Benedict laughed, though it was a bitter sound. “No, I don’t imagine there is.”
Chapter 19
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever-or else swoon to death. - John Keats
Phoebe sat back the Barouche with Lady Rothay and Lizzie and felt impatient to be back at Grizedale. The children who were now hot and tired and rather irritable had been foisted on poor, good-natured Cecily and rode in the carriage behind them. In normal circumstances Phoebe would have thoroughly enjoyed their little jaunt to Hastings but she was far too aware that their time was running out. If they didn’t figure out who was responsible for Harold and Lord Saltash’s deaths then nothing would save Benedict unless he chose to run.
Phoebe had not been joking about smuggling him abroad either, unconscious if necessary. She felt sure Sylvester would help her with the arrangements if it came to it. She could only pray that it wouldn’t.
“Whatever is going on?” Lizzie said, craning her neck as the great house came into view and the sight of Sylvester apparently laying into Mr Formby with his walking stick while Benedict tried to hold him off.
“Goodness gracious!” Phoebe exclaimed and urged the scandalised looking footman who was agog at seeing the duke in such a rage to stop gawping and let the steps down immediately.
“How dare you!” Sylvester raged, his face almost purple with fury, moustache bristling. “I’ll be speaking to the Chief Magistrate about this. Infamy, that’s what it is, infamy!”
Mr Formby was tugging at his already crooked cravat and looking awkward. “Now look here, your Grace. I don’t say that I wants to arrest him but he hasn’t an alibi and the law is very clear.”
“Damn the law!” Sylvester raged, stamping his stick on the ground in fury. “I’m the law around here, as was my father and his father before him going back to the ninth century confound it! You’ll arrest my nephew over my dead body!”
“Whatever is going on!” Phoebe exclaimed, hurrying to Sylvester’s side and taking his arm. She looked at Benedict in horror as the realisation that Mr Formby had been trying to arrest him filtered through to her.
“I’m afraid John’s dead,” Benedict said, his face grave and far too pale. “Poisoned. And Mr Formby here wants to arrest me for all three murders.”
“Oh my!” Lady Rothay murmured and promptly fainted.
Thankfully Keane moved fast enough to catch her and lifted her up.
“Take her through to the drawing room please, Arnold,” Lizzie said, smiling at him with gratitude. “Don’t worry, Benedict, I’ll see she’s alright,” she said patting his arm. “You sort this out with grandfather.”
“Nothing to sort out,” Sylvester shouted, enraged all over again. “Get off my land!” he shouted at Mr Formby. “Before I set my dogs on you!”
“Now then, your Grace,” Mr Formby said, a warning note in his voice. “I’ll go this time and no problem but attacking a runner is a crime that is, so have a care. But I’m afraid I’ll be back again and then Lord Rothay will have to come along, like it or not.”
They watched as the runner walked back around to the stables to seek his horse and everyone fell quiet.
“Man’s a blasted fool,” Sylvester cursed in fury.
Phoebe patted his hand as Ben took his other arm.
“He’s no fool,” he said, his voice grim. “I actually think he’s on my side but the circumstantial evidence is pretty damning and the motive clear enough.”
“Balderdash,” Sylvester grumbled, stumbling a little as he walked up the steps and Phoebe could tell he was exhausted by his outburst.
“Now then, Sylvester,” she said, infusing her voice with admiration but keeping the words firm. “You’ve defended Benedict magnificently today, I couldn’t be more proud of you, but you must go and rest now if you are to be able to do so again.”
Sylvester huffed and grumbled some more but agreed that a nap before dinner might not be such a bad idea. They helped him to his room and into the tender care of his valet until the two of them were left alone.
“You know just how to handle him,” Benedict said, smiling at her. “No one else would have got him to rest without setting up his bristles.”
She gave him a wan smile but was too terrified to be diverted. “Oh, Ben, whatever shall we do?”
“I don’t know, love,” he said, and she was horrified to hear him sound so defeated.
