Through the Smoke (39 page)

“Then you know why I am here.”

“I do.”

Truman stopped at the edge of the desk and picked up a vase, obviously made by a child. “It’s unfortunate, really. You have a nice family. I hate the thought that they might suffer because of your actions.”

“I knew I was taking a risk.” He shoved his shoulders back. “But I believed in what I was doing. I still believe in it and will continue to organize the men as long as they will pay me enough so that I can keep a roof over my family’s heads.”

Truman put down the vase. “I appreciate your newfound honesty, so I will be honest with you. That might prove difficult. They may not see any point in hiring you once I announce my new profit-sharing plan. But I understand you must do what you must do.”

He seemed shaken, as if he had been pushing against an immovable object that had suddenly given way. “Profit-sharing plan?”

“Wythe will provide the details in the next few days. Since you are no longer an employee of Stanhope & Co., I won’t go into it with you, but I do want you to understand that I am not letting you go because of the union, even though you had no business marshaling forces to oppose me while on my payroll and pretending to have my best interests at heart.”

Looking chastened, Cutberth cleared his throat. “I didn’t plan to continue after—”

Truman lifted a hand to indicate he had no interest in his excuses. “I am not letting you go because I suspect you were involved in the fire that caused my wife’s death, either.”

At this he jumped to his feet. “My lord, no. You can lay the union at my feet, but I had nothing to do with the fire, and I don’t know who did, as I have always said.”

“Forgive me for pointing out that your credibility isn’t quite what it used to be.” He forced a pained smile. “Regardless, I wouldn’t have taken your job on suspicion alone. I would have waited until I had proof.”

“You will never have proof, because I didn’t do it. I swear!”

“Then why did you lie about your relationship with Mrs. McTavish in order to explain away the payments she received?”

He didn’t attempt to deny it. “To protect the union, of course. That money came from a fund I created to help the widows and orphans of miners who die on the job. That is why I got so upset when Rachel admitted she told you about my efforts. I feared it would cost me my livelihood
and
destroy everything I’d accomplished so far. It has already scared away many of those who were interested in contributing to that fund and creating other, similar schemes for those who work at Stanhope & Co.”

Truman leaned forward, bringing his nose very close to Cutberth’s. “So you
struck
her?”

Cutberth seemed to realize that
this
was the part that angered him most. “I-I shouldn’t have,” he said. “I cannot explain what came over me. I was… out of sorts, enraged. I felt as if she had ruined so many good things by reaching for a man who was—who
is
—too far above her.”

“How did you get the key to her shop?”

Cutberth’s nostrils flared and he could no longer meet Truman’s eyes. “Wythe has a master set to all your holdings. I went through his office when he wasn’t around.”

Of course. And it probably wasn’t too difficult to find. Wythe wasn’t as diligent as he should be about anything. There was even the possibility that he’d given Cutberth the key.

“What about the lie you told about her mother? You didn’t care about the humiliation that might cause her? You didn’t care about the humiliation that might cause your own wife?”

“I felt it was… for a good cause, my lord. I
had
to protect the union.”

“It’s a miracle your wife will speak to you, let alone live with you. Maybe she will leave now that you no longer have a job.”

“I admit I let myself get carried away. I am sorry about that. I truly am.”

“You should be,” he said. “Don’t
ever
come near Rachel again. Not for any reason. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You will have a month’s wages. I suggest you use it wisely.” He turned to go, but Cutberth spoke before he could reach the door.

“My lord?”

“Yes?”

“If one of the miners set that fire, I would probably know about it. Although I couldn’t say this before, no one is closer to them than I am. Have you considered… ?” He stopped, obviously unsure whether he should continue.

“Go on.”

“I hate to cast doubt on anyone, but…”

Again Truman had to prod him. “Out with it, man!”

His chest lifted as he drew a deep breath. “Have you considered any of the servants?”

Truman narrowed his eyes. “All the servants were in church, Mr. Cutberth.”

“Except Mrs. Poulson.”

That was true. She’d left the day before to visit a sick aunt. But his housekeeper would have no reason to murder Katherine. On the contrary, Truman was convinced she had secretly gained some sort of satisfaction from watching his wife play her manipulative games. Why would she want to get rid of her? “And what would be her motive?”

“To protect you from scandal.”

Truman had to laugh. “That’s hardly something that would motivate Mrs. Poulson to murder.”

“Someone else in your household then.”

“I have told you all the rest of the servants, barring Mrs. Poulson, as you have just pointed out, were in church.”

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t hire someone to do it.”

“I have already learned that it was a group of miners who approached Jack.” Truman didn’t want to give up on that. Nothing he had found had led him to believe it could be a member of his domestic staff.

“Can you be sure that’s accurate? You asked the miners what they’d heard, and they’d heard that Jack was offered some money. Maybe they only assumed it was from other miners. In their minds, that is who would logically approach him. But it could have been anyone, even a woman.”

