He and Kent traded startled glances—they’d said the words simultaneously.
She crossed her arms beneath her bosom. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Emma does have a point.” This came from Mrs. Kent. “Relationships can be deadly. For instance,” she said, “have you considered Lord Osgood as a possible culprit? He’d have motive—against both you and Lady Osgood for making him a cuckold.”
“Excellent point, my dear,” Kent said.
“As far as I know, the Osgoods had an understanding. Lord Osgood had no problem with his wife’s... friendships.” Seeing Miss Kent’s rapt interest, Alaric searched for a delicate explanation. “As long as she was discreet, he encouraged it because he had his own pursuits.”
“He hadfriendshipswith other ladies?” Miss Kent said, wrinkling her nose.
“Not with ladies, no.” He saw understanding dawn for everyone except Miss Kent, who continued to look confused. “My point is Lord Osgood understood and benefited from their arrangement. He wanted a wife on his arm and a marriage to show the world; he had no reason to kill Clara.”
“Ah,” Mrs. Kent said. To Miss Kent, she murmured, “I’ll explain later, dear.”
Kent cleared his throat. “As I see it, there are two avenues of investigation with which to proceed. The first is the poisoning. McLeod told me about your runaway maid, and it is a coincidence that cannot be overlooked. Your staff must be interrogated.”
“It’s been done,” Alaric said.
“Not by me.”
Said without pride, there was nonetheless a confidence to Kent’s words that inspired Alaric’s own. For the first time since this murder business began, he felt a prickle of hope.
“Now for the shooting.” Kent came closer to the bed. “After McLeod described the attempt to me, I went to the scene.”
So saying, he removed a small drawstring pouch from his side pocket and emptied the contents onto the coverlet.
In disbelief, Alaric picked up the pair of lead balls, studying them. Misshapen and lumpy, they were each the approximate size of his thumbnail. “Youfoundthe shot?”
“They were embedded in a wooden post behind where you were standing.” Kent shrugged. “So we know the weapon was double-barreled. By my guess, a flintlock.”
Shaking his head in amazement, Alaric picked up the torn segment of paper next to the bullet. “What is this?”
“Part of a cartridge wrapper, I believe.”
Alaric knew that some shops offered pre-assembled cartridges, with the gunpowder and projectile wrapped in parchment for easy loading. When he put down the paper, specks of a sooty substance clung to his fingertips.
“It was caught in alleyway debris a few yards from where you were attacked. The fact that there’s still gunpowder residue upon it suggests that the cartridge was freshly used,” Kent said.
A memory pushed through Alaric’s brain.
“As the carriage was coming toward me, I saw something fly out of the window. It could have been this.” He turned the paper this way and that and saw a symbol along the ragged edge. Part of it had been torn away; what remained was half an oval filled with squiggly lines. “Is that an emblem of some sort?”
“I believe it is part of an insignia used by the gun shop. It may lead us to the place that sold the weapon and the shooter himself. If it suits you for our firm to take on your case, I will personally pursue that line of enquiry.”
Alaric had to admit he was impressed. “The case is yours—on one condition.”
Kent quirked a brow.
“I will pay your usual rate plus any expenses incurred in the course of the investigation. I will not be beholden to anyone,” he stated.
Kent exchanged looks with Will, who shrugged.
“As you wish,” Kent said crisply. “In addition to the footmen I saw out front, I would suggest that you retain professional guardsmen for your protection.”
“I know some fellows,” Will said. “Honest, reliable men from the regiment who I fought side by side with and can vouch for. They’d be keen on the job.”
Alaric inclined his head. “Hire them on.”
