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The longer I lay in my bed that night pondering the puzzle, the more I began to toy with the notion that his lordship himself might have set the theft of his wife’s jewels into motion. Based on what Hannah had divulged to me, that it was Lady Medley’s fortune that had salvaged the estate, could Lord Medley have grown weary of being beholden to his wife for all and sundry and was now attempting to find a way to siphon some of his wife’s funds for his own use?
The facts surrounding his lordship’s past had also begun to gnaw at me. For instance, before he and Lady Medley wed, was the titled gentleman completely without funds? Judging from the size of the estate that bore his name, he must have sprung from wealth, or, at least, a modicum of it. If so, what had become of the riches that dictated he must wed an heiress in order to restore the estate and the grand home left to him by his parents? Thinking back to the stories Lord Medley’s elderly sister, Miss Martha, had relayed to me, she had certainly enjoyed a privileged upbringing, had had a London Season and several dukes, even a prince, courting her.
It also seemed odd that his lordship did not know the extent of his own wealth, or even, his wife’s wealth. Exactly what did he really intend doing with the valuable objects in the house, the fine paintings and rare books I was cataloguing? Did he truly mean to set them aside for safekeeping, or was he merely attempting to separate his own possessions from those that belonged to his wife because he was contemplating the act of setting her aside? Divorce in England was uncommon yes; and I had heard it was also quite complicated, even requiring an act of Parliament to implement, but . . . it did happen. So, was Lord Medley so keen to put aside his wife that he would stoop to stealing from her in order to provide himself with a way to gain his freedom without giving up all of his, or rather, her, fortune?
If that were the case, and Lord Medley had conceived the plan to make off with his wife’s valuables . . . I let my imagination run on a bit . . . his lordship would also require an accomplice. The costly jewels were taken whilst he and Lady Medley were up to London for the coronation. Which dictated that someone here at the estate had to know of his plan to steal his wife’s valuable jewels, and would also explain why he had made a point of refusing to allow her to take them up to Town and instead insisted she leave the genuine articles behind.
Thinking further in that vein, I knew of only one other person who could have colluded with Lord Medley and that was his mistress, Mrs. Bertram. She did not go up to London with her employers and more so than any of the other servants, had free access to her ladyship’s bedchamber for the entire time his Lord and Ladyship were away. She was also free to enter Miss Martha’s bedchamber at any time of day or night.
But . . . I inhaled a weary breath. Something about my convoluted theory did not seem plausible. The pair might be committing a sin against God and his marriage vows and also against poor Lady Medley, but . . . if Lord Medley truly wanted all of his wife’s wealth for himself, why did he not simply kill her and be done with it? Given his wretched temper, I could more easily believe him capable of murder than of conceiving a complicated notion to steal her jewelry and then remove it from the house in order to sell it on the sly. Besides, if he were simply in need of sufficient funds to divorce his wife, the bald truth is, by the time he dispatched all the legal obligations required to do so, he’d be left with precious little from the sale of the baubles, no matter how costly they were at the outset. Then where would he be? In want of funds once again, that’s where.
* * *
BECAUSE MY THOUGHTS remained in a tangle, I slept fitfully that night and awoke earlier than usual the following morning. Rather than ring for Tilda to come up, I continued to lie abed, going over and over in my mind all I knew regarding the contradictory pieces of the puzzle.
The notion that Isabella . . . with the help of Boyd the gardener, who quite possibly supplied her either with the knowledge of the poisonous rhubarb leaves, or with the leaves themselves . . . had brought about the death of Miss Martha, made far more sense to me than any other theory my tortured mind had conjured up. Isabella was in dire need of funds, both to save her family who were languishing in debtor’s prison, and also to save herself from penury. That Miss Martha, who may have been blind but was not entirely dim-witted, could have noticed, or out-right observed, even with her diminished eyesight, Isabella stashing the stolen jewels inside the valise in her clothespress, and then confronted the girl regarding her odd actions made far more sense to me.
Fearing reprisal, or even death, should Miss Martha make good on a possible threat to expose Isabella to her brother, or his wife, would provide the girl with a strong motive for murder. Believing she had no choice but to permanently silence the old lady before removing the cache of stolen gemstones from her wardrobe seemed a plausible scenario to me.
However, did the fact that I inadvertently uncovered the stash sooner than Isabella planned mean that things had come to a head far quicker than she intended? That thought caused an ocean of regret to wash over me. That I had unwittingly had a hand in Miss Martha’s demise by simply discharging the task I had been assigned to perform here at Medley Park was too dreadful to bear. If I had uncovered the jewels before luncheon instead of after, would the dear old lady still be alive? Unbidden tears gathered in my eyes and rolled down the side of my cheek. Sniffing, I wiped away my tears with the sleeve of my night rail.
