“I don’t know much about him; however, he did seem the steadiest of those in your circle.”
“It would be hard not to be,” she said drily.
He swallowed a laugh.
They suddenly realized the music had cut off, and footsteps were clattering down the stairs.
“Here comes Gwinnie,” Lakehurst said with a smile.
“Is it dinner yet?” Gwinnie said as she burst into the room a moment later.
“Soon. Would you like a preprandial?”
“Yes, thank you.” She put her violin in its case on the sideboard and accepted the glass. “It was a good day today.”
“We were saying the same thing,” Cassie said.
“Excuse me, my lady,” Agnes said from the doorway. “There’s a gentleman at the kitchen door as says he’s a friend of Mr. Martin and wantin’ to speak with you all.”
“A Mr. Liddle?” Lakehurst asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Agnes said.
“Excellent!” He rubbed his hands together delightedly. “And we have the proof he needs to go after Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher.”
“Please show him in here and then set another place for him in the dining room. He will join us for dinner,” Cassie told Agnes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
A man as dark-haired as Mr. Martin was fair entered the parlor from the servants’ entrance.
“Forgive my visit without forewarning, and at this hour,” he said in a deep voice as he bowed to them all. His black hair was shoulder length and pulled back in a queue. He had intelligent gray eyes below thick dark brows that observed each of them in turn. His appearance was entirely nondescript until he smiled. Lakehurst found himself liking the man instantly.
“I imagine not giving forewarning is a benefit in your vocation,” Lakehurst said laconically.
“It is,” Mr. Liddle agreed.
“Please sit down, Mr. Liddle. You will be joining us for dinner. I have already requested a place setting for you,” Cassie said.
Mr. Liddle’s brows rose; however, he merely murmured a thank you for including him. “I have made some local inquiries around the circumstances of the Marquess of Darkford’s death over eighteen months ago. What I got were multiple scrambled interpretations of the event. The only consistent facts I could ascertain from all the stories is they knew the Marquess gave wild parties for which you, Lady Darkford, were not present, and the servants were sent away; however, that night, you and your son remained at Baydon.”
“That is true,” Cassie said, nodding.
“And that the Marquess’s cause of death was a knife wound, which some say you inflicted.”
“No!”
He shook his head and held up his hand to tell her to calm down. “Others disagree and say it was…” He ticked off the stories he’d heard on his fingers. “A fight among partygoers,” he held up a second finger, “the work of Satan’s demons, or three, a jealous lover who wanted you for himself.”
“The man who murdered Richard tried to carve a symbol on my chest, so Richard attacked him.”
“What symbol?”
“He called it the mark of Satan.”
Mr. Liddle frowned, his face going dark.
“Who suggested Satan’s demons murdered him?” Lakehurst asked.
