by Lisa Campell
A few moments later, a tall, willowy woman with dark grey hair wearing a lilac dress swept into the room. Thomas approached her but was surprised when Margaret Andrews jabbed a finger into his chest hard enough to make him stumble back.
“You know I love you to Heaven and back, Thomas Andrews, but I would appreciate it if you keep your tarts away from me.”
“I beg your pardon?” Thomas started. “I don’t have a…”
“Evelyn Wilson. Again.”
Thomas groaned. Not again. He would be quite happy not to have to deal with that woman ever again. To bother him was one thing, but to approach his mother. Evelyn had to be mad. She knew that Margaret detested her, and Margaret’s patience ran thin very quickly with her.
“What’s she done now?”
“She came up to me while I was taking a walk.” Margaret folded her arms, clearly unhappy. “She started talking to me about how disrespectful my granddaughter is, and how she needs a mother to bring her in or she’s never going to make a good marriage.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her that if my son wanted a mother for his child, he would find one. Then I scolded her for even approaching me as she knows I would not support her suit.” Margaret shook her head. “That woman just doesn’t know when to stop.”
“I figured that out years ago, Mother.” Thomas leaned against the desk and ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe how many times over the last decade I’ve told her to leave me alone and she just keeps coming back.”
“Your grandmother’s words were taken to heart a little too much.”
Thomas growled. “Grandmother shouldn’t have said a word. If she was going to choose someone, she should have picked a woman who wasn’t so unstable.”
Margaret shrugged. “That’s your grandmother all over. I swear she was like Evelyn when she was a young woman.”
That wouldn’t have surprised Thomas. His paternal grandmother had gotten it into her head that she was a matchmaker because she managed to successfully introduce her sister to the man she married. All her other matches were disasters, but Letitia Andrews wouldn’t be swayed on it. Thomas knew that his mother and her mother-in-law had never gotten along because Margaret wasn’t who Letitia had picked out for her son.
Even five years after her death, Thomas still remembered her with shudders. The woman was overbearing, and she had done her best to derail his marriage to Olivia. Thankfully, his late wife had been tougher than he realized and had told her to suck on some lemons before walking away. That had been the most incredible thing Thomas had witnessed before the birth of his daughter.
“I don’t desire her at all.” Thomas shook his head. “The more she bothers me, the more I want to throttle her.”
“I’m sure there’s a line of people who want to do the same.” Margaret looked at the ceiling. She was looking less irate but still exasperated. “She doesn’t seem to be put off by the rumours about you with regards to your temper. It makes me wonder if she started the rumours to make sure no one got close to you.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. Or that she started the rumours about me having an affair with her while we were both still married.”
Thomas hated that rumour. He would never have betrayed his marriage, especially not for a woman like Evelyn Wilson, but some people he came into contact with were under the impression that he was a cad, who didn’t care about anyone else but himself. It hurt him to hear that and know people believed it, but every time Thomas tried to protest and point out that it was wrong it didn’t seem to help. It just made things worse.
He just wished it would stop. He wasn’t a bad-tempered person - or an adulterer, and he wanted to set it right. It was such a shame when people preferred to listen to lies because they were more interesting than the truth.
Chapter Four
“You could call her out on it,” his mother suggested. “If you maybe humiliated her in front of lots of people, you know she doesn’t like being shown up in public.”
Thomas shook his head. “What would be the point in that? She doesn’t listen anyway; it would likely fuel the rumours that I do have a temper.” He ran his hands through his hair. “She makes me want to lose it most days.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t lost it with her. I know I have many times.”
“I don’t need to. Anna does that instead for me.”
Margaret’s mouth twitched in a slight smile. Even though she wouldn’t admit it, Lady Margaret Andrews was proud of her granddaughter for being able to speak out. Thomas had pointed out before that Anna was merely imitating her grandmother, which Margaret denied. But she was pleased about it in private.
“Maybe Anna should be a little nicer.” Margaret unfolded her arms and started to take off her gloves, putting them on the back of the chair by the fire. “I’m getting comments about how outspoken she is, and not just from Lady Wilson.”
“You’ve never been too bothered about it before, Mother.”
“It’s merely a suggestion, Thomas.” Margaret cast a sidelong glance at her son. “I don’t influence you in the slightest.”
“You used to.”
“Not anymore.”
This was true. In the last few years, his mother was certainly more respectful of Thomas’ decisions, and how to deal with Anna. There were a few moments, but she always stepped back when told. Thomas wished his grandmother had done the same thing; the old lady had still been protesting his choices even on her deathbed.
