out to catch him, but Tinmore slipped on the snow-slick surface and tumbled down the steps. He hit the cobbled ground, his head smacking against the stones.
And he was still.
Dell leapt down the steps to the stricken man.
‘My lord!’ The butler dashed out of house right behind him.
‘What happened?’ Lorene appeared in the doorway.
Dell turned to her. ‘He fell.’
‘Fell?’ the butler cried. ‘I think not! You pushed him.’
One of Dell’s coachmen jumped down from the carriage’s box. ‘Lord Penford did nothing! I saw the man fall.’
‘You’d lie if he told you to,’ the butler shot back.
Dell’s heart pounded as he pressed his fingers against Tinmore’s neck, but he already knew he’d feel no pulse. As a British army captain in the Peninsular War Dell had seen enough death to recognise it instantly. He opened one of Tinmore’s eyes. It was blank and dilated. There was nothing he could do.
He glanced up at Lorene. ‘He’s dead.’
She covered her mouth with her hand.
‘Dead?’ The butler kneeled at Tinmore’s side and took his hand. ‘Dead?’ He glared at Dell. ‘I am sending for the magistrate!’
This would not be easy. ‘Send for the coroner, too. And a physician. The coroner will want to know the physician’s opinion as to the cause of his death.’
‘There can be no dispute.’ The butler sounded near tears. ‘You pushed him!’
Lorene came down the steps and stood at Dell’s side.
‘I did not push him,’ he said to her. Would she believe him? Would any of them? ‘He tried to strike me with his cane. I grabbed it. He clutched at his head and fell.’
She knelt down next to Tinmore’s body and tentatively touched his hair. ‘He was so angry.’
By this time two footmen stood at the door.
Dell gestured to them. ‘Come. Carry him inside.’
The two men did not move.
The butler swung round to the footmen. ‘Do not move him! The coroner will wish to see his lordship where he lay.’
‘We cannot leave him here!’ Lorene cried.
Dell spoke to the butler in a commanding tone. ‘It is already late and it is Christmas night. The coroner is not going to come. We will not leave Lord Tinmore out in the cold all night. He deserves some dignity.’
Lorene faced the butler. ‘We will move him, Dixon.’
The butler’s face was red with anger. ‘Then you must stay, sir. I’ll not have you escaping to the Continent!’
‘Enough, Dixon!’ Lorene’s eyes flashed. ‘Do not speak to Lord Penford in that manner!’
The butler clamped his mouth shut, but his expression was unrepentant.
‘He is right,’ Dell addressed Lorene. ‘I should stay. It will simplify matters when the coroner arrives.’ He stepped over to his coachman. ‘Jones, return to Summerfield House and leave word of what happened. Lady Tinmore will need her sisters here in the morning. Make sure they know that. And I expect the coroner will want to speak to you and Samuel, so you both bring Lady Tinmore’s sisters in the carriage.’ Samuel, the other coachman, held the horses, but nodded his agreement.
Jones gestured for Dell to step away from the others. Dell walked him back to the carriage.
The coachman frowned. ‘I did not actually see what happened, my lord. I saw the man fall, though.’
Dell could not think about that now. ‘Very well, Jones. When the time comes just tell the coroner precisely what you did see.’
‘As you say, m’lord.’ He climbed back on to the carriage.
Lorene twisted around to face the footmen. ‘Why do you stand there? Carry Lord Tinmore to his bedchamber and lay him on his bed.’
The butler, still thin-lipped, nodded to the footmen who scrambled down the steps to pick up Tinmore’s lifeless form.
Dell helped Lorene stand.
He walked with her behind the body. As they entered the house, another servant, almost as ancient as Lord Tinmore—his valet, perhaps—stood on the landing and screeched at the sight of his master. ‘My lord! My lord!’
Lorene ran to the man and held him back as the footmen passed him with Lord Tinmore’s body. ‘Wicky, his lordship had a terrible fall. It has killed him.’
The valet burst into loud sobs and Lorene’s chin trembled, but she made him look at her. ‘Calm yourself, Wicky. Your lordship needs you. One last time. Make him presentable.’
The old man nodded and followed the footmen up the stairs.
Other servants emerged, looking alarmed. Lorene turned back to the butler. ‘Tell them, Dixon. Make certain all the servants are informed. And kept calm.’
Another old man dressed in nightclothes and a robe came from the floors above. ‘Ma’am?’ he said to Lorene.
She put a hand on his arm. ‘He is gone, Mr Filkins. He fell on the steps outside.’
The man’s face twisted, but he quickly composed himself. ‘May I be of service to you?’
She stared blankly for a moment, then said, ‘Ask Dixon if he might need you. And, if you would be so kind, find Mrs Boon and have some tea brought to us in the yellow sitting room.’
‘I will do so, post-haste,’ the man said.
She turned to Dell. ‘Come. We can sit in here.’
He followed her to a comfortable sitting room on the first floor, its walls decorated with a cheerful yellow wallpaper with birds and flowers abounding. The bright setting could not be in greater contrast to Dell’s feelings inside. Lord Tinmore was dead and, though he’d done nothing to cause the man’s fall, it never would have happened if he had not entered the house.
‘Please sit, Dell.’
He placed his hat on a nearby table and removed his gloves and topcoat. She lowered herself on to a sofa upholstered in gold brocade. He sat near in a matching chair.
‘That was Mr Filkins, Lord Tinmore’s secretary,’ she explained. ‘It was kind of him to do as I asked. He is not a servant.’
No, a secretary would be one of those unfortunate souls who fell somewhere between servant and family. Like governesses
