The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two(28)
‘That never occurred to me. Hell.’ Sophie could usually be relied upon for the unladylike response. ‘Hell and damnation.’
‘Quite,’ Jared agreed. ‘I understand that Guinevere will be glad of your support, but I suggest you take yourself home now, Sophie. Tell Cal what is going on and do nothing to inflame the situation.’
Sophie left in a flurry of hugs and promises of whatever support was asked for and nothing more. ‘For the moment,’ she added darkly.
‘Do you think she is planning a dramatic rescue from the steps of the gallows?’ Guin asked. Her laugh was just a trifle shaky, she found.
‘Stop that,’ Jared said sharply. ‘You are becoming hysterical.’
‘You think so? I think I am being completely rational. There is not one of those attacks I could not have orchestrated myself, there is nothing I could not have paid some petty criminal to carry out. Then last night I could have left those sweets just where Augustus would see them and be tempted.’
‘Do you know what you stand to inherit?’ he asked. He was not bothering to be tactful, but he was right, pussy-footing around this would not help.
Guin frowned in thought. ‘Let me see. The use of the Dower House and an annual pension of one thousand pounds, both while I remain unmarried. To keep everything that Augustus gave me as presents – and I believe he catalogued anything of any value in case of dispute – and the contents of this house with the exception of family paintings, silver and items of furniture and china. All those and the gifts would be mine whether I remarried or not. Essentially, the things we chose together come to me. Again, it is all catalogued.’
‘So you could probably live in circumstances slightly reduced from your present state. There is no large inheritance. It is hardly an incentive to murder a doting and attentive husband.’
‘I hope that is what the Coroner thinks. But of course, he has only my word that Augustus was such a good husband. He probably believes I would be desperate to escape him or that I have a lover or something.’ The view from the window blurred as tears swam up again. ‘I should order all the curtains drawn and the knocker draped in black.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Jared, someone killed Augustus, the kindest, dearest man.’
She knew that he watched, unmoving as the tears over-spilled, dripping onto the silk of her peignoir. ‘Faith will have trouble removing the marks,’ she said vaguely, scrubbing at her eyes like a tired child. ‘Did he… Would he have suffered? The thought of Augustus alone, in pain and fear in the darkness… It has been growing at the back of my mind like a great black thundercloud. The bedclothes were not much disturbed which gives me some hope.’
‘I think you are correct, but I am not going to speculate, at least, not with you. The less you know about whatever killed him and its effects, the better.’
Guin hesitated over the words, then blurted them out anyway. If she could not be honest with this man, who seemed her only hope of help, who could she trust? ‘I do not want to be afraid. I want to mourn Augustus, to grieve for him, and all I can think of is that I might be suspected of killing him.’
‘I know. Whoever has done this has that to their account as well.’ He turned his head and looked at her, serious, intent. ‘This is not going to be pleasant or easy, but we will fight, and we will win through. But you must play their game, Guinevere. You must let those tears flow, you must keep those intelligent thoughts to yourself. You will send for your lawyer and you will cling to him and be the image of the widow too distressed to think clearly. And you will call me Mr Hunt at all times, in public and in private.’
‘But why?’
‘Because, Lady Northam, it is obvious that I am not a monk, nor am I blind, and Runcorn is looking for a lover in this case. I would be, in his shoes.’
‘And he will think that you and I… That we are – It isn’t just a risk of spiteful Society gossip, the Coroner would believe it as well?’
‘Ridiculous, is it not?’ His smile was rueful, but his eyes held something more than amusement at such a thing. ‘Or perhaps not. I am going to leave now. Give me your lawyer’s direction and I will send him to you and meanwhile you should change, put on mourning and think of your grief, not your fear.’
Guin sat staring at the door for long minutes after it had closed behind Jared. When Faith spoke from the corner of the room she jumped so violently that she dropped her handkerchief. ‘Oh, Faith. I had quite forgotten you were there.’
‘Mr Hunt had not,’ the maid said shrewdly. ‘He meant me to hear what he said to you, which means he trusts me, and I hope you do too, my lady. Shall you get dressed now, before that Coroner comes pestering you with questions again?’
Mr Foster, Augustus’s lawyer, arrived as Guin re-emerged from her apartments dressed in unrelieved plain black. She had met him once or twice before, a man in middle age with a head of greying red hair and wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He had always seemed thoughtful and yet active and she had some confidence in him.
They met in the hallway as Mr Runcorn came down the stairs, Doctor Felbrigg behind him. ‘Ah, Foster, bad business this.’
‘Indeed, Runcorn. I have this moment arrived so I will need time to speak to Lady Northam in private.’
‘No.’ All three men started, as though a statue had spoken instead of the woman they were discussing. ‘Mr Runcorn wishes to have all the facts as soon as possible and I certainly want him to have them. Whoever did this must be found without delay. Let us go into the drawing room, gentlemen.’