Page 76 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

“I mean that it wasn’t an accident. Sprague was an excellent sailor. He’d done it all his life.”

“I remember that he and Sloane used to go sailing,” Carlisle said.

“Yes.” She nodded emphatically. “He wouldn’t have made a mistake. The weather was perfect that day. Papa has decided to believe all this nonsense about our being doomed, though I didn’t understand till now why he believed he was cursed. He needs some reason for Sprague’s death, some explanation for fate’s cruelties. Some way to justify his own...retreat from the world. He cannot accept, as Timothy and I believe, that Sprague was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Carlisle said carefully. “Are you certain? Sometimes even the best of sailors can make a mistake.”

“No. Sprague was often foolish, but never when it came to his boat. He—there was blood and a lump on his head; they said he’d probably hit his head on something as he went over. And there were bruises all around his throat. He was wearing a scarf I knitted for him.” Tears filled her eyes, but she plowed ahead. “They say it probably caught on a hook and he hung there for a while before slipping on down into the sea and drowning.”

“I see your concern.”

“Excuses!” She dashed away the tears, her voice vibrating with anger. “They’re all excuses. My aunt and uncle want to cover it up to prevent a scandal, and Papa chooses to believe it’s a terrible stroke of fate. Timothy says they probably believe Sprague committed suicide, that he wanted to die at sea. But he didn’t! I know he didn’t! Sprague wouldn’t have left us. He wouldn’t have left Timothy. Or me. He’d always looked out for us.” She stopped, swallowing hard. “But what you said to Father—so many of those people have died. Do you think someone is doing away with them all? Sprague and John and Adam and I don’t know who else?”

“We don’t know. A few suspicious things have happened. That’s why we want to talk to all the men involved.”

“Will you tell me?” Priscilla gripped Carlisle’s arm, her eyes intent on his. “If you find out anything about Sprague? About who—did this thing?”

“I will let you know,” Carlisle promised. “If we discover anything, we will write you.”

“Good. Good.” She relaxed, letting her hand fall from his arm and taking a step back. “Thank you. Both of you. Thank you.”

Noelle watched the other woman walk back into her house. “Poor woman.” She looked up at Carlisle. “If she is right...”

“Someone really is trying to kill his way to this money,” Carlisle finished for her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THEY DROVE TO the inn in the village to eat an overdue luncheon and discuss what they had learned at Lord Haverstock’s. Noelle opened her reticule and pulled out the notes she had made the other day, jotting down the new information.

“Several of the original signers have died,” she said. “It’s a trifle odd, but they were growing older, and the deaths have reasonable explanations.”

“Besides, they can’t get the money, so there’s no reason for anyone to do away with them,” Carlisle added.

“There weren’t a large number of male children to begin with. Milton Brookwell died in battle; clearly his death wasn’t planned. Nor was Adam’s.”

“Are you sure?” Carlisle asked carefully. “Could someone have arranged for him to fall off that bridge?”

“I can’t see how.” She frowned, thinking. “He was out drinking with his friends. We’d...” She sighed. “We had argued about the money he spent; he’d bought me more useless jewelry. So he stormed out and went carousing with his friends. He drank too much and was ‘larking about,’ his friends said. He was walking along the stone wall of the bridge, and he lost his footing and fell. His friends saw it happen. They would have noticed if someone had given him a push. Besides, how could a killer have known that he would be out that particular night, drink too much, and decide to walk along the edge of the bridge?”

He nodded. “I think it’s safe to say it was an accident. Nathan and I are alive, and there have been no attacks on either of us. Or Timothy, I assume.”

“But he’s in poor health, everyone knows that. They would have only to wait a short while for him to die,” Noelle pointed out. “The only ones who could have been victims are Sprague and John Brookwell. And Gil.” They were silent for a moment, then Noelle said, “Carlisle...we are rapidly running out of suspects.”

“I know. With Brookwell gone, we are down to only Gaspard Snowden and Timothy Haverstock. I suppose it’s possible Lord Haverstock could be behind the killings, so that Timothy gets the inheritance before he dies. Though I cannot imagine him doing away with Sprague.”

“No, I cannot either.” Noelle leaned back against the cushioned seat back. “You know...” She sat up straighter, turning to Carlisle. “There’s another person who would like for Timothy to inherit—his sister.”

“Priscilla?” Carlisle’s eyes widened. “No, surely not.”

“Why not? She was understandably bitter about the fact that females were excluded from the agreement. She’s very protective of her brother and father, and she’s stronger and more forceful than either of the two men. Let’s say she wants Timothy to get this prize and knows he won’t last many more years, so she decides to help the thing along. And—” She held up a forefinger to make her final point. “I would venture to guess that whatever fortune her brother has when he dies will go to her. So she will get the money in spite of the terms of the agreement.”

He stared at her for a moment, then his gaze turned thoughtful. “I can see your argument, but do you really think she would have killed her older brother?”

“No,” Noelle admitted. “And it would make no sense for her to raise suspicion about Sprague’s death if she were the one who did away with him. Still...perhaps her conclusion of foul play about her brother’s death gave her the idea. She realized then that Timothy could win the thing if only she got rid of a few others. That would leave her with having to kill only Mr. Brookwell, Mr. Snowden, and my son.”

“And Nathan and me.”

“That’s true.” Noelle sighed. “It’s a great many people for anyone to contemplate murdering.” She sighed. “Oh, Carlisle...perhaps she was wrong about Sprague and he did commit suicide. Or perhaps his death, like Adam’s, was simply an accident. Brookwell’s house could have been robbed. What if we are on entirely the wrong trail?”