“I should say there is, mum, though I wouldn’t know what for. But they’re tearing through the east wing and the drawing rooms and the rooms in the old tower and rearranging the portraits and the closets as if the king himself lost his crown and couldn’t find it.” The young woman shook her head in disbelief. “Anyway, I’m thinking Mrs. MacAlister shan’t be having time to even scratch her head while the place is turned upside down.”
“And you have no idea what the reason might be for all the activity?”
The servant hesitated, then looked about her and lowered her voice. “We hear his lordship laid down the law this morning.”
“The law?”
“Aye, m’lady. We hear he was not pleased that the last Lady Aytoun’s things were still about. He said to have everything of hers plucked out and thrown away. He says he has no wish to see anything around Baronsford that reminds him of his old wife.”
They were at the top of the stairs, and Millicent’s gaze was drawn to the place where Emma’s portrait had been hanging the day before. It was gone now, and other paintings had been shuffled about to fill the space.
Uncertainty mixed with a touch of guilt washed through her. She needed to talk to him—to ask why he had given such directions. Last night Millicent had felt that they had successfully passed through an important threshold in their marriage. It had been so wonderful to speak one’s mind, to say what the heart was feeling.
Millicent started down the steps. “Please tell Mrs. MacAlister I’d be delighted to speak to her this afternoon.”
At the bottom, the servant disappeared into another section of the house, and Millicent asked one of the doormen if either Mr. Truscott or Howitt were around. She was told that the earl’s secretary had gone with his lordship into the village this morning, but that Mr. Truscott was in the courtyard at this very instant, ready to ride out himself.
Millicent hurried out and found him there, giving instructions to one of the grooms.
“Good morning, Walter. May I ride to the village with you?”
The tall Scotsman brought the head of his horse around.
“Of course, Millicent. And good day to you. I shall have a carriage made ready at once.”
“No, I should like to ride along, if it is all the same to you.”
“As you wish, mum.” He nodded to the groom, who ran off to have a horse brought up.
“I was wondering,” Millicent started again, determined to speak her mind. “Would it be too much out of our way if we were to ride by the cliffs overlooking the river? I should very much like to see where the accident happened.”
*****
Platt was beginning to feel like a criminal being led to the dock. He was led by two footmen from the carriage in the courtyard to the door where three liveried servants who took his coat and hat and gloves and escorted him to a giant Highlander who glowered down at him with open hostility. This Mr. Gibbs, as he was addressed, said nothing, but gestured with a jerk of the head for the lawyer to follow. With the three servants flanking him, Platt hurried to keep up with the man.
This was not Platt’s first visit to Melbury Hall. Some four years ago, while Squire Wentworth had still been alive, the lawyer had come here on business on behalf of Jasper Hyde. The cordial reception he’d received that day was far different from the one he was getting now.
“Ye’ll keep to the point,” the Highlander growled over his shoulder as he marched Platt through the house. “Ye will speak only when ye are asked to speak, and ye will hold your tongue and listen otherwise. D’ye understand?”
“My word,” Platt huffed. “I cannot say but I take grave exception to such rude—”
Gibbs whirled on the lawyer, bending and glaring into his face. “I care naught for your exception or your grave, but ye will hold your tongue. D’ye understand?”
“Indeed! Indeed, sir,” Platt spluttered, feeling his face redden with fear.
The lawyer fought to calm his nerves. Perspiration was forming on his brow, and when the Highlander finally turned away, Platt quickly mopped his forehead with his sleeve. He knew he should stop right there and thoroughly upbraid the insolent servant for his rude and barbaric manner, but the man was a Scot, after all, and what could one expect?
“See here, sir. I do need to know one thing.”
Gibbs said nothing.
“I know Lady Aytoun is in Scotland. With whom am I speaking today?”
“The Dowager Countess Aytoun. And she will receive ye in the drawing room.” He opened the door and Platt hurried by him. “Mr. Platt, mum.”
The lawyer’s confidence immediately returned as he looked upon the frail old woman who was sitting with a blanket on her lap on one of the cushioned chairs. Two young serving maids fluttered about the room. This he could handle.
Lady Aytoun looked over the spectacles perched on the end of her nose and studied him. “Mr. Platt?”
“Your servant, m’lady,” he said with a deep bow.
“How kind of you to accept my request that you delay this meeting.”
Platt had not thought he had much choice.
“With my daughter-in-law already en route to Scotland,” the old woman said in a meek voice, “and I somewhat under the weather, if you will excuse the expression, I was certainly not ready to receive any company before.”
“I perfectly understand, m’lady.”
“Now, please do ntand by the door, sir.” She pointed to a chair facing her. “Come and sit here, where I can see you without getting a pain in my neck.”
Platt crossed the floor and took the proffered seat.
“The rest of you may leave.” She waved at her maids. “You too, Mr. Gibbs.”
“I should prefer to stay, mum.”
“Why, there is no reason, Mr. Gibbs. This gentleman appears to be quite trustworthy to me. You may leave us.”
“If ye insist, m’lady.”
