Murder Has No Class (8 page)

“So then,” Essie said, frowning in concentration, “if no one else was in the room with Lord Stalham, and only his finger patterns were on the gun—”

“Prints,” Felicity interrupted. “Finger
prints.”

“—how could someone else have shot him?” Essie finished, completely ignoring Felicity for once.

“Precisely.” Felicity sighed. “The evidence against James Stalham was overwhelming. According to the butler, no one else was in the house that evening, except the maids and the housekeeper. There were no signs that someone had forced their way into the house, and at the time of the shooting, the staff were all asleep in their rooms.”

“Except the butler,” Felicity murmured. “Wasn’t he the one who found James standing over the body?”

“Yes, he was. He testified at the trial that he’d heard James arguing with his father earlier that evening. Apparently James had gambled away a great deal of money and his father had threatened to disown him.”

“Well, that certainly gives James a motive to get rid of the old boy,” Felicity said cheerfully. “I can certainly understand how he felt.”

Aware that Felicity was referring to her own past experience, Meredith exchanged a significant glance with her before answering. “James declared that his argument with Howard Stalham was over someone called Pauline Suchier, who was apparently Howard’s mistress. The butler, however, insisted that James was lying, both about the mistress and the cause of the argument.”

“One of them was certainly lying.” Felicity shaded her eyes to look at the sun. “I do believe it’s time we went back to the school.”

Meredith got to her feet, pondering on Felicity’s words.
One of them was lying
. But which one? What if Howard Stalham had, in fact, been involved with another woman? What if James had been telling the truth about the argument, that it wasn’t about his gambling after all. If so, why would the butler lie about it?

She couldn’t be sure why, but something didn’t seem quite right. Maybe it was the violent way the ghost of James Stalham had shaken his head when she’d called him a murderer. He was already dead. What did he have to gain now by protesting his innocence? Unless he really had been innocent of the crime and needed to prove it in order to cross over.

Either way, perhaps Felicity was right, after all. Past experience had taught her that a ghost could be quite persistent. James Stalham could prove to be no exception. Besides, now that her curiosity had been aroused, she had to admit she would like to find out more about the case. It intrigued her, and if by chance a miscarriage of justice had occurred, then she just might be able to help James Stalham rest in peace.

The dinner bell had already rung when Meredith received the word that Stuart Hamilton awaited her presence in the library. Miffed that she would be late for the meal, and therefore would have to endure a cold supper—something she detested—she was not in a good frame of mind when she entered the library.

Hamilton stood by the fireplace, his hands behind his back, his gaze on the flickering flames leaping up the chimney. He turned as she closed the door, and regarded her with a grave expression.

“It has come to my notice,” he said, without even bothering to greet her, “that Pratt is in trouble again.”

Meredith raised her eyebrows. “Good evening, Mr. Hamilton. May I ask, how did you find out about the incident with Mr.
Platt
?”

If Hamilton had noticed her emphasis on her assistant’s correct name, he gave no sign. “Miss Montrose informed me of it.”

Meredith tightened her lips. Of course. She might have known. Sylvia Montrose wasted no time in running to Hamilton any time she could find an excuse. “I wonder how Miss Montrose knew enough about the situation to feel confident in passing it along to you.”

“Apparently she heard it from one of the students.” He tilted his head to one side. “I’ve had a word with Pratt, and he has given me his sworn oath that he will have nothing more to do with the student in question.”

Meredith moved over to the nearest chair and sat down. “I’m afraid that neither Mr. Platt nor Miss Westchester seems able to honor their promises.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Hamilton walked over to the window, and Meredith watched him with a frown. He seemed ill at ease, most unusual for him, since his confidence and assurance usually bordered on arrogance.

“Is something wrong?” she asked tentatively. “Apart from the fact that I have an impetuous assistant who seems bent on causing a great deal of trouble, I mean.”

Hamilton turned to face her. “I’m sorry that he is proving to be such a nuisance.”

Meredith folded her hands in her lap. “Roger Platt is far more than a nuisance. He refuses to obey my demands that he stay away from the young ladies of this establishment. He apparently fails to realize the effect this kind of behavior could have on their reputations, and possibly even their future lives. The students of Bellehaven are my responsibility, and I simply will not put up with this situation any longer. I must insist that you replace him at once.”

Hamilton patted the top pocket of his waistcoat and drew out a cigar. He sniffed it, rolled it in his fingers, then, apparently changing his mind, replaced it in his pocket. “I understand your concerns, Meredith, but I ask you to reconsider. I’ve acted quite sternly with the young man, and I believe he now understands the gravity of his situation. I beseech you to give him one last chance.”

Meredith let out her breath on a puff of resentment. “I have given that incorrigible young man far too many chances. I fail to see how one more can produce a miracle.”

Hamilton moved toward her, with a purposeful expression that thoroughly unnerved her. “Meredith, I have something to tell you. Something I should have mentioned before, but I was hoping to confirm everything before I revealed what I know.”

