Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [42]
Was the sober young Earl the sort to dally with a lady's maid, and think no more of it than he might a morning's ride to the hounds? Many a woman has attempted to place her foot upon the neck of a man she loved in vain, or hated for just cause, whether that neck be stations above her or no. When I considered Fitzroy Payne, however, I could not imagine him causing such injury. What I have seen of that gentleman's conduct is irreproachable. His temper is always held in check, despite the absurdities of his nearest relations; his words reveal nothing but a fine understanding and the exercise of good sense. In general, Fitzroy Payne is so far removed from what is base in human nature, that I should think him guilty of the grossest duplicity, were I to discover him prey to vice. But I must needs discover it, if vice there be. Marguerite should surely have good cause for revenge against Isobel if she felt herself ill-used by Payne.
And if the maid's motive is nothing less than a desire to expose murder?
Such a powerful aim would seem necessary to drive a girl of the islands from the security of Scargrave in the midst of an English winter. If this be the force that moves her, then it cannot be denied that she believes murder to have been done. It is but a moment's leap to say that Marguerite is convinced Frederick was dispatched by his wife's hand, in concert with Payne's—and her anonymous letters are written from the purest of motives.
If the maid's desire is to expose Isobel, rather than blackmail her, then my faith in my friend might be profoundly shaken. But I am not so lightly possessed of friendship. Marguerite must be in error, however firmly she believes herself in the right; and my object now must be to put my finger upon the killer.
I raised my head and sniffed the wintry air, revelling in its power to clear my senses. The disposition of Isobel's trouble seemed, in that instant, to be the subject of only a few hours. I drove my hands more deeply into my muff, the better to warm them, and took up the matter once more.
If not Fitzroy Payne, if not Isobel—then whom? The villain must be an intimate of the household, and was hardly likely to be a servant; another member of the family, or Lord Harold, was all that remained to me.
Harold Trowbridge I could readily cast in the role of murderer. He had the resolve, the ruthless aspect, and the motivation—for the late Earl had stood between him and his acknowledged goal, the acquisition (at a pittance) of Isobel's West Indies estates. Intent that Trowbridge should not secure her birthright, the Countess had implored her husband's protection; and by all appearances, the late Earl had been empowered and inspired to settle all her financial troubles. In favour of Lord Harold's guilt, I noted that Frederick's death occurred the very night of Trowbridge's arrival at Scargrave— the night that gentleman was summoned to the Earl's library for an interview, the conduct of which we knew nothing. Had it provoked Trowbridge to such violence that he poisoned the Earl's wine—drained to the dregs but a few moments before poor Frederick's fatal indisposition?
Yet, I reminded myself, I had no proof that Trowbridge in fact met with the Earl the night of the ball—the interview I myself overheard was between the Earl and Mr. George Hearst. Nor could I assert that Trowbridge possessed any poison, nor that he had administered it; and he was certainly not the man to let slip anything to his disadvantage.
In fairness to the scoundrel, however, I should as readily consider the motivations of others. It was but an instant's work to turn from a purported interview in the Earl's library to the one I had in fact overheard—an interview marked, by the evidence of my own