The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two(36)

Theo looked ill, Guin thought. And no wonder. His father was dying, his uncle had been murdered and presumably his own debts and whatever trouble they were causing him had not gone away either.

He took the witness chair, clutching his exquisite tall hat as though it was a lifeline. But possibly only someone who knew him well would notice anything amiss, she thought. There were dark shadows under his deep blue eyes, his usually immaculate blond hair looked slightly unkempt, but he was still a striking young man. His gaze flickered in her direction and he sent her a tight smile.

‘I understand you called upon the deceased on the morning before his death, Mr Quenten.’

‘Yes, sir. I came to talk to him about my father, his brother, whose health is very poor. I also wished to consult my uncle on a number of matters.’

‘You were close?’

‘I like to think so. I was very fond of Uncle Augustus and he always made time for me.’

‘And did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary during your visit?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You went directly to your meeting with Lord Northam and then left the house?’

‘I, er…’ Theo’s glance veered towards the waiting witnesses again and then back as though looking to see if anyone would contradict him. ‘No. I had to wait perhaps half an hour before he was able to receive me. Perhaps a little longer. I left immediately after our meeting.’

‘And where did you wait? Was anyone with you?’

‘I was alone in the library.’

‘Very well, you are dismissed. Lady Northam, are you able to return to the witness chair?’





Chapter Twelve


‘Yes, sir.’ Guin found she was quite steady on her feet, although the Duke came to offer his arm as though she was an invalid. Not Jared, she noticed, although she had felt him instinctively gather himself to rise. She only wished she felt as in control of her reactions and actions as he was.

The Coroner took her through all aspects of the box of sweetmeats in exhaustive detail. What she liked and did not like, how long she had been receiving them, who knew about them, why she did not like marchpane.

‘I just do not find it to my taste, sir. It is too sweet. Cloying.’

‘And yet you eat other sweet things? You have established your dislike of marchpane from the beginning?’

‘Well, yes, sir. At least, I never ate those when they were in a box, and Cook knows not to use it in cakes.’ What on earth was he getting at? Established? ‘I did not tell Parmentier’s to omit them until Doctor Felbrigg had warned me that I should reduce the sweet things my husband was eating. Before then Augustus would often help himself to bon-bons from my box. Those were the ones he enjoyed most, so they were the most tempting to him once he had been advised to avoid confectionary for his health.’

‘Can you inform the court how your husband’s will leaves you situated, Lady Northam?’

Guin went through the provisions. ‘I think I have that correctly. My lawyer, who is here, will correct me if I am wrong.’

Mr Foster stood, the perfect image of a solemn family lawyer, his red hair pomaded into submission. ‘I can confirm that while Lady Northam has been left very comfortably provided for, she will not be able to enjoy the standard of living to which she will have become accustomed and that all financial support will cease should she remarry.’ He sat down again and Guin, despite everything, had to hide a smile. Bless him, she thought. He has made it clear that I could not have wanted Augustus dead for the money, at least.

‘Lord Northam was very much your senior. In the natural course of events he would be expected to predecease you by many years. Are there any gentlemen with aspirations to, shall we say, support you in that event, Lady Northam?’

Guin stared at him blankly for a moment the realised what he was asking her. ‘Have I any lovers? Is that your meaning, sir?’ She stood up, shaking more with indignation than anything. ‘Absolutely not. No.’

The Duke was on his feet too, but Mr Runcorn glowered at both of them over his glasses. ‘The question must be asked. Your answer is noted. Kindly resume your seats.’

There were a few innocuous questions to clarify the domestic arrangements and she was allowed back to her place.

Mr Runcorn reached for the clerk’s notes, shuffled them, glanced at them, then handed them back before turning to face the jury. ‘You have viewed the body and have heard it identified as that of Augustus Quenten, Viscount Northam. You have heard Doctor Felbrigg’s evidence, supported by that of his colleague, Doctor Strang, that he died after ingesting a poison, as yet unidentified, which was contained in one or more marchpane sweetmeats from a box in her ladyship’s sitting room. You have heard how these sweetmeats were a regular order and that Lady Northam did not eat marchpane…’

He went on, summarising and organising the evidence without recourse to the notes, and Guin found herself reluctantly admiring his intellect and grasp of the material until he jerked her back to reality by drily recounting the attacks on herself and her own evidence.

‘We have had it established that the attacks upon Lady Northam were inept as attempts at murder. You must therefore now withdraw and decide four things. Firstly, do you agree that the deceased is Augustus Quenten? Secondly, how do you find he met his death? If by poison, say so. If, however, you are uncertain of the means, then that must be stated. Thirdly, do you find accidental death, manslaughter or murder? And if manslaughter or murder, do you identify any person or persons as responsible?’