As Papa jotted this down, Mr. Lugo said, “With whom?”
“I was staying at the home of Mr. Albert Brace.” Mr. Theale flushed, his gaze trained on the carpet. “His daughter, Miss Bertha Brace, was also present.”
“I was at a house party,” Mr. James said quickly, as if he didn’t want to be outdone. “At a crony’s country seat in Kent.”
Papa’s pen poised above the page. “And this crony’s name?”
“Viscount Cranston.”
“Mrs. James?” Emma prompted, going along the circle of seats.
“I was in Ashford,” she said with clear reluctance. “I fancied some solitude so I did not bring a maid.”
“Am I to understand that both you and your stepson were in Kent that day?” Papa said.
“It was a coincidence.” She wetted her lips. “Kent is a large county. We did not see each other.”
“Aunt Charlotte and I were in Town,” Eloisa chimed in. “I cannot recall for the life of me what we were doing, however.”
“We visited the haberdasher’s that day,” Lady Charlotte replied, “because you wanted new ribbons for the St. Clare affair that night, remember?”
“Quite right,” Eloisa agreed. “And we saw oodles of people there.”
“Were you with them, Miss Fossey?” Emma turned to Sybil.
“No, I was visiting a friend in Lancashire. I didn’t have a maid with me either since my friend lives in a tiny cottage,” Sybil said apologetically. “You see—”
“As I’ve mentioned, my older sister has a charitable nature.” Eloisa’s sapphire eyes were mocking. “She befriends outcasts wherever she goes.”
“Miss Bunbury is not an outcast,” Sybil protested.
“She’s an invalid spinster with no connections to speak of.” With a sniff, Eloisa confided to Rosie, “Miss Bunbury is my sister’s old schoolmistress and forever on her deathbed. Don’t you think Sybil could make better use of her time?”
“I think Miss Sybil’s loyalty speaks well of her,” Rosie said.
Sybil sent her a grateful smile.
“Are we done?” Mrs. James said abruptly.
“I have a final question.” Mama’s emerald eyes circled the group. “How would each of you describe your relationship with the former earl?”
Tension blanketed the room.
Alastair James spoke first. “I’ll say what everyone is thinking: George was a mushroom. The pushy merchant relation that none of us wanted anything to do with until the title fell into his lap.”
“Speak ill of yourself if you wish,” Eloisa said heatedly, “but not of the rest of us. Aunt Charlotte generously entertained Cousin George in our home for years.Longbefore he became the earl. And Sybil and I were always nice to him.”
“Quite right. And George always made a point of telling me how much he enjoyed his visits,” Lady Charlotte agreed.
“He reeked of trade,” Mr. James said with a sneer.
“Alastair,” Mrs. James said faintly, “don’t be unkind. You were George’s favorite.”
“George had only one favorite: himself. He didn’t give a damn about anyone else. Did you know he used to make fun of you all when he was in his cups?” Mr. James’ derisive glance swept around the room, pausing on each of his relations in turn. “He called you a whiny milksop, Peter.”
Theale’s shoulders stiffened.
“And you, Charlotte, a fat old hen who couldn’t lay eggs.”