Platt cast a haughty look at the ape as he turned to leave. While everyone departed, he made a quick survey of the room. Sunny and quite comfortable. A lovely room. Not very long ago, he had found himself taken with Melbury Hall. In fact, if not for the old woman’s meddling, he might have made Millicent an offer for the place. He could have picked it up for a trifle in return for paying off everything she owed to Jasper Hyde.
Indeed, he thought, eyeing the beautiful woodwork and furnishings. This manor house, with its renowned neighbors and its excellent location in the country, would be the perfect country place for someone like him, who was ready to make his mark among the ton. In fact, now that he thought about it, perhaps he wasn’t too late, after all. Perhaps the younger Lady Aytoun, so busy with her responsibilities as the new mistress of Baronsford, might be willing to part with this country estate. Of course, there was the little matter of his client, Jasper Hyde, but Platt believed once the plantation owner had the slave, he would not care much about anything else.
“What might I do for you, Mr. Platt?”
The lawyer’s attention snapped back to his hostess. “My apologies, m’lady. Every time I come here, I find myself more and more smitten with Melbury Hall.”
“So this is not your first time here?”
“No, indeed, m’lady. I was a guest of Squire Wentworth’s.”
“Of course.” The dowager nodded pleasantly. “From what I hear, Mr. Hyde and Squire Wentworth were acquainted.”
“They were indeed, m’lady. In fact, they were fast friends. Indeed, fast friends.”
“Friendship is a valuable thing, Mr. Platt.”
“Indeed it is. If I may say, it is a foundation of our English civilization. The bond of friendship constitutes the very core of our gentility. It forms the foundation of our nation’s moral superiority in the world today.”
“And it is so much like an Englishman to rip away at the fortune of his friend after his demise, is it not, Mr. Platt? So morally superior to tear into the belly of the corpse like some jackal, leaving nothing for his widow?”
Platt cle
ared his throat. Hyde and Wentworth were cut from the same cloth, he thought. It would not have been any different if Hyde had been the first to pass away. Wentworth would have gone after anything he could get from the holdings of his friend.
e thBut we digress, do we not?” she said sweetly, putting a smile back on her face. “You were telling me the reason for your visit.”
“Indeed, m’lady.” He eyed the old woman, knowing he’d best not mince any more words with her. “My client, Mr. Hyde, has made repeated attempts to settle a small business matter with your daughter-in-law. With no success, I might add.”
“What is the nature of this business matter?”
“There was a mention of it in the letter I sent.”
“I am an old woman, Mr. Platt, with a failing memory. Please humor me. Do tell me all about it again.”
“The matter regards a black slave woman called by the heathen name Ohenewaa. My client wishes to buy this woman from Lady Aytoun.”
“Surely there must be some mistake, sir. My daughter-in-law does not believe in owning human beings.”
“Please allow me to restate my client’s request,” Platt said patiently. “Mr. Hyde wishes to pay Lady Aytoun all of the expenses that this Ohenewaa has accrued. He would very much like to make an offer of…employment to the woman.”
The dowager nodded thoughtfully before answering. “Now, why should an important plantation owner such as Mr. Hyde—someone who has made his fortune trading on the very flesh of innocent human beings, a gentleman who must own hundreds of slaves—why should he be so desperate to get his hands on one old woman?”
“The reasons for my client’s philanthropy with regard to this woman are private, m’lady,” Platt said uncomfortably.
“Ah, philanthropy. And my daughter-in-law declined Mr. Hyde’s request when it was made before, I take it.”
“There are new circumstances now that might change her ladyship’s answer.”
“What new circumstances?”
“They were mentioned in the letter.”
“Please, sir. My failing memory.”
Platt felt the perspiration forming beneath his periwig and trickling down his neck. Actually, it was too warm here in this sunny room. He edged forward on his chair.
“M’lady, I see I must be completely honest with you. I did not wish to involve you personally, out of respect for your position, but you leave me no choice. My client acts in the name of justice. It grieves me to tell you this, but your daughter-in-law may be harboring a murderess. Since your daughter’s purchase of this slave woman, certain evidence has surfaced that points to this Ohenewaa as the person responsible for Dr. Dombey’s murder.”
“I see. And who has been ferreting out this evidence?”
“Why, the proper authorities.”
“Pray, give me names of those authorities, and I shall see to it that—”
“I misspoke, m’lady. The names of the witnesses and the evidence against the woman have been collected by clerks in the employ of Mr. Hyde himself.”
“And what does he plan to do with this material?”
“Hand them over to…to the authorities if his demand is not met. He would like to see justice done without any further scandal attaching itself to your family’s name.”
“It is so good to have a ‘friend’ like Mr. Hyde.” The dowager smiled. “Is your client a complete dunce, Mr. Platt?”
“I beg your pardon, m’lady?”
“Do you both suffer from imbecility, sir?”
He stared at her, momentarily speechless.
“Do you truly think that my daughter-in-law would believe Ohenewaa’s fate could be worse in the hands of the English penal system than in Mr. Hyde’s brutal clutches?”
