ripple in his impeccably tailored Tweedside coat. “Could hardly refuse, could I? Lady Elizabeth’s servants came to me with what happened immediately after you questioned them. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can add to what they’ve told you.”
“You could help immensely, milord, if you would give me a bit of insight as to the lady’s character.” Lindy saw no reason to beat about the bush. “Do you believe Lady Elizabeth capable of the shooting?”
Marleigh’s sharp green gaze shifted down and raked the carefully arranged desktop. Lindy wondered why the question bothered the man. Surely it was expected. After a long exhalation of breath, the young lord finally looked up. “No, Inspector, I think not. You see…”
The words had drifted off into a protracted silence. When nothing else was forthcoming, Lindy prompted, “Yes, mi-lord?”
“She’s a shy little thing for the most part.” Marleigh rested an elbow on the desk and leaned forward, massaging his forehead with long, white fingers. “Perhaps. Maybe in one of her spells. I confess I don’t know for certain, but I hate to believe she would actually, well, shoot anyone.” He glanced up, the look almost pleading in its intensity. “Do you think?”
MacLinden shook his head sorrowfully and sighed. “It certainly appears as though she did. She had best access to the weapon. She knew the victim quite well, and Lord Havington would have allowed her entry without suspicion.”
Lindy paused as he watched the earl fidget with a jeweled letter knife. “However, we are wondering about the motive, you see. Have you any idea what might have prompted her? That is, if she is guilty.”
“Madness,” Marleigh said in an agonized whisper.
“I beg your pardon, milord? Madness?” Lindy blustered loudly, breaking the mood of quiet suspense he thought the earl was trying to engineer.
“Yes, by God, the woman is mad!” Words tumbled out now as Marleigh threw up his hands and shoved back his chair to rise. Agitated, he began to pace. “She’s been nothing but confounding of late! Haring around in her underthings, making assignations with bounders she wouldn’t have given the time of day four months ago, indulging in screaming fits that would raise the dead. You can’t feature the embarrassment that woman has caused me since her father died!”
“Why, that’s terrible, milord,” Lindy declared, looking aghast at the news.
“Damned right it is!” Marleigh seemed to calm a little now that he’d made his point. Then he sat down again, his face sorrowful. “If only I’d confined her when I first admitted it to myself, poor Havington would now be alive.” He hung his head and let his hands drop by his sides, clenching his fingers as if in frustration. “I feel responsible.”
“I see,” Lindy said, smoothing his mustache. “What did you think about her contemplating marriage to Lord Having-ton?”
“Was she?” Marleigh looked properly shocked. “He certainly never approached me for her hand, and she never said a word. There were rumors, of course, but then there always are. I never pay attention to gossip.”
“He announced it at White’s earlier on the night he died.”
“Fancy that,” Marleigh said, shaking his head. “The match might have worked wonders, but I doubt it.” He sighed. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he brought the interview to a close. “Well, if you have no further questions, Inspector, I’ll be off. My coach should be ready by now.”
“Where might I reach you if I need to speak with you again, milord?” Lindy asked politely, stepping toward the door and pulling it open. Thurston, waiting just outside, handed him his hat.
“I shall be searching for my cousin, if you must know,” Marleigh said. “The poor woman could be anywhere, terrified of what is to happen to her. Despite her unstable condition, Inspector, I really can’t see Elizabeth committing murder, or think of any reason why she should even if she were capable.”
The earl placed a restraining hand on Lindy’s arm as they reached the front door. “If you happen to find her before I do, MacLinden, may I count on you to treat her gently?”
Lindy regarded the man, trying to perceive how sincere he was. Not very, he concluded with a nod. “You certainly may depend upon that, milord. I shall give her my every consideration.”
The next day, Elizabeth fully assumed her role as Dr. Per-cival Betts. In their preoccupation with getting her dressed appropriately for the funeral, both she and Neil were able to avoid dwelling on the event itself. Arrival at Gormsloft Castle brought on the realization that their final, respective farewells to Terry were all too imminent.
Pitifully few mourners came to the lichen-covered chapel at Gormsloft. Neil had mentioned that the castle was the oldest and smallest of the Havington properties, dating back some three hundred years. The only servants about looked ancient enough to have been there since the castle was constructed.
Feeling -extremely vulnerable and exposed, Elizabeth walked a few paces behind Neil as he approached Terry’s coffin. She brushed the brim of her beaver stovepipe back and forth against her left leg, wishing it were proper to keep it on her head. Terry wouldn’t have cared a jot for such a breach of respect. He’d have laughed himself silly at the sight of her.
The tight feeling in her throat increased. Oh, she wished he could see. She wished to God he were alive to see instead of lying in that satin-lined, mahogany box. From where she stood now, she could just see a slice of his forehead and the tip of his nose. Another step forward and his whole face would be visible. She drew in a steadying breath to brace herself and moved up to see him.
Oh God, his hair was combed too neatly. Too neat for Terry. A sound escaped the constriction in her throat and she swallowed hard, twice, to stifle a full-fledged sob.
The doctor turned slightly, his eyes heavy lidded and admonishing. If I can do this, so can you, they seemed to say. Grasping her hat in one fist, her cane in the other, she locked her knees against the urge to flee.
Holding her breath, Elizabeth kept her eyes on the earl as he approached the edge of the casket. He carefully tugged off his right glove, and his bare, long-fingered hand reached out hesitantly. He touched Terry’s forehead, gently disturbing the carefully coiffed waves so that they rested in their usual disorder. His fingers trembled and then curled into his palm. Neil bowed his head. His slowly released sigh was the only sound inside the chapel.
Elizabeth forced herself to draw a breath and let it out. Through a sheen of tears, she focused on a spray of flowers beside the coffin, counting the petals of one particular bloom, seeking the Latin name in the recesses of memory—anything to block grief from her mind until she could master her emotions.
When she had herself in hand, she looked back to see that Neil had stepped aside slightly, still staring down at the remains of his nephew.
Knowing she must, she moved to the edge of the bier and gazed on the face she had last seen smiling. He looked waxen, his lips too finely drawn. Satin billowed so high around his head the ears were almost completely covered. I won’t think why that is! I won’t! she warned herself, as her breath caught in her throat.
“Touch him,” Neil whispered—a dare, a plea, permission? “To say farewell.”
Following his example, she tucked her hat