Wary now, she watched his face. As always, his gaze on her put her at a disadvantage. Her heart sped up until she felt as though he would surely see it beating against her chest. She dropped her chin, waiting with shortened breath to hear what he had to say.

He was almost upon her before he halted. She kept her gaze firmly on his highly polished boots, her shoulders braced against the rapid pulsing of blood through her veins.

“I have reason to believe,” Hamilton said, in a voice so deep and gruff with emotion it startled her, “that Roger Platt could be my nephew. His mother, my sister, died at his birth. I was studying abroad at the time, and didn’t learn of the child’s existence until a few years ago.”

So intrigued was she that Hamilton had properly used her assistant’s name, she almost lost the thread of what he had said next. As it sunk in, however, she looked up, receiving the full force of his gaze.

Her lips felt dry when she spoke. “Oh, I’m so sorry. About the loss of your sister, I mean.”

Hamilton gave her a brief nod. “Thank you. I’ve spent the last six years trying to find the child, who would now be Pratt’s age. My research suggests that Pratt
is
that child, but I have yet to receive conclusive evidence. When and if I do, I intend to take him into my home. Since I have no other family members left, he would be my sole relative. Once I have control of him, I have no doubt that I can mold him into a responsible, trustworthy adult.”

Staring into the owner’s eyes, Meredith had absolutely no doubt he could achieve such an undertaking. For some strange reason, the thought of it pleased her beyond measure. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “How fortunate for that young man.”

Hamilton leaned in closer. “I certainly hope so. I would vastly prefer, of course, to have my own natural son and heir. Unfortunately, I have no wife to provide me with a child.”

“Of course.” Meredith resisted the impulse to fan her face. She was feeling quite faint. It had to be hunger. After all, she was sadly overdue for her evening meal.

“And rest assured, I shall not give up hope on that score. While there’s life, there’s hope, so they say.”

“Oh, indeed.” She could barely get the words out. What on earth was the matter with her?

“Meanwhile”—Hamilton straightened, breaking the spell that had held her mesmerized—“I see no harm in welcoming a substitute, just in case that happy event should not occur.”

“Quite.” The word had come out as a croak, and Meredith cleared her throat. “I understand now why you are so anxious to keep him employed here.”

“Precisely. I cannot mention any of this to Pratt, obviously, until I have confirmation that he is indeed my nephew. On the other hand, if he leaves this employ, I might well lose sight of him and will have to hunt him down again. That’s why I must ask you to put up with him a little longer, just until I have the proof that I need, one way or another.”

Right then she would have agreed to anything he asked. “Very well. I shall have to keep a stern eye on him, of course, but perhaps, if I enroll the other tutors to help, we can keep him out of trouble for a while longer.”

“Thank you, Meredith. I shall be eternally grateful.” Hamilton held out his hand.

Thinking he meant to help her to her feet, she placed her fingers in his warm palm. Instead, he lifted her hand to his mouth and gently pressed his lips against her skin.

Instantly, she wished she had worn her gloves. In normal circumstances, when visiting with a gentleman, a lady always wore gloves. Since she had been more or less waylaid on her way to the dining room, there had been no time or thought of such proprieties. The touch of his lips on her bare hand, however, was uncommonly intimate.

Pulling her fingers from his grasp, she shot to her feet.

“Well, I’m glad we have that settled. Now, if you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to in the dining room.”

“Of course.” He stepped back and bowed his head. Just before he did, however, she caught his expression. The smile on his lips was positively wicked.

It took all her attention to regain her composure as she hurried along the corridor to the dining room. Infuriating man.

Just when she thought she had built up a resistance to his dangerous charm, he inevitably found a way to break through her resolve and reduce her to the ridiculous antics of a giddy adolescent.

She had been in the company of too many young women for far too long, she chided herself. This simply would not do. She must strive to have more control over her emotions, and stop behaving like one of her misguided students.

Upset with herself, she ate very little of her meal, and retired to her room early without bothering to give Essie or Felicity an explanation. A good night’s rest would refresh her, she assured herself, and had barely settled into her bed before drifting off to sleep.

Much to her surprise and relief, she awoke the next morning, having been undisturbed by a visit from the ghost of Lord Stalham.

Having decided on a course of action, she was anxious to tell Felicity and Essie about her intentions. She had no doubt they would try to dissuade her from her plans, but she was resolved now to follow through with her intent to find out more about the murder, and she needed the cooperation of her friends if she was to have any success at all.

She would simply have to persuade them to accept her decision and trust they would understand why she felt compelled to come to the aid of a convicted murderer.

All she could hope was that Hamilton didn’t hear of her investigation. She had enough problems with him as it was, and certainly didn’t need any further complications in her association with him. Dealing with her unfortunate and ridiculous infatuation for him was more than enough to keep her on her toes.

Chapter 7

As soon as Meredith entered the teacher’s lounge, Essie practically leapt at her. “Well? Did you see him again?”

A quick glance around satisfied Meredith that Sylvia was not in the room. Felicity sat by the window, and although she affected a look of indifference, Meredith could tell that she had her ears pinned back in anticipation of an answer.