“That’s possible,” David admitted. “Still—”
“He underestimates you. What if you were to goad him into admitting his guilt, under circumstances that would let him feel certain he could do so—alone, just the two of you—so that it would be your word against his if you were to accuse him to anyone else?”
“But that would be useless,” Amelia objected. “It would be just that—his word alone—and Father would side with Ronald to avoid a scandal. What good would a confession to Davy do, other than make him the next target?”
“Quite a lot, perhaps...if someone else were to overhear the conversation. Ourselves, for instance—then we could testify in support..” His eyes met David’s. “Though it would be better still if we were able to enlist a disinterested third party such as Dr. Fiske, or the Vicar.”
“Not Peter Newkirk,” David said. “He’s dependent on my father for the living. He might do it, if he had only himself to consider, but he mentioned to me that his wife has just given him a son. I’d hate to set his conscience against his sense of duty to his own family.”
Will nodded. “Very well, then. What about the doctor?”
“If we can find him and bring him here without anyone the wiser? Possibly. But how? No, I think your idea might work—and damn me if I don’t want to see if I can get him to admit it—but I do not see how we’ll get an objective witness.”
“Perhaps Jane?” Amelia suggested.
“No. She’s known to dislike Ronald, she is your dear friend and people would, I am certain, believe she would lie to support you—” He saw her brows draw together and said hastily, “No, Lia, I don’t believe she would, not in something this serious—but more to the point, she’s as dependent on Father as Newkirk is. Perhaps if Gilliam were at home, or if you could persuade Anne—but I don’t see how Anne could keep still if she heard us arguing. Who does that leave? Mama and Genie, and I’d never expose either of them to anything like that. It would be bad enough for them to hear third-hand.”
“The one who needs to hear it is Father,” Amelia said. “He must face the truth.”
“Don’t waste your time trying to convince him,” David advised her. “He’ll have none of it.”
“It will be bad enough for everyone in your family,” Will said soberly. “The only good that can possibly come out of this is that your family—particularly your father—will be will be safe. How long do you think he’ll live if Ronald grows impatient for the position to which he considers himself entitled?”
Amelia said nothing. David said, “Not long. The first chance he has to arrange an accident, once you and I have left the place.”
“That’s how I see it,” Will said. “If you undertake to pry a confession out of your brother and succeed, we shall be honor-bound to act. If you choose not to try, he has won.”
“And if I try and fail?”
“There is still the Coroner. We can turn what evidence we have over to the Crown and hope that justice will prevail. But I am certain you would succeed. He’s not afraid of you, Davy—and he should be.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Earl of Grenbrook ran his estate in an orderly way, and that sense of order extended to the arrangement of his home. His own office adjoined a small library where his personal reference books and the records of the estate were kept, some of them dating back more than a century. On the other side of that library was another room that he had set aside as Mark’s office.
David Archer stood at the far end of the hall, as tense as the moment before an enemy ship came into range. The door latches were in good working order; he had checked them the night before and knew that Will and Amelia could pass silently from his father’s office and into the library, where they would be able to overhear what occurred in the other room. Will had wondered if he should be armed; David had advised against it, but he now wondered if he’d been foolish to do so.
He really didn’t have much faith in their plan. But he had nothing better to offer, and he knew that as soon as the Earl found a way to remove him and Will from the house without upsetting his wife, they would have lost the last chance to settle this without dragging the family into the harsh light of scandal.
At least Ronald had been intrigued enough—or perhaps nervous enough—to agree to this meeting. Perhaps he was not as confident as he seemed.
It was time to stop stalling. He had to keep the hall clear for a few moments, in case Ronald looked out to be sure they were alone. Will and Amelia would not make their move until he’d been inside for a full minute.
It took all his resolution to make his feet move down the hall, but as he laid his hand upon the doorknob, he was pleased that it did not tremble.
“Good afternoon, Ronald.”
“It is indeed.” Ronald sat in his elder brother’s chair as though it had always been his by right. “All the questions are settled at last. What was it you wanted to tell me, little brother?”
“That you have not been nearly as clever as you think.”
“Oh, but I have.” He waved a hand at the well-furnished room. “I have been playing the good boy for days now, listening to endless drivel about crop rotation and the bloodlines of cattle, being drilled on the names and occupations of a herd of faceless peasants. I ought to be congratulated.”
“You ought to be arrested,” David said, enjoying the startled look that erased Ronald’s smirk. “I know you killed Mark. I know where, and I know how.”
Ronald managed a convincing laugh. “That’s nonsense.” He rose suddenly and darted first to the door of the library, then to the hall door. “Alone? You’re braver than I thought.” Returning to his chair, he leaned back a little. “And more stupid.”
“You were seen in the village shortly before Mark’s death—long before you officially arrived home.”
“So you say. I’d love to see you prove it. In any case, there were plenty of people in the village before his death. Are they all murderers?”
Will and Amelia should be in the next room by now. David heard nothing, but he knew he could rely upon them. “Did any of the others hope to gain what you did? Did anyone else lie to conceal his presence? You chose your accomplice unwisely, though. She could not resist bragging to me that she had seen you here before you made yourself known. You were a little tardy there, Ronald. How was it you let her live so long?”
“If we were speaking hypothetically—”
“Which we are not—”
“Isn’t it obvious? The opportunity to dispense with that risk could only occur when her father was away for the night. But really, is it so surprising that I would take my time in returning to this stifling den of respectability?” He shook his head. “Sorry, little brother. Prior to announcing my presence, I took a few days to visit an old acquaintance who was inclined to be obliging, for a price. And while I’d prefer not to flaunt my conquests in the bosom of my family, I think you overreach yourself in concluding that I’m guilty of fratricide.”
