Part 32 (1/2)
Evangeline turned toward his sister, who immediately closed her eyes.
”Please don't say it.” Lady Hetherington's voice was harsh, scratchy. ”I-I know. I do know. I'm no better than he. I don't think I'm hungry, either. I seem to have lost my appet.i.te.” Her eyes flew open. ”I'm sorry, Miss Pemberton. Forgive me.”
And she struggled to her feet, crossed the floor, and slipped from the room.
Chapter Twenty-Two.
Mr. Teasdale barely made it through the first course before nodding off in his chair. How he could sleep through Benedict Rutherford's hacking cough and Edmund Rutherford's drunken ranting, Evangeline couldn't imagine. Both she and Francine Rutherford kept their eyes focused on their plates, so as to dissuade Edmund from inquiring their opinion as to which of the west wing parlor maids was the fairest.
Unlike Francine, Evangeline made sure to eat everything placed before her. Not only was the fare at Blackberry Manor far superior to any she'd had while living with her stepfather, but also, the future loomed uncertain before her. If she accepted Mr. Lioncroft's offer of a carriage tomorrow-and of course she would, for what else could she do?-she still had no idea where she'd take shelter, much less where she'd get her meals.
On the other hand, she was beginning to think going without would be preferable to spending an hour trapped in a dining room with Edmund Rutherford.
”But the ginger-hackled servant heading toward the guest quarters when the dancing ended the other night,” he was saying now, fixing his bloodshot gaze on Benedict. ”She may be a maid, but she's not a maiden, am I right? Her skirts are as likely to be up as down.”
”I don't know,” Benedict muttered. ”Perhaps we could discuss something else?”
”Those freckles,” he continued as if Benedict hadn't spoken. ”I'd say...comely all right. And when I say 'comely,' I mean in five minutes time, we'd both be-” all right. And when I say 'comely,' I mean in five minutes time, we'd both be-”
Francine's fork clattered to her untouched plate. ”Honestly, Edmund. There are ladies in the room.”
”Pah.” He grinned at her unrepentantly. ”Ladies are so missish. That's why I focus my attention on maids.”
”I didn't notice any maids,” Benedict said in a calming voice, as though hoping to quit the topic before his wife stabbed his cousin with a fork. ”I didn't wander the halls after dancing.”
Evangeline set her utensils atop her plate. ”But you did,” she said slowly, thinking back to that night. Not long after Mr. Teasdale's cane had come clomping by, she'd heard...”Your cough. I heard you coughing from down the corridor.”
”Of course you did,” Edmund slurred. ”The way he coughs, I'm surprised he doesn't rattle the paintings right off the walls. If he was wandering the halls, I'm surprised he didn't run across that maid with the plump set of-”
”If I did,” Benedict cut in, ”I failed to notice. Why would I? I'm married.”
Edmund shrugged. ”I don't see what one thing has to do with the other. Do you, Francine? If I were married, I'd still be sure to hire maids I'd like to-”
”What did did you notice?” Evangeline interrupted, leveling her gaze at Benedict. you notice?” Evangeline interrupted, leveling her gaze at Benedict.
”What?”
”You said you didn't notice any maids, so you must've been looking for something else. Something you didn't want us to know about, or you wouldn't have lied about where you were. Something secret.”
Francine pushed her plate away. ”Have you been keeping secrets from me, darling?”
”I-” Benedict paused, s.h.i.+fted, coughed discreetly into a handkerchief. ”Perhaps I simply had no wish to hear conjecture about my presence and Hetherington's death.”
”Why would anyone speculate on a correlation if you weren't anywhere near him?” Francine asked reasonably.
Benedict didn't answer.
”You argued with him after dancing,” Evangeline guessed. Perhaps she'd unmask the murderer before she left Blackberry Manor, after all! ”You went to his room, you argued with him, and you killed him. Then you blamed the crime on Mr. Lioncroft.”
”I did nothing of the sort,” Benedict snapped. ”He was dead when I got there. He-” Benedict paled, as if shocked by his own words.
”He was dead when you got there?” Evangeline repeated, her voice climbing. ”He was dead when you got there, and you didn't raise the hue and cry?”
”And be thought a murderer?”
Francine recoiled from her husband. ”What were you doing in his bedchamber?”
”I went to confront him,” Benedict admitted after a moment. ”But like I said, I didn't get the chance.”
Edmund swirled his wine. ”Confront him about what?”
Benedict hesitated, then turned to his wife. ”I didn't want you to know,” he said, ”but we're in a bit of a financial state.”
She blinked garishly painted eyelids. ”We are?”
He nodded glumly. ”Hetherington had been giving me an allowance ever since he a.s.sumed the t.i.tle, and just this month he cut it off. Permanently, he said.” Benedict coughed into the crook of his elbow. ”Our estate didn't turn a profit this year. We needed that money. He refused. Just that morning, he-he laughed when I asked him again for the money. Shook his head, and laughed. At me. His brother.”
Evangeline stared at him across the table. ”Then why visit him again at night? What would be any different?”
”I would be different. I-I'm not proud of it, but I planned to force his hand.” would be different. I-I'm not proud of it, but I planned to force his hand.”
Francine's eyes widened. ”How?”
Benedict grimaced. ”I took a pistol with me. I wasn't going to kill him! The thing wasn't even loaded. I just wanted to show him I was serious. That now was not the time to be high-handed and miserly. And when I saw him there, I...I didn't know what to do. I froze for a moment, and then I ran. I couldn't call for help while standing there with a pistol in my hand. Who would've believed I hadn't harmed him?”
Edmund swirled his winegla.s.s. ”I'm not sure I do now. After all, you inherited.”
”I didn't kill him,” Benedict insisted. ”Would I have just confessed the truth of that night if I'd killed him?”
”We do believe you.” Francine placed her hand atop his. ”You may have been desperate, but you will always be a man of honor.”
”If he was alive when he left Mr. Lioncroft's office and dead in his chamber when you arrived,” Evangeline reasoned, ”someone else wanted him dead. Someone else visited his chamber and suffocated him with a pillow.”
”Perhaps Lioncroft came by to continue their argument,” Francine suggested. ”He's always had an unpredictable temper.”
”No.” Evangeline shook her head. ”Someone else.”
Edmund gulped at his wine. ”The French tutor?” he suggested. ”Surely that chap was less than happy to have the object of his affection betrothed to another.”
Evangeline considered that idea for a moment. ”While I agree that prospect-and being sacked-might have given Monsieur Lefebvre a strong motive, he's not even here. He would've had to journey a full day's ride, sneak unnoticed inside Blackberry Manor, determine the precise location of Lord Hetherington's bedchamber...It makes no sense.”
”Might he have bribed a servant?” Francine asked. ”After all, he was something of a servant himself. He might have befriended someone.”
”It's possible.” Evangeline didn't find the idea particularly likely, but she was willing to support any theory that saved Mr. Lioncroft from the gallows. If her dinner companions were at last willing to entertain alternate explanations, surely that meant they could be convinced of his innocence.
Francine rose to her feet, one hand on her stomach. ”I think I need to lie down.”