“We have no intention, m’lady, of—”
“I personally would not trust your ‘we’ with the fate of a dung beetle, my dear man,” she said sharply. “Now, back to your accusations. Maitland, are you taking all of this down?”
Platt turned quickly around in his chair and found a door into the adjoining room had been opened. Sitting down at a table was Sir Richard Maitland, and behind him stood an old black woman.
“Incidentally, I have asked our good neighbor, the Earl of Stanmore, a prominent member of the House of Lords, to join us later as well. The complications of what are legal actions and what might be construed as extortion constitute a gray area in my mind—though I believe Sir Richard here would say you have placed yourself clearly in the area of extortion.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Sir Richard asserted.
“Nonetheless, I am hoping Lord Stanmore will be able to reaffirm our view.”
Platt jumped to his feet.
“But about your supposed evidence,” the dowager continued. “Since we do not know what is it exactly that you have collected, or what sums you have paid to certain individuals for their testimony, we will tell you what we have collected. Ohenewaa, perhaps you could start.”
The black woman gazed disdainfully at Platt. “Dr. Dombey died of old age, hastened by his excessive drinking. From our first day of returning to London, the following doctors attended him. There was Dr. Gisborne—”
“From whom I have a statement here.” Sir Richard indicated a piece of paper on his desk. “Dr. Gisborne clearly identifies Dombey’s condition and his opinion on the reason of death.”
“And Dr. Billings,” Ohenewaa added.
The dowager’s lawyer held up another paper. “And here we have a statement from this good physician as well. He is quite emphatic on the matter.”
“I have spoken with a surgeon named Boarham, who was called from time to time to bleed re we haveombey before his death.”
“Produce him at your peril, Mr. Platt.” The old lawyer looked sternly at him. “We have looked into his character. The courts will see him for the corrupt witness he is. I believe he would sell his own mother if there was good profit in it for him.”
As Maitland continued to speak, Platt ran a finger along the inside of his cravat. Accusations and false testimony by the likes of Boarham would not stand against accredited witnesses. He thought of Jasper Hyde’s comment about other plans if a peaceful approach was unsuccessful. Happy to be ignorant of them, he decided that it was time to lay the problem back in his client’s lap. They had clearly been thwarted here.
“If you would please sit down, Mr. Platt,” the dowager directed, “we expect Lord Stanmore momentarily. Perhaps you can give him a summary of your own findings regarding this matter of Ohenewaa.”
Platt shook his head and cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary, m’lady. I was only acting on behalf of a client, whom I can see has been misinformed and led astray by some rather corrupt individuals.”
He started backing toward the door, praying that the blasted Highlander was not lurking outside.
“I shall not trouble you anymore, m’lady. Good day to you all.”
With a stiff bow, he yanked open the door and hurried along the corridor. As he turned beneath an archway into the entrance hall, he bumped into a young serving woman who was passing. The woman’s eyes fixed on him in surprise before narrowing with recognition.
The lawyer, however, had no time to dally. Grabbing his things from the doorman, Platt left from the house with a shout to his groom and driver. Hyde could do as he wished, but he himself was done with this business.
CHAPTER 27
On the drive north to Scotland, Lyon had spoken a great deal about his cousin. Walter Truscott was the second son of the dowager’s younger brother, William, who had passed away many years ago, leaving the responsibility of raising the boy to his older sister. Having spent most of his years at Baronsford, Walter was much like a brother to Lyon.
Realizing early on that Walter’s passion lay in the management of Baronsford, Lyon—immediately after inheriting the title—had asked his cousin to do exactly that. And based on what her husband told her, Millicent thought the young man was doing an excellent job of it.
“This is as far as we can go on horseback,” Truscott warned, coming to a low hedge of wild undergrowth near the cliffs.
“Would you mind if we walked to the edge?”
As the man shrugged, Millicent dismounted. Leaving their horses with the groom who rode with them, Walter led her toward an opening in the undergrowth. “There is a narrow path that runs along the cliff here for a way.”
He held a branch back, and Millicent passed through it. Immediately she found herself on the very edge of the cliffs. As she looked straight down, her stomach churned at the sight of the rocks below, some protruding from the water, others forming the base of the cliff. Mist rose from the white water moving swiftly over the rocks.
“Does the river always run this fast?”
He took Millicent’s arm and pulled her a step back from the ledge. “Yes and no. The river always runs fairly quickly right here, but we have been having a wet winter. So the water is running unusually fast and high.”
Millicent glanced down at the rocks below, imagining Lyon the way they had brought him to Melbury Hall. She envisioned Emma’s broken body next to his. “Is this where they found them?”
“No.” He pointed downstream. “Less than half a mile that way. There is a rocky descent down to a small stone beach where the river bends. Emma’s body was found on the rocks near the beach. Aytoun must have been trying to climb down when he slipped and fell.”
Millicent was relieved to notice no accusing edge to the man’s tone. A cold wind blew in from the east, and she ran her hands up and down her arms to ward off the chill. “Who found them?”
“Pierce did.”
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