David refused to be drawn in to the response. “You and your ‘acquaintance’—though I hardly think you brought her along—left a spill of gunpowder in the gazebo near the site where Mark was killed.”
Ronald snorted. “Is that all? If you hope to convince Father that I’ve done the heinous deed by showing him a pinch of powder and claiming it’s mine, what makes you think he would ever believe you?”
“The attempted ambush when Captain Marshall and I rode back from the village, perhaps. Your boots were beautifully shined when you finally came home, but there were deep scratches beneath the polish. Poor James was beside himself trying to imagine how you did such damage. But we know, don’t we?”
With a lazy smile, Ronald said,
“I
know. You can only conjecture.”
“And that long absence between the time of Mark’s death and your appearance here, following your lie about your whereabouts? We can prove that your commanding officer gave you leave to come home, and no matter how fond you were of your paramour, you might have at least gone to the funeral. Where were you then?”
“Ah, that. I was so crushed by the news that I drank myself insensible, and was too ashamed to show my face the next day.”
It was like trying to make a dent in a bowl of water. For every accusation, Ronald had a plausible answer. David began to despair that he’d ever get an honest response. “Is it worth it, Ronald? Four lives gone, one of them your own brother—and for what?”
“For money and power, of course—the money, mainly. What else is there?”
“Quite a lot—but you’ve never been aware of anything else, have you?”
He laughed again. “You are a pathetic little worm, David. You always have been—and now you’ve added lying to your sins, as I’m sure our father will inform you if you should be stupid enough to tell him these stories.”
Ronald sounded so sure of himself that David wondered for a moment if he actually believed what he was saying. “Lying? Why would I lie about such things?”
“No doubt for the same reason you claim I murdered Mark.” At David’s genuine puzzlement, he went on, “because then you would be the heir—”
Oh, no.
David went numb and cold.
He’s right. My God, he’s right.
He hardly heard Ronald rattle on, “And a hero besides. You’ve apparently had a taste of that, and I’m sure you like it better than being the runt of the litter. But you’ve no reason to think Pater would believe you—” he stopped, staring at David, and laughed again. “You told him, didn’t you? You little fool! Did you think it would do you any good?”
David shrugged, letting his brother mistake the reason for his stunned silence. He took a breath and said, “Not really. I had hoped.... But I’ve decided that if he’s fool enough to take your word—”
“Of course he is. Respectability must triumph at all costs. How could you make such a shocking accusation? Our father would strike you down rather than let you utter it in public—even if he knew it to be true. ‘Don’t you know what that would do to your mother?’”
That last was delivered in such perfect imitation of the Earl’s tones that David wanted to smash his fist into his brother’s smug grin. But he mastered the anger, dropped his eyes, let his shoulders slump. “There is that, isn’t there? The suspicion is too terrible to entertain. And I expect a good appearance matters more than the truth.”
“Of course it does. Hasn’t it always?”
“And you’ve always been such a plausible liar, haven’t you, Ronald? But tell me, brother dear—just between us, since I’ve no hope of ever proving it—
did
you kill Mark?”
The smirk broadened, and with a thrill of horror David saw the conscienceless killer look out of his brother’s eyes. “Just between us, Davy-my-boy? Yes, I did. It was so surprisingly easy, I wish I’d done it years ago. What’s more, if you don’t go back to your nice little ship, go back to sea and stay there...I’ll kill you, too.”
“That is
enough!”
The door from the library slammed open, and the Earl of Grenbrook strode into the room, his face suffused with fury and his eyes fixed on the face of his son and heir. Will and Amelia hovered in the doorway behind him, clearly uncertain of their next move.
The Earl spared a glance for his youngest son, who stood frozen in astonishment. But all he had to say was, “Out.” As Ronald made to follow, he said,
“Sit.”
David left the room as quickly as he could, and the library door slammed behind him as Amelia rushed into his arms. A key turned in the lock.
“Oh, Davy, you did it—thank God! But, dear heaven, how horrible. I never wanted to believe it!”
David patted his sister’s shoulder absently, meeting Will’s eyes. “Neither did I,” he said. “Neither did I.” And it was the truth; he had not wanted to believe it, even though he had known for certain, known from the start. “Lia, how on earth did you convince him?”
“I didn’t have to convince him,” she said. “I only asked him to come with us. He had been outside early this morning, Davy, looking at the garden bed beneath the ivy. I asked him to give me five minutes, in Mark’s memory. He said he would humor me, but I believe he had been thinking about what you told him yesterday.”
“What now?” Will asked, pragmatic as ever.
David tried to think over the sound of violent argument that filtered through the heavy door. “The hallway,” he said. “Even if he’s locked that door, a servant might pass Mark’s study. We should keep this private, if we can.”
“Private?” Will said as they crossed through the library and out into the hall. “Davy, it’s murder. How can you keep something like murder
private?”
Will’s voice was low and David appreciated it, but he did not want to voice the half-formed fear that filled his mind. He pushed it away with words. “He will not turn a blind eye to this, Will. He loved Mark—more than Ronald, certainly more than me. The family’s future was my father’s whole purpose, and Mark was that future.”
“But to conceal—”
“He will not conceal it.” Amelia had gone pale. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “He could not.”
Meeting her eyes, David saw that her mind was running in the same direction as his own. He turned to Will. “There will be no question of that. My father is the local magistrate, remember. He would not conceal such a crime, no matter who committed it.”
The argument in the study had subsided, the voices lowered to a murmur.