Evangeline closed her jaw with a snap. Of course, Susan would already know about the visions. Why would Lady Stanton, of all people, keep Evangeline’s secret? Whatever friendship Evangeline had almost begun with Susan, she’d managed to ruin herself.
“I apologize,” she said, the words coming out soft and urgent. “I—”
“Poignant,” Lady Stanton interrupted, “but not the topic of conversation. Did you or did you not ascertain Lioncroft is in fact Heatherbrook’s murderer?”
Evangeline’s hands fisted in her lap. “I did not.”
Lady Stanton stiffened. “You are fed and clothed on my good graces, young lady. Do not forget that. I demand you do so the next time you meet. I demand—”
“Technically,” Susan cut in, “we’re all fed on Lioncroft’s good graces. And those are my cast-off clothes, not yours.”
Evangeline glanced at her, hoping her interjection meant she’d forgiven Evangeline for her assumptions. Susan’s focus, however, was on her mother, not Evangeline.
“In any case,” Lady Stanton continued, “the important detail isn’t whether he did it, but whether he’ll be caught. Are your visions always of done deeds?”
“They can be any time, past or future, but I told you—I didn’t see the killer strike.”
“You’re going to have to do better. How else will we solve the mystery?”
“Perhaps we won’t, Mother. Just like his previous mystery.”
Lady Stanton sniffed. “That’s not a mystery. Everybody knows he did it.”
“He didn’t hang for it, did he? Lioncroft has a knack for escaping the gallows.”
“It could be the case,” Evangeline put in hesitantly, “that Mr. Lioncroft is innocent.”
“Innocent!” Lady Stanton exclaimed.
Even Susan goggled from behind her spectacles. “What about the blow to the head? Or the handprints about Heatherbrook’s neck? Did he do those himself right before he popped off?”
“Of course not…”
Lady Stanton arched a brow. “Lioncroft specifically said he was angry enough to strangle Heatherbrook.”
“And I’ve no doubt whoever did so intended for Lord Heatherbrook to die,” Evangeline agreed. “But he did not die by that manner, which would suggest whoever attempted to strangle him was incapable of seeing the job done, and so resorted to the closest weapon at hand, which turned out to be a pillow. And I am certain, had Mr. Lioncroft truly wished to strangle Lord Heatherbrook to death, he would’ve had no difficulty achieving that goal.”
“Brilliant,” Susan breathed, finally meeting Evangeline’s eyes again. “You’re right—he’s easily the strongest man here. There’d be no need to resort to bed pillows. I suppose it’s possible he didn’t do it after all.”
“Humph.” Lady Stanton’s blue-veined fists settled on her hips. “Of course he did. But he’s volatile, not stupid. And he’s been down this road before. I should not be surprised to discover Lioncroft planned his actions to engender just such a line of reasoning, in the hopes of deflecting blame from himself.”
Susan clapped her hands together. “That would be diabolical, Mother. Imagine. Who would ever guess?”
“We don’t need to guess. We have Miss Pemberton, who will discover the future for us so we can determine whether or not to proceed as planned.”
“Actually,” Evangeline admitted, “I cannot. As it turns out, I—”
“As it turns out,” Lady Stanton interrupted, “either you help us as promised, or you will find yourself back in your stepfather’s possession. I neither want nor need another dependant underfoot when I am trying to marry off the one I already have.”
At that moment, the door to the sitting room swung open, and the footman from last night’s visit to the library strode into the room with a folded piece of parchment upon a small silver tray.
“Yes?” Lady Stanton snapped.
He paused. “Message for Miss Pemberton.”
“I’ll take it.” Lady Stanton snatched the paper from the tray, using the folded parchment to make shooing motions toward the footman’s nose. “Now, go. Go. We value our privacy.”
Evangeline rose from the chaise. “Here. I’ll—”
