Bennet took a breath and recounted his interview with young Peter Thompson. When he had finished, Sebastian sat back in the chair and let the enormity of what Bennet had told him sink in.
Anthony’s death was no accident. Someone had intended, if not to kill him, to at least cause a serious injury. He glanced at the door and thought about the residents beyond it.
Someone in this house could be a murderer.
Chapter Eighteen
Sebastian faced Bragge across the large mahogany desk in the study. He liked this room. While Freddy Lynch seemed to be in possession of the library, filling it with the nauseating cologne that he wore, this room, with its leather inlaid desk and resolutely masculine furniture, made him feel welcome.
He and Bragge had been on an inspection tour of the estate, an excursion undertaken from the back of one of the more docile saddle horses. Even so, he felt stiff and sore and out of sorts.
The state of the farms had horrified him. No money had been spent on their upkeep for years. Little wonder the returns were so low.
‘It is time for some economising. Is everything in order for the auction on Friday?’
‘It is, my lord.’ It had not taken Bragge long to organise for the sale of the racehorses, setting up an auction to be held at the hall. ‘We should do well. There are years of work invested in those beasts and they have a good reputation.’
‘Then they should be worth something to someone whose business it is to understand these things. Personally, I have nointerest in racing,’ Sebastian said. ‘Far better they go to someone who will pay us well for them.’
‘What about the rest of the stable, sir?’
Sebastian thought of the matched bay carriage horses and the elegant grey pair used for the phaeton. He could not bring himself to sell those—not yet.
‘Just the racing horses.’
Bragge scribbled in his notebook.
‘Now about this ball that Miss Lynch is hell bent on holding ...’ Sebastian began, his hand straying to a small, steadily mounting pile of invoices that seemed to be associated with the soiree.
‘Well, it does seem rather an extravagance, my lord, but on the other hand, it is an excellent way of meeting the county. I used to say to his late lordship that the importance of one’s acquaintances was not to be underestimated.’
‘And he ignored your advice?’
‘He was wont to ignore my advice on most matters, my lord.’
Bragge’s tight lips betrayed his thoughts on the subject of the last Lord Somerton.
Sebastian heaved a sigh. ‘The ball remains but between us, Bragge, what am I to do with the Lynchs? They’ve been costing my cousin a fortune.’
The drain on the purse caused by those two individuals showed up in the accounts as a hefty monthly allowance paid to Freddy. The sum did not, of course, include the free board and lodging he and his sister also enjoyed. He would talk to Lynch about the ridiculous allowance his cousin had been paying. It should have been sufficient to keep him and his sister in modest comfort in their own accommodation without the necessity of living on Somerton grace and favour.
Bragge looked surprised. ‘Your lordship doesn’t owe them anything. They are no relations of yours.’
‘I know that, but I feel some moral obligation towards them.’
Bragge averted his eyes, cleared his throat, but said nothing.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, thinking about Freddy Lynch.
‘Tell me, Bragge, has anyone ever looked into their claim to be who they say they are?’
Bragge shook his head. ‘His lordship vouched for them. That was enough.’
‘I am not my cousin. I think before I make any decision about a settlement, I would like their claims investigated. Good reconnaissance, Bragge, is the key to a successful campaign.’
‘Do you have reason to doubt their veracity, my lord?’ Bragge ventured.
‘There is something about them that is not quite...’ Sebastian trailed off. It was not so much a word he sought as a nagging feeling of distrust, honed by a lifetime of rubbing shoulders with every sort of man. Something about Freddy Lynch did not ring true.
