“As if that matters,” she said as she headed for the parlor. Her black skirts made her look like a burned-out tree. “I hope she hangs for it.”
“I assure you, it matters a great deal. How did your brother know Lord Dunnamore was poisoned?”
She turned to stare at him with a huff. “He pays a footman to tell him things. Do you think we would allow a murderess to run wild in our father’s home without some form of watch?”
“And do you know this footman’s name?” He would bet anything it was Fisher.
“I don’t concern myself with my brother’s spies. Only the information he gives.” She looked around the parlor. “Where is Diana? With the constable, I suppose?”
Lucas didn’t answer. The knocker had sounded again—Geoffrey, no doubt—and since Simpson was still belowstairs, Lucas took a perverse pleasure in forcing the man to cool his heels on the stoop. Meanwhile, Lord Beddoe turned from the sideboard and, after taking a full measure of claret, spoke to Lucas.
“How was it done? Was it truly poisoned tea?” He shuddered as he spoke and quickly took another gulp of his drink.
Lucas studied the man, trying to gauge possible guilt. If he had to guess, he’d say that the husband knew nothing about the business beforehand and was horrified by the idea of death. Indeed, he could speculate that Lady Beddoe was of a similar mindset. Anything that brought knowledge of death was turned upon with the viciousness of a mad dog.
The knocker sounded again with the force of a battering ram. Apparently, Geoffrey wasn’t happy with being left outside. Lady Beddoe frowned at him.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“I’m not the butler,” he answered smoothly. Let the bastard wait until Simpson came back.
Lady Beddoe pinched her lips tight. She looked him up and down, taking in the dark clothes of his Lord Lucifer attire. He’d discarded the mask and cape, of course, but she could see the excellent fabric he’d been forced to wear. That betrayed him more than anything else. He was not a servant, and she was just now realizing that.
“You’re her lover then,” she said. “Did you know? Did you help?”
“Penelope, must you?” her husband huffed.
“I am brutally honest. I’ll remind you that it’s a virtue,” she snapped at her husband. He responded by pouring himself more claret. Meanwhile, she turned back to Lucas. “Well? Did you?”
Obviously, she used her so-called virtue to badger people into her way of thinking. It was a crude tactic and one that proved she had no subtlety in her. But just to be sure, he leveled her with a hard stare.
“No. If you must know, Geoffrey was the poisoner, as I think you already know.”
Lord Beddoe set down his glass with an audible click. “The devil you say!” Then he turned his stricken eyes to his wife. “Penelope?”
The woman gaped at Lucas, her eyes wide with shock as the color drained from her face. She didn’t speak but just gaped at him. It was a true reaction and one that told him she had not played a part in the deed. Then her skin flushed hot, and she lifted her chin until her head was tipped halfway back.
“You, sirrah, are offensive.”
Her husband, however, would have none of it. He shied back a step, horror in his expression. “Penelope! The truth, now!”
She turned angry eyes on her husband. “I know nothing of the sort!”
“But you suspected,” Lucas said, disgust in his tone. “You both know your brother’s character. It is your sin that you would rather believe the worst of the woman who cared night and day for your father than turn your rancor on your brother.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“I should call you out!”
Clearly, neither husband nor wife would tolerate his disgust, and they turned on him in unison. They cried insult and any number of other things. He ignored them, his attention shifting to the door as Simpson finally arrived and pulled it open.
Mr. Geoffrey Hough stood there, an angry sneer on his face. “You are not long in this position, Simpson,” he said. “I do hope you have saved something for your old age.”
Simpson said nothing. Indeed, he didn’t even react as he performed the duties of a butler with a flat, almost bored expression. And here Lucas saw the true face of a murderer. Geoffrey wasn’t cold-blooded or even very smart. There was no cleverness to be seen in his calculation, only the angry demeanor of a petulant child. And the more that Simpson ignored him, the more furious Geoffrey became.
And what was even more interesting was that Lord and Lady Beddoe saw it, too. Lord Beddoe swallowed the last of his claret with an audible gulp. His wife dipped her head and looked away. There was a new slump to her shoulders, and for the first time, she looked like she truly grieved. Had she loved Geoffrey? Most likely. Spoiled children came from too much doting.
Geoffrey sensed the mood of the house, and his gaze zeroed in on his sister. “Pen, dear, what have you said?”