I truly owed it to Miss Martha to uncover her killer. I simply had to bring her killer to justice! I had to!
* * *
TUESDAY, 14 AUGUST 1821
Whilst working in the library that morning, I suddenly wondered if Hannah had confided to Isabella the truth regarding her being the sole heir to the estate? It was plain to see that Isabella had set her sights on marrying one of the Medley Park brothers, but was she aware that to marry either one of them would not mean she would, from that day forward, enjoy financial freedom and at some point, even become Lady Medley? Which would only come about if she wed Ned, who, although he would not inherit the estate, would still be the one to inherit his father’s title. Was Isabella aware of all the complicated facets of his inheritance, I wondered?
I also could not help wondering if Cecil and Ned knew the whole truth of the matter? Of course they were aware which one of them was the first-born son and would be the one to inherit the title, but what of their mother’s fortune? Both sons’ actions indicated they were unaware of the whole truth, but could it all be a ruse? Yet, if they did know the truth, did they think that Hannah, the true heir, could be manipulated into turning her fortune over to one of them, or perhaps, sharing it with them, when the time came?
I could not very well ask questions of Cecil regarding such a sensitive matter. The topic of the Medley Park inheritance truly was none of my affair and would certainly be perceived as overstepping the bounds. But, since Hannah had broached the subject with me, I could probe a bit deeper into the matter with her.
I determined to do so.
* * *
TUESDAY EVENING . . .
That night after dinner in the drawing room, I watched and waited for an opening to speak privately with the sweet dark-haired girl. She looked especially pretty tonight in a gown of flowing lemon-yellow silk festooned with lace flowers on the bodice. Dressed thusly in London, she would look as if she were about to attend a fashionable dinner party, as opposed to a quiet dinner in the country with her family.
Isabella, on the other hand, looked very much the same as she did every night; wearing a non-descript gown in a shade of non-descript blue that I had seen her wear numerous times over. Now, tonight, the very moment I saw her rise and abandon Hannah’s side in order to glide nearer to Ned, he twirling a goblet of brandy in one hand as he rather broodingly gazed into a bed of white ash on the floor of the hearth, it being too warm tonight to have a fire going, I hastened to make my move.
“I wonder if I might have a private word with you, Hannah?”
Glancing up, the pretty child’s countenance brightened. “Oh, please, do sit down, Miss Abbott. I mean, Oui! S’il vous plait!”
I laughed. “I see you have been practicing your French. Très bon!”
“Was my French truly ‘very good’, Miss Abbott? I am so pleased to have learned even a little. Mother will be quite surprised when one day, quite soon, I hope, I shall reply to a question she poses to me in that language.” Smiling with pleasure, Hannah scooted closer to my side. “I have not yet told Mother that you have been helping Isabella and me with our French. Given that Miss Hutchens is still away, would it be all right if Isabella and I come to the library again tomorrow for another lesson?”
“Only if your mother agrees to it.” I smiled.
“But I do not want to tell her what we are doing!”
“Well, then, you must tell her you are coming to the library to search for another book to read.”
Hannah’s face fell. “I fear I am not the least bit clever at fabricating.” Her expression suddenly brightened. “I know! I shall have Isabella provide Mama with an excuse! Isabella is especially clever at telling falsehoods. I confess I am often astonished at how quickly she can think up a lie and make it sound better than the truth!”
“Can she now?” My ears perked up. “What sorts of things does Isabella . . . lie about?” I cast a glance towards the top of the room where Isabella appeared to still be deep in conversation with Ned. Of late, I had begun to easily tell the twin brothers apart. At the moment, Cecil and his father were continuing with a discussion they had begun over dinner in regard to estate business; a topic to which Ned had contributed nothing, so it was quite clear now that it was not he Isabella was conversing with.
“I shall tell you one thing I am quite certain of . . .” Hannah’s chin jutted upward, her eyes also fastened on the young lady about whom we were speaking. “Isabella is forwarding a falsehood to me regarding her feelings for Ned. Just look at her now. What might they be speaking of? And what was she so anxious to tell him yesterday that caused her to run from the library into the courtyard to confide in him, and then disappear from sight on his arm?” She paused. “Something secretive is going on between the pair of them, and yet to me, she disputes there is anything the least bit out of the ordinary. I do not believe her, Miss Abbott. I am certain Bella is lying to me, even though I’ve no proof of it. The truth is, she does not care a fig for Ned; yet, there she stands, flirting shamelessly with him as if she adores him.”
I could think of nothing to say to that, although I did file away the information as being . . . interesting. More and more I was coming to believe that Isabella was guilty of a good bit more mischief than shamelessly flirting with Ned, although like Hannah, I had no proof of anything.
