“And he was a sweaty little man who seemed quite preoccupied with my return.”
“I agree. It’s odd that Vining was there that night. What did he have to do with it?” Bell replied.
“Nothing, according to Clayton.” Phillip settled back against the seat. “Apparently, Lord Vining has little to do with succession laws and nothing to do with death investigations of noblemen.”
Bell nodded. “I’d say we should pay Vining a visit next, but if he did have something to do with it, I don’t want to alert him to the fact that we’re investigating.”
“It’s probably too late for that. I told Hugh I was planning to investigate Malcolm’s death,” Phillip said. “If he’s allied with Vining, Vining probably already knows.”
“Yes, but Hugh may believe you’re simply planning to speak with Dr. Brigham, who would tell us precisely what he told everyone else…that Malcolm died of a heart condition.”
“Good point. Let’s see what Kilgore has to say,” Phillip replied as the coach pulled to a stop in front of the doctor’s house.
The two men alighted and jogged up the stairs to the front door. After a few moments, a sleepy-looking butler opened the door and allowed them in. Not a quarter hour later, they were sitting in the doctor’s study with the man himself. He was older than Landry, with a full head of white hair and a round face that looked pallid and rough as if it had been scrubbed too thoroughly.
“Lord Bellingham, Your Grace, how may I be of service?” Dr. Kilgore asked.
“Thank you for seeing us, doctor. We were hoping you’d be kind enough to answer some questions about the day my brother died,” Phillip began.
Fear flashed across the doctor’s face just before he glanced away. “I’m not certain what help I can be, Your Grace.” His eyes darted around the room.
“We understand you were the first to examine Malcolm’s body,” Phillip continued, exchanging a glance with Bell.
The doctor shook his head. “No, no. I—”
“Think carefully before you continue,” Phillip warned. “I don’t want to make a liar out of you.”
The doctor cleared his throat and tugged at his cravat. “Well, I—”
“We already know you saw Malcolm’s body,” Bell pointed out. “We need you to tell the truth.”
Dr. Kilgore bowed his head and expelled his breath. “Very well. What do you want to know?”
“What happened that night?” Phillip asked, narrowing his eyes at the doctor. “Were you called directly to Malcolm’s town house?”
“Yes,” the doctor replied, sighing. “It was quite early in the morning. My butler woke me. He told me I was needed at the duke’s residence immediately.”
“When you got there, what did you see?” Bell prodded.
“I was escorted to the upstairs corridor. Just outside His Grace’s bedchamber. He… His Grace was lying on the floor just outside the door.”
“Was he on his back or belly?” Phillip asked.
“He was lying on his back,” Dr. Kilgore continued.
“Was there blood?” Phillip asked.
Dr. Kilgore nodded slowly. “Yes, quite a lot. It had pooled on the floorboards beneath him.”
“And what did you determine to be the reason for his death?” Bell prodded, watching the doctor’s face carefully.
“The valet assisted me in turning him over,” Dr. Kilgore continued. “I found what appeared to be a stab wound on his back. Near his heart.”
Phillip cursed under his breath. “So you never believed his death was caused by a condition of the heart?” Phillip prodded, studying the doctor’s face for any hint of deception.
Dr. Kilgore shook his head. “It’s true. I never thought your brother died of a heart condition.”
“But you refused to say that publicly?” Bell pointed out. “Even after it was reported in the papers?”