“Well first we must talk to Keane,” she said, her voice firm. She wouldn’t allow him to sink into depression and give up hope. “Though I have an idea I know what John was blackmailing him about.”
“Oh?” Benedict said in surprise. “What?”
“Let’s go and talk to him,” she said, ignoring his question and taking his arm. “If I’m right you’ll find out soon enough, and if I’m wrong it’s better that I have suggested it and not you.” They walked back down the stairs once more and Phoebe paused at the bottom to look up at him. “Where is Miss Pinchbeck?” she asked. “Surely she would have had something to say about Mr Formby trying to arrest you?”
Benedict shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “I’ve not seen her all day so I don’t suppose she knows anything about it.”
They carried onto the drawing room to find Lizzie sitting with Benedict’s mother while Keane poured her a glass of sherry.
“Poor Lulu,” Benedict said with a sad smile, crossing the floor to give his mother an embrace. “What a fright you had. I’m so sorry, dearest.”
“Oh, Ben,” Lady Rothay said, her big eyes red from crying. “I can’t bear it. That dreadful man. He mustn’t take you. We must get you to France. I shall talk to Sylvester about it tonight,” she said, accepting the sherry from Keane and downing it on one neat swallow.
“Hush now, mother,” Ben said, his voice soothing. “I’m not convicted yet. There’ll still need to be a trial and I have powerful friends, let us not predict my demise just yet, eh, love?”
“Oh.” Lady Rothay buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed.
“I think perhaps mother would benefit from a lie down, Lizzie. Would you be an angel?” Ben asked her.
“Oh yes,” Lizzie exclaimed, smiling at Benedict. “Of course I shall. Come now, Lucilla dear. Let us go to your room.”
Once Lizzie and Lady Rothay had left the room Keane looked at Benedict with an enquiring expression.
“If there is nothing else then, my Lord?”
“Actually, Keane, we wanted to speak to you,” Ben began, though he was unsurprised when Phoebe interrupted him.
“Yes, we do I’m afraid, about something I overheard the other day.”
Phoebe made sure to keep her tone light and hoped her expression was sympathetic enough that he would confide in her.
“I got caught out the other night you see,” she said, smiling at him. “You know I’m always in trouble for something,” she added, trying to put him at his ease though there was a troubled look in the butler’s eyes. “Well I couldn’t sleep and so I came to get a glass of brandy. I know, shocking.” She laughed throwing up her hands. “But of all the devilish luck I heard voices and I didn’t want to be caught down here in my dressing gown. Happily though, Ben had shown me the priest’s hole over there so I was able to hide. But ... well I overheard John blackmailing you.”
Keane’s face went a remarkable shade of white and his jaw was stiff with tension.
“I didn’t kill him, Miss,” he said, his voice rough but his eyes shining with sincerity. “If that’s what you’re thinking, you’re off by a mile. I’ll admit it, whoever rid the world of him did me a great service but I didn’t kill him. I’ll swear on the bible if you ask me to.”
Phoebe crossed the room to him and laid her hand on his arm in a reassuring manner. “Oh, Keane, I never thought it. Truly I did not.
But he was blackmailing you about Lizzie wasn’t he?”
Keane gaped at her, incredulous, and where he had been white before now two livid red spots appeared on his cheeks. “I ... I ...” he began to bluster.
“Oh come now, Keane. Surely you know you can trust myself and Benedict?” she said, and tried to ignore the fact that Ben was also gaping at her in astonishment. “And it’s no wonder if she does love you. You’re a good and kind man and she has no one else here to take care of her or keep her spirits up in this big old house. I’m only grateful that she has you.”
Keane let out a breath and sat down as though his legs had given out. “Well I’m blowed,” he said, shaking his head and looking at Phoebe with a rueful expression. “And we’ve been so careful. What did we do?”
Phoebe smiled and shrugged. “Honestly until this morning it was just a feeling I had when the two of you are together, but when Lady Rothay fainted, in the commotion Lizzie called you Arnold.”
Sighing, Keane shook his head again. “Dear Lizzie. I knew she’d slip up one of these days. She finds it so hard to treat me as she ought now.”
