The Wicked Truth. Lyn Stone
looks familiar and avoid him or her at all cost.”
He turned back to Neil. “You and your” assistant’ should begin to frequent Terry’s haunts, I think. Perhaps Boodle’s and White’s would be good places to begin. Men talk freely at the clubs, don’t they, and who knows what you might glean? I have no entrée to either place so you two could assist me greatly in the investigation. You might do the theater a few times and see if you spot or overhear anyone who resembles the man who approached Terry. You can manage all that, eh, Betts?”
“My pleasure, Lindy,” she said, her good humor apparently restored by MacLinden’s show of faith. The challenging tilt of her head dared Neil to object.
He nodded at Lindy. “Wednesday night,” he suggested. “Terry always went to White’s for cards on Wednesdays.”
“Very well, then. But first we have to get through the funeral,” Lindy said. “I’ll be with you, of course, both out of respect and in the event that anything untoward should happen. If Betts is unmasked, you see, I can Lake her into custody immediately and whisk her away.”
The three of them looked at each other wordlessly. Neil knew Elizabeth felt every bit as apprehensive as he did about her appearing in public dressed as a man. How she could put up such a courageous front was beyond him. Lindy must be terribly worried about the effect on his new position at the Yard if the truth came out. And as for himself, he thought it would take an act of God to get through Terry’s funeral under the best of circumstances. Dread didn’t begin to describe his current state of mind.
Later that afternoon, Trent MacLinden handed his favorite bowler to the same aging excuse for a butler that he’d interviewed at Marleigh House only hours after Terry Bronwyn’s murder. He carefully hid his surprise at finding the man now established at the country estate of Colin Marleigh.
He supposed it wasn’t that unusual, though, come to think of it. As far as Thurston knew, Lady Marleigh had disappeared, and the vacant Marleigh town house hardly needed a butler. Where else would the old man be expected to go but to her cousin, the earl?
“Good afternoon, Mr. Thurston. I’ve come in hopes of a word with Lord Marleigh. Do you remember me?” Lindy asked.
“Of course, Inspector. His lordship’s meeting with his steward at the moment. If you’ll follow me?”
Lindy measured his steps to the butler’s rather dragging gait. Light from the clerestory window above the front door threw reflections off Thurston’s hairless pate. The man’s sour odor and rumpled appearance must be anathema to his new employer, Lindy thought. He might look like an unmade bed, but he had a voice any actor would envy. The gnarled hands shook as the old man reached for the door handle and pushed it downward. The heavy portal swung open without a sound.
“Inspector MacLinden, Scotland Yard, milord,” Thurston announced in his well-modulated baritone.
“Oh very well,” Marleigh mumbled absently, his attention still on the papers he was folding away. “That will be all, Hinkley,” he said to the man Lindy assumed was the steward. “While I’m away I’ll expect reports at least every other day, as usual. You have my itinerary?”
“Of course, milord.” The steward bowed himself out, and Lindy watched Thurston follow and quietly close the door behind them.
Lindy waited patiently while Colin Marleigh busied himself locking away record books and the other paperwork he’d apparently been discussing with his man.
True to his training, Lindy used the time to observe the young lord, who appeared to be in his late twenties. Marleigh was short and rather stocky, tending toward portliness around his middle. Straight blond hair lay in thin, pomaded strands across an extremely high forehead. A virtually lipfess mouth was compressed into a nearly perfect horizontal line.
His nuse might be noble, Lindy thought, but the ears were doubly so. They protruded outward from his head like clam-shells. Some effort went toward disguising them by employing bushy dundreary whiskers in front and longish, fluffed-out hair behind them.
Given the stick-straight hair on top, Lindy suspected the man’s vanity had bowed to using curling tongs for the locks at the back. The thought prompted a laugh, but he neatly squelched it by clearing his throat. It solved two problems. He got his lordship’s notice.
“Scotland Yard, you say? Then you’re here about my cousin,” Marleigh said, looking up at last through cold, green eyes.
“Lord Marleigh.” Lindy gave a curt nod and what might be construed as a bow if one were generous. He didn’t like the concept of obeisance to anyone, even royalty, though he recognized the need to play the game. It had proved a hard object lesson in his early army days. “Good of you to see me without an appointment.”
Colin Marleigh managed to make his shrug look regal. It barely caused a ripple in his impeccably tailored Tweedside coat. “Could hardly refuse, could I? Lady Elizabeth’s servants came to me with what happened immediately after you questioned them. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can add to what they’ve told you.”
“You could help immensely, milord, if you would give me a bit of insight as to the lady’s character.” Lindy saw no reason to beat about the bush. “Do you believe Lady Elizabeth capable of the shooting?”
Marleigh’s sharp green gaze shifted down and raked the carefully arranged desktop. Lindy wondered why the question bothered the man. Surely it was expected. After a long exhalation of breath, the young lord finally looked up. “No, Inspector, I think not. You see…”
The words had drifted off into a protracted silence. When nothing else was forthcoming, Lindy prompted, “Yes, mi-lord?”
“She’s a shy little thing for the most part.” Marleigh rested an elbow on the desk and leaned forward, massaging his forehead with long, white fingers. “Perhaps. Maybe in one of her spells. I confess I don’t know for certain, but I hate to believe she would actually, well, shoot anyone.” He glanced up, the look almost pleading in its intensity. “Do you think?”
MacLinden shook his head sorrowfully and sighed. “It certainly appears as though she did. She had best access to the weapon. She knew the victim quite well, and Lord Havington would have allowed her entry without suspicion.”
Lindy paused as he watched the earl fidget with a jeweled letter knife. “However, we are wondering about the motive, you see. Have you any idea what might have prompted her? That is, if she is guilty.”
“Madness,” Marleigh said in an agonized whisper.
“I beg your pardon, milord? Madness?” Lindy blustered loudly, breaking the mood of quiet suspense he thought the earl was trying to engineer.
“Yes, by God, the woman is mad!” Words tumbled out now as Marleigh threw up his hands and shoved back his chair to rise. Agitated, he began to pace. “She’s been nothing but confounding of late! Haring around in her underthings, making assignations with bounders she wouldn’t have given the time of day four months ago, indulging in screaming fits that would raise the dead. You can’t feature the embarrassment that woman has caused me since her father died!”
“Why, that’s terrible, milord,” Lindy declared, looking aghast at the news.
“Damned right it is!” Marleigh seemed to calm a little now that he’d made his point. Then he sat down again, his face sorrowful. “If only I’d confined her when I first admitted it to myself, poor Havington would now be alive.” He hung his head and let his hands drop by his sides, clenching his fingers as if in frustration. “I feel responsible.”
“I see,” Lindy said, smoothing his mustache. “What did you think about her contemplating marriage to Lord Having-ton?”
“Was she?” Marleigh looked properly shocked. “He certainly never approached me for her hand, and she never said a word. There were rumors, of course, but then there always are. I never pay attention to gossip.”
“He