Instead, I said, “I wonder, if you have confided to Isabella the truth of your . . .” I lowered my voice to a level that only she could hear. “That you are the rightful heir to Medley Park?”
Hannah drew back, her blue eyes widening. “Indeed, not! I have said nothing to her! I have told no one save you, I swear it.”
“Oh, you mustn’t swear, my dear. I rather expect Miss Hutchens’ would reprimand you quite roundly for . . . swearing.”
Hannah giggled. “It has been so very pleasant these past several days without Miss Hutchens about. I wish you were my governess, Miss Abbott.” She paused. “Or better still, I wish you were my sister!” She tossed a hopeful glance towards Cecil. “Shall I ask Cecil to come and sit with us?”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “He and his father appear to be discussing something quite important. I should not wish to disturb them.”
“Well, I do not mind disturbing them!” Springing to her feet, she hurried across the room to where her father and brother stood conversing.
My cheeks reddened as I watched Hannah blithely interrupt the gentlemen’s solemn discussion. When her delicate finger motioned towards me, my eyes squeezed shut and my head shook. When I looked back up, both Hannah and Cecil were headed my way.
“Good evening, Miss Abbott. Hannah tells me you wish to speak with me.”
And, dear, sweet Hannah had only just declared to me that she was not the least bit clever at fabricating! Not true, thought I as the gentleman sat down beside me and I pasted a smile upon my lips.
“Shall we take a turn about the room?” he asked of a sudden, his expression all delight. “I fear it is still drizzling outdoors or I would suggest we take a turn about the courtyard.”
“Very well.” I flung a speaking look at Hannah, who now wore a satisfied look upon her pretty face. Saying nothing, she made a small shooing motion with one hand; then turned to seek out her mother, who sat on a nearby sofa, her gaze fastened upon her needlework.
Cecil reached to boldly drape my hand over his arm and led me toward the bank of windows on the opposite side of the room. “So, what might you have of import to tell me, Miss Abbott? I confess I have stayed quite busy with estate business the past sen’night and have had little to no time to think of anything else. But, make no mistake,” he grinned, “there is method to my madness.”
I chose not to question the young man’s oblique remark as I gazed pleasantly up at him. He looked quite smart tonight in dark trousers and a black coat, the cravat at his throat tied into a complicated knot. “The truth is, Mr. Ruston, I have absolutely nothing of import to report to you tonight. I fear your sister is merely anxious to . . . I believe Hannah wishes that we . . . I am so sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir.” I paused.
“Rubbish. To speak with you, Miss Abbott, is never an inconvenience!”
“Now that I think on it, I do have a question for you.”
His expression brightened. “Very well, then?”
I flung a quick glance towards the top of the room where Isabella and Ned still had their heads together. Believing that Cecil and I were well out of earshot of them, and everyone else within the cavernous room, I nonetheless lowered my voice to little more than a whisper. “Do you believe that your brother now . . . fancies Miss Isabella?”
Cecil’s dark head also jerked that direction. “Now that you mention it, certain things do rather point to that being the case. She seemed especially anxious to ride home with him following services on Sunday last. And he did not object. Then, only yesterday, I spotted the pair of them walking together when I returned home from my ride to inspect the new fences. And, look at them now. They appear to be quite engrossed in one another.”
Rather than voice any one of my growing concerns regarding a possible conspiracy between the two, I instead asked, “Would it be possible for you to put a question to your brother, innocently, of course, to ascertain his thoughts on the matter?”
Nodding, Cecil’s brows drew together. “I say, are you thinking there might be . . . that the pair of them might have . . .?”
I exhaled a tight breath. “To say truth, sir, a certain . . . theory has begun to take shape in my mind. However, I do not yet have sufficient . . . evidence to . . . I dare not speak of it just yet. It is far too soon. I need more in the way of . . . facts in order to be certain. For now, the bulk of my notion is mere conjecture. Please say nothing to your father. I shouldn’t want . . .”
“No, no, of course not. I shall say nothing to anyone. Rest assured, Miss Abbott, I do know when it is prudent to remain silent. I shall, indeed, draw Ned out. If there is something afoot between them, I am, indeed, the one to ferret it out. I do take pride in being tolerably well-informed, you know. Quite wise to gather the facts before accusing anyone.” He nodded. “Quite wise, indeed.”
* * *
WEDNESDAY, 15 AUGUST 1821
The following morning, I was surprised to discover that a note had been slipped beneath my bedchamber door during the night. Given what had transpired in the past fortnight since I arrived at Medley Park, I own the contents of the hastily scribbled note did somewhat disturb me. However, given that the message was unsigned, I had no clue how to respond, or even who to confront. Which meant, I now had several more questions to put to . . . someone.