Good, he had brought up Smythe on his own.
“I am aware of the earl’s downturn in circumstances,” Owen said, watching the man carefully.
Instead of looking surprised, Beaumont nodded. “I suppose it is inevitable word will spread. I only hope it doesn’t affect our business. Coal is coal, and people need it, regardless of whether the owner is a murderer.”
It was Owen’s turn to look shocked. He had assumed the man would defend his employer, not sound as if he already knew the earl to be guilty. Moreover, the thread of rage that seemed to have permanently wound its way around his heart tightened at the engineer’s blithe reference to Sophia’s death. One thing was apparent.
“You do not know who he killed, do you?”
“No, my lord.”
Owen was close to snapping out the answer but refrained. The fewer people who knew, the better. Still, it was difficult to hear casual mention of her murder.
With anger bubbling through his veins, he found it difficult to keep his seat. Best he talk swiftly and bluntly and leave before his temper boiled over.
“Why do you think Smythe did it?” Owen asked.
“My lord?” Beaumont queried, looking ruffled.
“Come now, you know him to some degree, and I understand you knew his father, too. Some say the old earl was a violent man. Have you witnessed Smythe’s aberrant behavior? Or did he mention an enemy or perhaps…,” he could hardly say it, “a lover?”
Beaumont didn’t speak immediately. He appeared thoughtful for a few moments. “Do you need an engineer or manager, my lord?” he asked at last.
Owen shook his head. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Unless I have no worries over my position and my livelihood, I would be a fool to speak ill of my employer, would I not?”
The man was expressing loyalty in his way, but seemingly far more mercenary than Mr. Lockley, the Smythe’s butler.
“Are you saying you would accept a position at, for example, Burnley Mining and that, if you did, you might have information on your current employer’s guilt?”
Beaumont hesitated, and Owen wished he knew the man’s true thoughts during that brief hesitation.
Finally, he said, “No, my lord. I am doing very well here and expect to do better. Moreover, I have no information on Lord Smythe. He has always been upstanding and treated me fairly, as did his father.” Abruptly, he stood up. “I am afraid I have a great deal to do today, what with Lord Smythe beingtemporarilyindisposed.”
The fact he’d been reading a daily paper belied his words, but Owen stood, as well. This was getting him nowhere, and it seemed the man was tossing him out as gently as one could get rid of a nobleman without causing offense.
Nonetheless, his remark about doing better made Owen wonder. “I shall confess to you I am friends with Lady Adelia Smythe. While I shall not in any way interfere with her family’s mining company, I would not take it kindly should anyone else seek to increase his personal gain by taking advantage of her lack of knowledge in this area.”
Beaumont looked affronted.
“Understood and unnecessary, my lord. I want only what’s best for Smythe Coal.”
Owen left unsatisfied and wondering where to turn next to answer his father’s questions.
It wasn’t until many minutes later, while settling down to a meal with Whitely at Dolly’s Chop House off Paternoster Row, that Owen finally recalled something which struck him as odd.
He sipped his ale, watching Whitely shovel in a forkful of his jacket potato slathered with butter. “I say, I’ve only just realized where I previously saw that Beaumont fellow.”
“At Teavey’s,” George said around the large mouthful.
“Yes, but after that. I think he was the man trailing Smythe and his female friend when I saw them the first time in a tavern.”
“Are you certain? I remember you were pretty far in your cups, or so you said.”
Owen nodded. “I am nearly positive. Why would the man have been following his employer?”
Whitely shrugged and took a bite of his chop. He rolled his eyes with satisfaction. “This is even better than the food at Crocky’s club, don’t you think, even with their French chef?”
