The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(58)

“You are not being silly,” Henderson said, his voice low. “I came to very much the same conclusion not long ago, but I couldn’t make sense of it either. And Joseph’s death doesn’t seem to fit. He did fall from the roof.” Henderson turned away from the group, and dipped his head. “Was Mr. Grant part of that group of boys, Christina?”

“Gerald Grant? No, not that I recall. Why do you ask?”

Henderson shrugged. “No reason. Only that he was one of the lads there the night Joseph died. He’s the one who told me what happened. And everyone else who was there that night is dead.”

Christina’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think he’s the murderer?” she whispered, clearly excited by the prospect.

Henderson chuckled, but felt a twinge of unease.

“That means he could have killed four people. Four.” Her eyes were wide with the excitement of it all.

“Highly unlikely. And what possible reason would he have for killing even one of them? I think it’s important not to start spreading such rumors, my girl. Every single one of those men died in an accident. Only Mr. Turner, if what you say is true about his being stabbed, appears to have met his demise through foul means.”

“True,” Christina said reluctantly, and Henderson let out a small chuckle at her disappointment. Alice’s younger sister was quite bloodthirsty. Suddenly she grasped his arm. “You’re the only one left,” she said. “Oh, Mr. Southwell, what if you are in danger?”

That very thought had crossed Henderson’s mind, but he had no intention of sharing it with this young woman. “If what you say is true, and Peter Jeffreys was the first victim of our murderer, then I would not be part of that group.”

“But you became part of it,” she pointed out.

That thought had crossed Henderson’s mind as well. Perhaps, he thought, he should visit Gerald Grant and see if he could sense any madness in the man. For only a madman could systematically kill four men.

“Mr. Southwell.” It was Lord Berkley calling him over to join their group. Was that a look of annoyance in Lord Hubbard’s eye? Such slights, small as they were, hurt. He’d always thought of Richard as a sort of surrogate father, and when he’d been younger, he’d actually daydreamed about what it would be like to be part of Joseph’s family. To think all those years Richard had only been indulging his elder son was like a punch to his gut—that painful and that nauseating.

Henderson had no idea what Berkley’s plan was, but it was becoming more obvious by the moment. He was making certain Lord Hubbard was aware they were friends (which they were) and that Berkley thought of him as an equal (which they were most decidedly not). Henderson didn’t have the first idea why Berkley was taking him under his aristocratic wing. Joseph had always said Henderson had a way about him that put others at ease, and Henderson had accumulated quite a few highly placed friends over the years. When he’d sailed from India, he’d left behind a large group of men who were as passionate as he about famine relief. The fact they’d elected him to return to England to garner support for their efforts had been as humbling as it had been precipitous, given the timing of Alice’s ill-fated wedding.

Alice laughed at something Northrup said, and Henderson again felt that sense of panic, that he was too late, mingling with the growing realization that he was not enough. Her former fiancés had all been titled (or at least the family had believed this to be the case), all from well-respected and prestigious families. He was the bastard of a country girl, a man who’d been lucky enough to have kind and well-to-do grandparents. Many others like him had ended up in orphanages or worse.

Henderson stepped into the circle, wishing he felt more that he belonged. Glancing briefly at the proprietary grasp Northrup had on Alice’s gloved hand, Henderson forced himself to smile as if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if he hadn’t just proclaimed his love for a woman who was standing with another man.

“You beckoned,” Henderson said, giving Berkley an easy and mocking bow.

“I did. I’ve been telling the Hubbards about my adventures in America and the opportunity there. I would be remiss if I didn’t include you in the conversation, given your superior negotiating skills.” Henderson suppressed the temptation to roll his eyes at what he deemed an obvious attempt to build him up in the eyes of the Hubbards. Berkley knew nothing of his negotiating skills, nor any other skill, truth be told. “Mine are woefully inadequate and it occurred to me that you and Lord Hubbard could assist me in gaining more investors. Rails, you know. Steel. The very things titled gentlemen like ourselves are not allowed to discuss but are allowed to benefit from.”

Northrup, who must have noticed his name had been omitted, perked up and darted a look at the Hubbards before saying, “As gauche as it is, I have some experience in investing.”

Berkley gave him what could only be described as an indulgent smile, the type a parent gives a child who has just boasted about some unfounded talent. “I’m happy to hear your thoughts as well, Northrup. Of course.” Then he turned back to Henderson and proceeded to pepper him with questions, which thankfully Henderson, who actually did have a talent for investing, easily answered. It didn’t escape Henderson, as the three men, with Northrup hovering in the periphery, got deep into the discussion, that Lord Hubbard began to give him a series of thoughtful looks.