Mr Fraser, looking scandalised more by the inconvenience than the accusation, added, ‘I say, my good man, this seems highly irregular. You cannot possibly be serious.’
‘I am afraid,’ Lord Stanley replied coolly, ‘that there are some nefarious individuals in this house party whose conduct is under suspicion. Though not all are implicated, the matter must be investigated thoroughly. Gentlemen, ladies, you will please cooperate.’
Mr Hamilton shot him a look of undisguised hatred.
‘You do not know who you are dealing with, Stanley. Release us at once, or you will regret it.’
Charlotte, standing just to one side of Lord Stanley, observed with quiet satisfaction that he did not so much as blink.
‘No more hiding,’ Lord Stanley said quietly to the increasingly red-faced Mr Hamilton. ‘We will root your friends out too.’
‘This is outrageous. How dare you!’ Lord Boulton exclaimed, with such grand offence that Charlotte thought he had practised the expression in private.
Several of the other gentlemen attempted to intervene. The place was threatening to fall into chaos.
Then Lord Stanley’s voice cut through the hall again.
‘Silence.’
That one word landed with force.
The guests froze.
Charlotte let her gaze sweep over the room. Some faces showed only astonishment. Others looked confused, offended, or embarrassed. But a few—just a few—looked distinctly uneasy, and one or two so alarmed that they may as well have pinned written confessions to their lapels.
Interesting, she thought.
She began gently cajoling the ladies back towards the morning room and the parlour while Lord Stanley managed the rest.
He turned again to the Bow Street Runners.
‘Place all the gentlemen in rooms that have been secured, so they cannot communicate. Post guards at the doors. Understood?’
The men nodded at once, recognising he meant the rooms unconnected to the secret passageways.
‘The ladies may wait in the parlour or morning room—’ and, on seeing some ladies on the verge of swooning, he amended, ‘or retire to their chambers.’
A murmur of discontent passed through the foyer, but none dared openly disobey now.
As the household broke into flustered clusters, Charlotte stepped nearer to Lord Stanley.
‘Well,’ she murmured, low enough for only him to hear, ‘if nothing else, the house party has finally improved.’
His mouth twitched despite the gravity of the moment.
By mid-morning, the study had been transformed into an impromptu interrogation chamber.
The fire burned low in the grate. Leather-bound chairs and mahogany tables had been arranged so the room held an air of restrained authority. Charlotte sat beside Lord Stanley at the desk, while two Bow Street Runners stood on quiet alert near the door.
Hamilton was brought in first.
He refused to say a word.
For over an hour he sat with his jaw locked and expression stony, repeating only that he wished to speak to his attorney. At first he sounded indignant. By the end, merely stubborn.
When he was finally escorted away again, Lord Stanley leaned back in his chair with a frustrated exhale.
‘If we cannot make them talk,’ he said, frowning, ‘they may escape every crime besides Wolverton’s murder. We need one of them willing to betray the others. But Hamilton’s silence leaves us very little to work with.’