Ben cleared his throat and gave Keane a hard look. “Am I to take it that you and my cousin Elizabeth are ... are ...”
“Lovers,” Phoebe supplied for him, giving him a stern look of her own and praying he heeded her warning. “Yes, Ben, dear. Isn’t that romantic?”
Ben gaped at her for a moment and then let out a bark of laughter. “Very romantic.”
Phoebe beamed at him before turning back to Mr Keane. “So John was blackmailing you and threatening to tell Sylvester about you and Lizzie.”
Keane nodded. “Lizzie has a set of diamonds given to her by the late duchess. Worth a fortune I should think. Anyway he wanted me to take them from her but I refused. I figured if Sylvester wanted to throw me out after all these years ... Well,” he said, shaking his head with such a dejected air that Phoebe’s heart went out to him.
“He won’t!” she said with such a decisive tone that Keane and Benedict just stared at her in alarm. “He wouldn’t be so heartless, and if he considers it ... well, he’ll have me to deal with.” She ended her statement with a nod as if that matter was entirely settled and Keane gazed at her with undisguised admiration. His eyes flickered to Benedict and back again.
“Whoever marries you will be a lucky man,” he said, grinning at her. “And a brave one I reckon,” he added nodding at Benedict.
Benedict cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Now that is all cleared up,” he said obviously trying to change the subject. He was helped in this as Lizzie came back into the room.
“Your mother is sleeping now,” she said to Benedict with a reassuring smile and then paused as she noticed the way everyone was looking at her. “What? What did I miss?” she demanded, looking anxious.
“They know, Lizzie,” Keane said to her, holding out his hand to her.
Lizzie swung around, her eyes blazing. “It wasn’t his fault, y-you mustn’t blame him!”
“Oh, Lizzie!” Phoebe cried. “We’re not blaming anyone, I promise you. I’m so happy for you. We both are. Aren’t we, Ben?” she added, with a slightly forceful note to her voice.
Ben rubbed the back of his neck and glowered a bit but nodded. “Yes, yes of course. Very happy.”
Lizzie gave a little gasp of surprise and ran to Phoebe, pulling her into an embrace. “Oh, Phoebe!” she cried. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re here, and I’m so happy you know and ... and you don’t disapprove.”
“Well how could I?” Phoebe laughed, shaking her head. “I can see just why you fell for him,” she added with a mischievous smile that made Keane snort with amusement.
“There see, Lizzie, my love. And didn’t I say it was impossible to keep a secret from this foxy miss, eh?” he chuckled.
Lizzie blushed and gave him a shy smile but took his hand this time, leaning into his side and looking up at him with such adoration that Phoebe gave a happy sigh to see it.
“Well then,” Keane said, slipping his arm around Lizzie’s waist with a proprietary air. “That’s all well and good. But it don’t help his lordship here, does it?”
Phoebe sighed again, but this time it was a far less contented sound. “No,” she replied sitting down as she suddenly felt very tired. “No it doesn’t.”
“And I was sure Lord John had done for Harold too,” Keane said, frowning.
“Well maybe he did?” Lizzie said with an air of enquiry.
“Well then who killed John?” Phoebe demanded.
Lizzie shrugged and held up her hands. “I don’t know! Maybe someone who knew he’d done it and wanted revenge?”
“Then why not tell Formby?” Benedict asked going to help himself to a glass of brandy and hesitating a moment before offering one to Keane too.
“Oh,” Keane said, looking astonished at the gesture. “Well that’s mighty kind of you, my Lord. But not while I’m working perhaps.”
“Oh go on, man,” Ben said, sounding a little impatient. “I know I need one and I don’t doubt you do too.”
Keane accepted the drink without further demur. “Perhaps whoever it was didn’t have any evidence for Formby,” he offered before taking a large swallow of brandy. “Or perhaps the evidence would have incriminated him too?”
Benedict nodded, agreeing that was a possibility but Phoebe frowned. There had been something bothering her ever since she’d heard about John’s death.
