‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘I can manage.’
Then he stepped back, not meeting her eyes.
Charlotte felt an unexpected sting of hurt as she lowered her hand.
Frowning thoughtfully, she watched as Lord Stanley began pacing the length of the study, restlessness etched into every movement.
‘Payne must be Falcon,’ he said at last. ‘No wonder they are frightened of him. The man is deranged.’
Charlotte admitted. ‘At one point I very nearly wished to slap that smirk off his round face myself.’
Stanley pressed his lips together, as though suppressing a smile.
‘They must all be brought before the magistrate in Manchester tomorrow morning. I cannot delay it any longer. Perhaps the warehouses—and their workers—will reveal more,’ he said. ‘There is little else to be done today. Come—you look exhausted.’
Charlotte had scarcely reached the door when a scream split the hallway.
Not a genteel shriek.
A raw, blood-curdling scream of genuine horror.
They ran from the room at once and hurried into the foyer as alarm echoed throughout the house. Doors flew open as guests emerged from their chambers. A crowd had already gathered near the main staircase, though an unnatural stillness hung over them—as though whatever had occurred had stunned the entire household into silence.
Charlotte’s pulse began to pound.
As they neared the foot of the stairs, she saw a cane lying abandoned upon the marble floor.
Stanley moved ahead of her whilst Charlotte pushed past Mrs Payne, whose hand was clapped over her mouth.
And then she saw him.
Lord Bainbridge lay crumpled at the bottom of the staircase, his body twisted at a grotesque angle, his neck bent unnaturally.
Dead.
Chapter 35
Lady Bainbridge knelt beside him, her hair dishevelled, one trembling hand clutched to her throat, whilst Miss Fraser rested a consoling hand upon her shoulder.
The moment she saw them, she whispered through shaking lips, ‘I did not do it. I found him like this.’
She said it almost as though she expected to be accused of pushing him, though it could just as easily have been an accident.
What an odd thing to say.
A suspicious feeling crept over Charlotte as she stared down at Lord Bainbridge’s broken body. Her mind flashed unbidden to Sarah’s earlier jest upon their arrival at the house, and guilt prickled beneath her skin.
Lord Stanley crouched beside the corpse.
‘Was it an accident?’ he murmured. ‘Did he trip—or was he pushed?’
The question echoed her own thoughts.
He looked up towards Lady Bainbridge, who still trembled upon the cold marble floor.
Charlotte glanced around the foyer, instincts prickling.
‘After the deaths we have witnessed these past weeks,’ she said quietly, ‘I find myself increasingly unwilling to believe in coincidence.’