“If Lady Wilson didn’t want Anna to be unkind towards her, she shouldn’t have said what she did about my wife.”
“Point taken.” Margaret sighed and patted her hair with a frown. “Did you hear about Jonathan Hill’s death?”
“Literally two minutes before you arrived.”
“I see.” Margaret paused. “People have been approaching me throughout my walk. Evelyn Wilson wasn’t the only one. They all asked me if you killed Mr. Hill.”
“They what?”
Thomas thought he must have misheard. People were actually approaching his mother with that kind of question?
Margaret nodded.
“I had no idea what they were talking about, so they gleefully filled me in. Nobody seemed to be very apologetic about the fact they were openly asking me about something so awful.”
Thomas was beginning to wish he had grown up into an obscure family where he didn’t have to deal with the nobility. But when your father was the third son of a viscount, and whom had been knighted, that was easier said than done.
“What motive do I have for killing him, Mother? He was the one who had a motive to kill me, not the other way around.”
“I never said I thought you had killed him.”
“But did you even think it for a moment?”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “Thomas, I know you. You’ve lost your patience with patrons who complain about paying you back, but I’ve never doubted you. You wouldn’t kill someone, especially for something so ridiculous as not paying back the money they owe you. However,” she went on, “there are some speculations going around already and I got to hear quite a few of them. One of the things I heard was that you two got into an argument and you roughed him up for not paying you back and it went too far.”
That sounded even more ludicrous. Thomas wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or angry. He snorted and paced away from his desk.
“I can’t believe people would imagine that. Jonathan Hill and I were amicable enough. He was a little annoyed at having to pay me back what he owed, but he knew it was of his own doing.”
“Did you see him last night?”
“Yes, for just a few minutes. We had come to an agreement about what we were going to do about his repayments. He left after shaking my hand and thanking me for being a gentleman about it.”
This felt like a strange dream. It certainly wasn’t what he needed right now. His reputation was meant to be stellar, and because of falsehoods, Th
omas knew he was going to have to deal with even more rumours and speculations.
“What are you going to do now?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it. You know what rumours are like and how quickly they spread.” Thomas pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t matter how much you protest or tell them the truth; people are still going to believe what sounds more interesting.”
Margaret sighed. “I don’t understand why people don’t mind their own business.”
Thomas barked out a laugh. “I beg your pardon, Mother?”
“I’m not going to apologize for that, Thomas.” Margaret certainly didn’t look apologetic. “I do it so I can keep my ear to the ground on what people are saying about my son and granddaughter. I won’t have anyone putting you down.”
That was something. His mother knew the real man. She believed him. That mattered to Thomas. They hadn’t seen eye to eye when he was a young man and living under her roof, but things had improved once he was given a nice cottage on his family estate as a wedding gift. Margaret even admitted that their relationship was better when they weren’t under each other’s feet. They rubbed off on each other in a bad way, and space certainly helped to put them back on equal footing.
One thing Thomas certainly knew about his mother, and this was even before they repaired their relationship, was that Margaret Andrews was like a lioness and very protective of her family. She refused to let anyone talk badly of them if they had done nothing wrong. But if someone close to her messed up, Margaret was the first one to let them have it. Thomas had to admire his mother for not being afraid to step up. She took the role of matriarch very seriously.
He heard the sound of the bell on the front door. Thomas sighed and checked that his waistcoat and jacket were done up properly.
“That’s probably Constable Bowers right now. He wanted to speak to me.”
“Do you want me to wait for you?”
“I’ll be fine. But Anna would appreciate seeing you while I’m speaking to Bowers.”
Margaret nodded and headed towards the door. Then she paused by Thomas and squeezed his arm.
“It’s going to be all right, Thomas. I know it.”
She left the room, and Thomas found himself wishing that he had his mother’s faith in events. He certainly didn’t right now.
“Emilia?”
Emilia rubbed her eyes and looked up. Charlotte was standing in the doorway to Father’s study, watching Emilia with a wary expression. Emilia knew she must look a sight, sitting behind her father’s desk with his papers strewn everywhere. Jonathan Hill wasn’t one for keeping a tidy desk, so searching through it wasn’t easy.
But there had to be something here. It had been five days since Father died, and Emilia couldn’t find anything regarding Thomas Andrews beyond a small collections book with debts marked off as paid. There had to be something. Didn’t he have a secret drawer somewhere or a secret compartment in his study? Emilia hadn’t been able to get into the study much as Uncle Christian had chosen to either stay in the study himself or lock it when he wasn’t around. For some reason, while he was at the funeral the study hadn’t been locked, going in while everyone was partaking of drinks and small talk in the drawing room seemed like a perfect opportunity. Emilia’s aunts had already decided they were going to be the hostesses, in spite the fact Emilia’s father hadn’t spoken to them in years and despised them. Emilia didn’t mind. She preferred to have very little contact with them, and vice versa.