“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up her hand for their attention. “Why are you all so certain the killer is a man? Women are just as capable of murder I can assure you.”
Benedict gave her a slightly wide-eyed look of alarm. “A comforting thought,” he murmured.
“Well it’s true,” she added. “And he was poisoned, and that’s a woman’s weapon.” She shrugged as the three of them stared at her. “Well it is,” she said with a huff. “Women don’t have the physical strength to overpower a large man perhaps, but they can feed him poison easily enough.”
“Remind me not to get on the bad side of you,” Benedict said with a frown.
Phoebe snorted. “You’ve lived this long haven’t you?” she said with some asperity.
“Well I don’t disagree, miss,” Keane said with a thoughtful expression. “But Lord Saltash’s curricle being tampered with? And Harold stabbed? I don’t reckon a woman would have had the opportunity or the strength for that. Unless she took Harold by surprise maybe?”
Phoebe gave a huff of frustration. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “This is getting us nowhere. Benedict, for heaven’s sake get me a drink too!”
Chapter 20
“O fie, Miss, you must not kiss and tell.” - William Congreve
Phoebe began to retrace her steps back to the house. Benedict had been supposed to meet her by the river after breakfast but he hadn’t shown up. Realising that something must have detained him she headed back towards the house. The lovely summer weather had turned sultry and heavy and the weighty feel of a thunder storm hung in the air like an unspoken threat.
Phoebe had always loved the feeling of calm before a storm hit, enjoying the warm, damp touch of the air, still and gentle and lulling you into believing nothing bad could happen with its lying caress.
She had just passed the chapel and gone through the wrought iron door in the big stone wall that edged this part of the garden when she heard a voice calling to her.
“Hey, cuz!”
She looked around and saw Oliver striding towards her.
“Oh, hello, Oliver,” she said, smiling at him but still feeling rather anxious. It was true he was supposed to have been in London when John was murdered, but she was getting so suspicious of everyone that she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to discovered she’d done it herself. “Where did you get to? Have you just arrived?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Had a few things to do in London. Oh, I met a friend of yours I do believe,” he said, giving her a wink.
&nbs
p; “Really?” she said, looking at him in surprise.
“Oh, yes.” He gave her a knowing smile. “A dashing, military type. Went by the name of Captain Dreyton.”
“Oh.” Phoebe knew she was blushing but she was well aware of what the good Captain might have had to say.
Oliver laughed. “And well you might blush, my girl,” he said, shaking his head at her. “He’s a broken man. You should have seen his eyes light up when I told him I was going to be seeing you.”
“Oh, Oliver!” she exclaimed in horror, staring at him with wide eyes. “Tell me you didn’t? You never invited him?”
Oliver just grinned at her for a moment before putting her out of her misery. “No! Of course not. What do you take me for?” he replied tutting at her. “Besides, that’s all I need, more competition for your affections!”
“Oh do be serious,” she said glowering at him. “I never gave Captain Dreyton the least encouragement and I can assure you he needed none. He’s a very nice and kind man but ... but ...”
“Dull as ditch water?” Oliver suggested helpfully.
“Yes!” she said with relief. “Oh you do agree then?”
“Absolutely,” he said, taking her hand and pulling it through his arm as they walked back to the house. “I bumped into him at Grillon’s where I was staying. The place is devilish flat of course at this time of year. No you’re well off without the handsome Captain if you ask me.”
Phoebe paused and stared up at him. “Did you say you’d just arrived back?”
“Yes.” He nodded at her, his face curious. “I was just walking back from the stables when I saw you coming up past the chapel.”
“Oh my.” Her stomach did a little flip as she realised he likely hadn’t heard about John yet. “Then you don’t know?”
She watched carefully as he frowned at her. “Know? Know what?”
Phoebe hesitated. If Oliver had met Captain Dreyton in London that was as solid an alibi as he could wish for; he simply couldn’t have killed him. But she watched his reaction closely all the same. “John’s been murdered.”
Dying For A Duke Page 16
