“I shall beat it home again and again. They were not lovers, as will be attested by her family, and we can uncover no blackmail, no motive for strangling her. Albeit, he was out of his head, and there is the blatant defect of reason I need to prove. At the time of the crime, he was clearly and obviously insane.”
“With your advocacy skills,” Mr. Brassel said, “I believe it will work.”
It might,she agreed,but at what cost?She’d always heard barristers were extraordinary tongue-padders, and now she understood why.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Owen no longerhad to haunt the seedy taverns and streets of the East End, but his thoughts returned to them, nonetheless.
Why had his sister gone there upon Smythe’s summons? What did he have over her?
His father’s troubling questions could only be answered by one man who denied any knowledge and who resided in Newgate. Nevertheless, perhaps some insight was to be found amongst the earl’s friends. Surely, they would know if he was unstable, if he was jealous, if he had been seen with Sophia before the murder.
So far, Owen had spoken to no one about Adelia’s brother, not wanting to cause her any scandal. However, for the sake of his own and his father’s sanity, he’d decided to go to the earl’s favorite club and start asking questions—if only he knew which club the earl frequented. Not the Carlton, as he hadn’t seen him there, and Adelia said her brother didn’t gamble, so not at Crocky’s either.
How would he discover Smythe’s club and his friends?He couldn’t simply walk into the Union or Wellington’s or Garrick’s and start asking. At Teavey’s, though, their common ground, maybe he could find out something.
To that end, Owen jumped into his lightweight gig and went to the fighting club. He’d seen Smythe there with his engineer, Beaumont. Hopefully, he could find others who sparred with the earl and knew more of his nature.
Two hours later, while making idle conversation after each boxing match, Owen had encountered a number of young men who knew Lord Smythe, liked him, and wondered aloud where he had disappeared to. Some went so far as to mention the earl’s lovely, eligible sister, and how they’d tried to converse with her only to be shunned during this Season or the last.
That gave Owen a sense of personal satisfaction. He couldn’t help being glad she’d rebuffed all these eager swains who seemed to view her as little more than a wealthy prize. All the same, he wished just one of them had mentioned a dark side to Smythe, some blight upon his name, no matter how small. Instead, they were all devoted to him as a generous, good fellow.
Considering Beaumont, once again, Owen decided to meet him. If Smythe was a shady character, perhaps the man who worked for him would know something. Maybe, now that his boss was away, the engineer would be willing to offer up a few choice words about the kind of man the earl truly was.
To that end, Owen went to the four-story Coal Exchange at the corner of St. Mary-at-Hill and Thames Street, facing the Custom House offices. Inside, under the sixty-foot diameter dome, he hastened up the stairs to the office of Smythe Coal, a floor below where Burnley Mining’s own manager and his team ran their daily operations.
Owen rapped sharply on the door, one of many along the gallery, all with panels of wood and rough plate-glass to let the light from the dome reach all the offices.
“Enter,” came a voice.
Pushing it open, he encountered a single room, with no clerk or secretary, only Beaumont at a polished desk reading a newspaper.
The man glanced at him and had the oddest reaction. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped, and his face paled until he jumped to his feet, his expression one of alarm.
Strange, Owen thought, unsure what to make of it. Perhaps he was unused to dealing with nobility, or he was insecure around a rival mining owner.
“Good day,” Owen said, despite courtesy demanding the engineer greet him first. “Mr. Beaumont, isn’t it?”
Finally, the man came out of his stupor and visibly relaxed. Perhaps it was the pleasant tone of Owen’s voice.
“Good day,” he returned at last.
Entering farther into the room, Owen asked, “May I have a few minutes of your time?”
Beaumont’s eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
“You know who I am?”
The engineer hesitated but nodded again. “Yes, Lord Burnley.”
“May I ask how that is so?”
“First, would you care to sit?” Beaumont asked, gesturing to one of the other chairs dotting the room at empty desks.
They all looked uncomfortable, but Owen snagged one from what was undoubtedly a clerk’s desk, with its telltale signs of dried green wax from sealing documents. He set the chair down in front of Beaumont’s desk and tried to lean back in it. If he was going to get answers out of the engineer, he had best appear friendly.
“I make it my business to know the other mining companies and their owners,” Mr. Beaumont explained. “Plus, I recall Lord Smythe pointed you out at Teavey’s”
