“Mama, as always, is quite right,” Papa said, his arm around her waist. “You are not to blame, Evie, and I hope you know you may rely upon the support of this family.”
The gratitude on Evie’s face wrought a pang in James’s chest.
Never again, he thought fiercely. Never again will I allow her to feel alone.
When everyone settled again, the discussion turned to dealing with the blackmailer. James took the lead, explaining his plan to set a trap. Evie told the group about the possible suspects, including the valet Merrow and the physician Murdoch. Unsurprisingly, she made no mention of Harkness, and James let it go for the time being. While he didn’t like the old battle-axe, he respected her loyalty to Evie and Evie’s judgment on the matter. Moreover, Evie had shown him the extortion notes, and the handwriting did not resemble Harkness’s.
James passed around the glove for everyone’s inspection.
“We must show the glove to Duffy.” Gigi was referring to Mr. Duffield, the village draper, who was her good friend. “He is an expert in such matters and might be able to shed light on its origins.”
“Whilst we are there, we could ask around and see if anyone noticed a stranger in the past few days,” Xenia added. “The villagers are quite observant.”
Godwin snorted. “If by observant, you mean nosy, I could not agree more.”
“Be nice,” Gigi said under her breath.
With a roguish wink, he kissed her fingers.
“The storm last night knocked down several trees.” This came from Owen, who was folded into a wingchair and tapping his foot restlessly. “An elm blocked the main road just past Chudleigh Crest. The blackmailer might be trapped there or in Chuddums.”
“Good thinking,” Papa said. “Whilst the others see about the glove, why don’t you and I visit Chudleigh Crest?”
Owen nodded. “Capital.”
“Discretion is key,” James said with emphasis. “We must not alert the villain to the fact that we are on his scent. He knows that his power lies in Evie’s silence. For us to snare him, he must continue to believe that she is too afraid to speak out. If he suspects that she has confided his scheme to anyone, he will run.”
“Bloody coward,” Ethan muttered. “How long do you think he’ll wait before contacting Evie again?”
“A fortnight separated the first two blackmail notes. The bastard knows he cannot bleed her dry all at once. He’ll give her time to recuperate resources before striking again.”
“A covert search for the suspects would be aided by physical descriptions.” Mama turned to Evie. “I know some years have passed since you last saw Merrow and Dr. Murdoch, but could you give us your best impressions?”
“Harkness helped me to recall the details,” Evie replied. “I shall start with Dr. Murdoch. A tall and long-limbed fellow, he would be in his early forties today. His hair was wavy and auburn. He had pale skin that showed his veins and watery green eyes. Wilmington claimed that Murdoch attended the crème de la crème in London.”
“I, for one, have never heard of him,” Mama said.
“My stepfather insisted that Murdoch replace my mama’s longtime physician. Her health deteriorated under his care.” Evie balled her hands in her lap. “His prescription of bed rest and isolation made matters worse, and she died within a year.”
Despite the afternoon sun pouring into the drawing room, shadows seemed to gather around Evie. James laid his hand over hers, interlacing their fingers, anchoring her to the present. She took a breath and gave him a squeeze back before continuing.
“As for Merrow, he would be in his early thirties, a sandy-haired man of medium height with blue eyes. He had clean-cut features that some might call handsome. Harkness remembers that he had a reputation for chasing housemaids, and they all avoided him.”
“That is helpful,” Mama murmured.
“What do we do if we find the bastards?”
Godwin’s casual inquiry landed with the subtlety of a boulder dropping into a pond.
“Not that.” Gigi wagged a finger at him. “Get the idea out of your mind.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “How do you know what I am thinking, duchess?”
“Because I know you. I know all of you”—she turned her gaze on her menfolk, who looked blandly back—“and you must not do anything that will make matters worse. The villain must be brought to the proper authorities, where he will be judged and punished for his actions.”
“Spoilsport,” her husband muttered.
James didn’t disagree. He had to force himself to relinquish the fantasy of beating Evie’s tormentor to a pulp. In the end, he would hand the bastard over to the police…but not without bloodying him first.
