“The bastard probably asked for it,” Fitzherbert muttered, his cold eyes making the temperature drop by another degree. “You know how he was. We all do.”
“What concerns me,” said Simmons, “is the question of who might have dared.”
“Any idea?” Lee inquired.
Simmons slid his steady gaze to each of them in turn. A pause and then, “All I know is that Croft was there. He sent word to Doctor Fellowes regarding the corpse. I went to pick it up.”
Bill stared at Simmons in shock. The implication that Croft could have broken the most important rule of all – the one that prevented them from acting against one another without majority rule – was inconceivable. He shook his head. “I don’t believe Croft would have done this.”
“I’m not saying he did,” Simmons told him. “But one of the beggars I spoke with did place him at Wycliff’s house yesterday morning.”
“And the children who lived there?” Burton asked. “What did they tell you?”
“Nothing. They were gone. All of them. Before I showed up.” Simmons pursed his lips.
Bill chose not to mention the ones Croft had brought to his home. He narrowed his gaze on Simmons. “What of the timing? Considering your experience, you must have a rough idea of when Wycliff was killed.”
“I suspect it happened a couple of hours before I arrived at the scene.”
“Not during the day then, but at night,” Bill pointed out. He settled back in his chair, arms crossed and chin slightly raised with annoyance. There was nothing worse than having to drag information from people.
“A point I was getting to, Murdoch.” Bill scoffed and Simmons drew a deep breath, his attention withdrawing from Bill until it encompassed everyone present. “A masked man was seen in those streets at roughly one o’clock this morning. Croft showed up again about one hour later, but quickly departed.”
“In other words,” Chapman said, “it looks like someone else might have done it.”
“Precisely.” The confirmation from Simmons made the world grow uncomfortably still.
“Who?” Fitzherbert demanded when no one else uttered a word.
“Devil if I know,” Simmons replied, “but if I ever find out, I’ll skin the bastard alive.”
“And Croft?” Chapman asked.
Fitzherbert levelled him with a chilling look. “What about him?”
“He ought to be here if he’s not responsible.” Chapman turned to Simmons. “You know as well as I that we operate at his discretion. I’d hate to fall out of favor with him over this.”
“I share your concern,” Simmons said, “but until we know who that masked individual was, we can’t rule out Croft’s involvement completely. He was there twicein one day, both before and after Wycliff was killed. For now, I recommend we keep our guards up and prepare.”
Bill’s stomach dropped and his mouth went dry. He did not need to ask Simmons for clarification. Only one thing made sense in this context.
They were speaking of a possible coup.
17
Since it was nearing two in the afternoon and neither Adrian nor Samantha had eaten since breakfast, he suggested they do so before continuing to Benjamin Lawrence’s home. She agreed and pointed out a bakery where they were able to purchase a couple of minced-meat pies.
“I ran into Marsdale earlier today,” she told him when they’d found a bench on which to sit while enjoying their meal. “Right after leaving Heathbrooke House. He’s been out of Town for a while. Visiting his estate, he said. I’ve invited him to dine with us tomorrow evening.”
Adrian was glad. It was too long since he and Edward had last spoken. He handed Samantha one of the steaming hot pies, allowed her thoughtfulness to push back against his instinct to second-guess her. “Thank you. It will be good to see him again.”
She made a non-committal noise and dug into her food.
Adrian did the same. Despite his best effort, the flaky crust crumbled between his fingers, leaving crumbs all over his lap. He brushed them off and swallowed the bite he’d been chewing, his thoughts returning to Lady Eleanor’s murder.
“My instinct tells me we’re missing a crucial piece of evidence – something glaringly obvious that keeps eluding our notice.” He took another bite of his pie. “According to those I have spoken with today, Lady Eleanor was the perfect mistress, the perfect daughter, the perfect sister. Not one hint of her being critical of others or of ever being involved in an argument. She was lovely. Everyone liked her. Which makes no bloody sense in light of what happened.”
Samantha swallowed her bite before saying, “A lot of people refuse to speak ill of the dead.”
