something.”

Sebastian walked over to pour a healthy measure of brandy into two glasses, then handed one to his friend. “Such as?”

Hugh took the brandy and downed half of it in one long gulp. “When I said I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Farnsworth. That wasn’t true. I had a run-in with him just a couple of days before he died.”

“A run-in about what?”

Hugh brought up a hand to rub his eyes. “The Thursday before he was killed, someone took a shot at Tess when she was out riding. It spooked her gelding, and if she weren’t such a good horsewoman, she might have been thrown. That would have been troubling enough, but then, when she got home and was changing, she found a bullet hole in the sleeve of her riding habit, here.” He touched his upper left arm. “It so happened that just as the shot was fired, she wheeled her horse to say something to her groom. If she hadn’t, the bullet would have struck her in the chest and killed her. Old Squire Adams—he’s our local Justice of the Peace—tried to shrug it off. Said she was damned lucky, but I was daft to be thinking it was deliberate. That it must have been some fool out hunting.”

“You didn’t think so?”

Hugh looked at him. “Hunting what? At this time of year?”

“A poacher, perhaps?”

“You really believe that, Devlin?”

Rather than answer, Sebastian said, “You’re suggesting Lord Preston was trying to kill her?”

“Himself? Probably not. But I could sure as hell see him hiring someone to do it.”

“Farnsworth could have divorced Tess anytime these last six years. Why the hell would he try to kill her now?”

“Because he wants to remarry.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“No. But there were…rumors.”

“It’s not as if it would have been hard for him to still obtain a divorce. Tess has been living with you openly.”

“Yes. But divorces are bloody expensive.”

Sebastian wasn’t going to argue with that. Divorces were ruinously expensive, and a frank discussion between Lovejoy and Farnsworth’s man of business had revealed that Lord Preston was not as plump in the pocket as he’d liked people to believe. “Please tell me you didn’t confront the man and accuse him of trying to murder his estranged wife.”

Hugh nodded grimly. “Not only that, but I told him if anything happened to Tess again, I’d kill him.”

“Bloody hell, Hugh! How did Sir Nathaniel find out about it?”

“Someone must have overheard me—either that, or Farnsworth told someone about it. I tried denying it, except Sir Nathaniel had already talked to the Squire and Tess’s groom, and I doubt if there’s anyone in my household who didn’t know I’d gone off to London that afternoon in a rage.”

Sebastian fixed his friend with a long, cold stare. “Well, I can certainly see why you tried to keep this information from Bow Street. But why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me?”

Hugh’s chest jerked on a deeply indrawn breath. “I guess because I was afraid it would make you think I actually did kill the bastard. I mean, it’s just one more reason for me to have murdered him when I already had more than enough reasons. Plus—”

He broke off.

“Plus—what?” said Sebastian.

Hugh looked awkwardly away. “I guess you don’t know about the relationship between Farnsworth and your sister?” There was no mistaking his implication.

“Amanda?”

Hugh simply stared back at him.

“You can’t be serious. If he wanted to remarry, why the bloody hell would Farnsworth choose a widow in her forties when he could have his pick of any number of young heiresses only too eager to bear the heirs of the next Duke of Eversfield?”

Hugh shook his head. “Lord Preston was incapable of fathering children and he knew it. As for an heiress…Well, your brother-in-law left Lady Wilcox a wealthy woman. Perhaps wealthier than you realize. And they…”

“They what?”

“They’d have been well suited, wouldn’t you say?”

Sebastian wasn’t going to argue against that. “When did Sir Nathaniel confront you about this?”

“This afternoon. Why?”

“Because I heard this morning that he’s on the verge of having you arrested. Probably Monday, if I had to guess.”

Hugh drained his brandy and set the glass aside with an unsteady hand. After a moment, he said, “Do you have any idea—any idea at all—who did actually kill the man?”

“Not really. But if there is anything else you haven’t told me yet—anything at all—”

“No. I swear.”

“What about Tess? What is she holding back?”

“Nothing! She’s at as much of a loss as I am when it comes to explaining what happened to him. I mean, everyone knows Farnsworth had a long list of enemies, but I can’t see any of them deciding to hang him upside down in an abandoned chapel off Swallow Street. It makes no sense. Whoever did it must be mad.”

“Either that,” said Sebastian, draining his own brandy glass, “or crazy like a fox.”

“This doesn’t look good for Hugh, does it?” said Hero, later, when Sebastian told her of the visit from his friend. She had returned from her interview to find him sitting in one of the armchairs before the nursery fire and reading a picture book about a bunny rabbit to Miss Guinevere St. Cyr.

“Frankly, I’m not sure it could look any worse,” he said as Guinevere wiggled from his lap and tottered over to her mother’s outstretched arms. “Unless perhaps Bow Street finds someone who saw him actually stringing Farnsworth up by his heel.”

Hero gave the baby a kiss, then sank into the chair on the far side of the fire, still holding Guinevere’s hands in hers as the baby swayed back and forth on unsteady legs. “You think Hugh actually did it?”

“No, I don’t. Not because I believe Hugh incapable of killing, because I know he is. But to then pose his victim hanging upside down in a way that deliberately echoes a tarot card? Why would he do that?”

“Why would anyone do it?”

“You have a point there.”

Guinevere babbled a string of nonsense, and Hero hoisted the baby up onto her lap. “Do you think Hugh could be right? That Lord Preston was planning to marry Amanda?”

“Honestly? As ridiculous as I found the idea at first, the more I think about it, the less incredible I find it. Hugh is right: They would have suited. Amanda is every bit as arrogant, haughty, nasty, and devious as Lord Preston. And I keep remembering how upset she was when she came to see me—far more than could be explained by mere friendship.”

Hero started to say something, then hesitated.

“What?” said Sebastian, watching her.

She rested her chin atop the baby’s head. “Has anyone looked into who will inherit the house on St. James’s Square now that Lord Preston is dead?”

“Not to my knowledge. I assumed he would leave it to his sister. Why?”

“If Lord Preston had married a young, weak-willed bride just out of the schoolroom, Lady Hester would no doubt have been able to control the poor girl shamelessly. But Hester could never have dominated Amanda, and she never could have borne continuing to live in that house once she was no longer its mistress.”

“What are you suggesting? That Lady Hester killed her own brother so that she wouldn’t be forced to move from their nice big house into smaller quarters?”

“Why not? She’s a tall woman—taller even than her brother—so I think she would be capable of doing it, physically. And I wouldn’t put cold-blooded murder past her. Would you?”

Sebastian thought about it. “No. But why would she pose her brother like Le Pendu ?”

“To cast suspicion onto the gypsies and cartomancers, perhaps? She knew her brother was going after them. She even made it a point to mention it to me.”

“Yes, except she still keeps insisting Hugh must be the killer.”

“Well, it’s what everyone would expect her to do, isn’t it?”

Sebastian closed the book he still held, half-forgotten, in his hands and set it aside. “I think I need to have another talk with Lord Preston’s brother.”