Once she was inside, Emilia looked around. Christian had been adamant that nobody went in here, not even to clear up the mess he had made. It was like he was scared of being discovered.
Emilia wouldn’t be surprised; Christian did have debts bigger than his brother’s, and her father knew about it. He kept records. Had he been looking for something himself?
At least he was being kept busy by other busybody relatives now.
“Charlotte.” Emilia shifted in her chair and smoothed down her skirts. “I thought you’d gone home.”
“I was going to stay here tonight, remember? You wanted me to stay.”
Did she? Then Emilia remembered. She hadn’t wanted to be alone, and Charlotte had been more than happy to stay with her to help with the funeral. At least her closest friend kept Emilia’s other relatives at bay, especially those who were constantly asking about what was going to happen with her father’s estate. Emilia just told them a few choice words, which resulted in Charlotte stepping in and dealing with the demands and probing questions. Emilia was glad about that; she was sure she was going to snap.
Such stupid questions at a time when they should have been mourning a member of their family. Emilia would never understand why anyone would do that. Her father was dead, and they were more concerned about money.
“Oh, right.” Emilia rose to her feet. “I forgot.”
“I can tell.” Charlotte stepped into the study and shut the door. “What are you doing in here? I thought you said you had gone to get some air.”
“I’m looking…”
“What for?”
“Something. Anything.” Emilia gestured at the papers scattered about her father’s desk. A lot of them had ended up on the floor. “I need anything I can get on Thomas Andrews.”
Charlotte folded her arms and frowned. Emilia braced herself for another lecture from her friend. Charlotte had expressed that while Thomas Andrews might have been involved, both she and Peter thought Emilia shouldn’t become obsessed over finding answers. They would come in time, nothing happened at the snap of fingers. But Emilia didn’t want to wait. She needed to know now.
“I thought my husband gave you enough when we first heard about your father.”
“He gave me the version of Andrews that he knows. I need to know more, and from those closer to him.” Emilia swallowed back the hard lump in her throat. “I thought I could find something in Father’s notes. I knew he was in debt to him.”
“And you thought searching around in your father’s desk would help prove that Mr. Andrews is a dangerous man.” Charlotte sounded dubious. “What were you trying to find, may I ask?”
Emilia wasn’t entirely sure. A threatening message, perhaps? Something that indicated that Andrews was a bad man in a diary entry. She knew her father wrote in a diary, had done so since he was a boy, and Emilia had started doing the same when she was a girl. But she had already found his diary by his bed and had read through it. It detailed that her father had the ability to owe money to Drake’s every now and then, but he always managed to pay it back, even if it took a while and he lost more money in the meantime. Every time Andrews was mentioned, it was with a huge amount of respect. Her father liked him.
Emilia wondered how long it had taken to get the wool pulled over Jonathan Hill’s eyes.
“You’re still sure that he murdered your father, aren’t you?”
“Of course, he did. Uncle Christian is certain of it.”
“And your uncle word is reliable? You’ve not taken his word as gospel before, Emilia.”
Uncle Christian was still grumbling about Andrews, and Emilia could see what he was saying made sense. So even when Peter Chambers pointed out that looking for someone to blame for something that might have been an accident was going to hurt her eventually, and Charlotte had protested about looking at all the possibilities, Emilia simply nodded and smiled at them, and then went right back to finding anything she could. She was not to be swayed.
“It happened, Charlotte. I know it.” Emilia turned to her friend. “And I’m going to make sure Thomas Andrews pays for it. I’ve expressed my concerns to Constable Bowers.”
Charlotte stared. “You’re going after him with no proof and just the word of a drunk?”
“Uncle Christian isn’t a drunk.”
“He is, and you’ve complained of it multiple times. I’ve just left him drinking a whisky decanter all by himself.”
Emilia gritted
her teeth. She was torn between crying and getting angry. Why couldn’t her friend be on her side?
Charlotte’s expression was pained as she reached for Emilia’s hands.
“I know you like to throw yourself into things, Emilia, but this is going too far. You’re going to start thinking about things that are not linked and believe that it’s a conspiracy.”
“Don’t patronize me, Charlotte.” Emilia pulled her hands away. “Something happened to my Father, and I want to know what. I know foul play was involved.”
“But sometimes we may not get a proper explanation for something.” Charlotte sighed. “You’re going to have to take a step back and leave it be.”