“Except Mrs. Poulson would have no reason to set fire to Blackmoor Hall. How would a mere servant come by the money to give Jack McTavish, anyway?”

“Mr. Linley makes a good salary.”

Truman walked back to his desk. “You think my
butler
stole those paintings and set the fire to cover his tracks?”

“No, I think maybe your butler wanted Katherine dead. He could have taken the paintings for a variety of reasons—to sell them, to salvage them, to throw off an investigation.”

Linley was the only person Truman knew who’d loved those paintings as much as his father did. He had mourned their loss far more than Katherine’s life. Linley had hated Katherine, was convinced she would be the ruin of the
Stanhope dynasty he had spent so many years serving and protecting. He definitely wanted her gone. But he would never
kill
her.

“It has to be someone else,” he insisted.

“It’s not one of the miners, my lord.”

“
What
are you getting at?”

“It’s someone who lived at Blackmoor Hall. Maybe even your cousin.”

Cutberth was growing bold now that he had nothing to lose. Although Truman suspected Wythe and had for several months—ever since he’d come to the conclusion that no one from London had traveled all the way to Creswell with murderous intent—he was still a member of the family. Truman would not humiliate him by sharing his suspicions with just anyone. “Have some respect. My cousin rescued me; it couldn’t be him.”

“
Someone
had to have fathered her child,” he said. “And I don’t think it was a miner or a servant. Do you?”

The thought had certainly crossed Truman’s mind before. But Wythe was a Stanhope. He had
some
boundaries, didn’t he?

It felt strange to be back at Blackmoor Hall—and even stranger to hold yet another position in the household. Rachel had come here as the lowest of the maids. She’d graduated to something rather awkward and undefined as the earl’s chess partner. And now she was the earl’s betrothed. She knew it had to be as difficult for his staff as it was for her to make the appropriate adjustments, but so far they had treated her better than expected, and that included Mrs. Poulson. The housekeeper had greeted Rachel politely, even dipped into a curtsy when Truman lined up the staff and told them they were to accept her as their new mistress. There had been some shocked faces, of course—maybe even some hidden resentment, especially when he had stated, in no uncertain terms, that she had the authority to sack anyone who proved the least disagreeable—but no one stepped up when he asked if they would rather leave their post than serve her.

Although Truman had privately suggested that, for her sake, it might be wise to start over with a whole new staff—other than Mr. Linley and
Mrs. Poulson, of course—she had asked him to give the servants time to acclimate. As long as Mrs. Poulson continued to be civil, Rachel thought they would manage. After all, she and Mr. Linley set the tone for the whole household.

Following that meeting Rachel was feeling optimistic, especially when Mary winked at her as they all filed out. She had one friend. She had the earl and her brother and, possibly, Mr. Linley, even though his determination to expose her father had once made him her enemy. That was a start. After the dread she had felt going before the staff, she relaxed, to a degree, and enjoyed a delicious dinner with Truman. But that pleasant interlude proved all too brief when he left right after to seek out Cutberth. Rachel had tried to talk him into waiting until morning, but the bruise on her cheek bothered him so greatly he’d been intent on having a word with his clerk as soon as possible. He didn’t like that he hadn’t been able to deal with the issue since the duke and his daughter had arrived and didn’t want to let it go any longer.

“Mum?”

Rachel glanced up from the book she had been using to distract herself while she waited for Truman. Susanna was standing just inside the doorway of the library.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Stanhope is ’ere. ’E asked me to let ye know that ’e’d like a word with ye.”

Wythe.
Rachel barely refrained from wrinkling her nose. She didn’t want to see him, was still afraid of him. Other than a few vague references, she hadn’t told Truman how he had behaved that night on the road to Blackmoor Hall. She figured she would give him, like the servants, a chance to accept her. He was the earl’s cousin, after all. She wouldn’t come between them if she could avoid it. But that didn’t mean she was excited to spend any time alone with him and, as far as she could tell, the earl had not yet returned.

“Shall I tell ’im ye’ll be down, Mistress Rachel?” Susanna prodded when she hesitated.

Rachel was about to put him off. But then she changed her mind. Maybe if she told him she would never divulge exactly what he had said to her that
night—that she would credit it all to drink—he would be equally willing to put the past behind them.

With that in mind, she told Susanna to tell him she would be just a moment. Then, when she had gathered her courage for whatever might ensue, she abandoned her book and started for the stairs.

He turned from the fire when he heard her come in. “There you are.”

She smiled politely. “Hello, Mr. Stanhope.”

“Now that we are to be cousins, you don’t feel as if you can use my first name?”

“I feared doing so might seem overly familiar, considering the changes have been so recent.”

“How can you and I be too familiar?” he said with a laugh. “I have seen you naked, have I not?”

She stiffened at the reminder but worked to keep her smile in place. “I prefer that we forget that night. I thought perhaps you might agree.”

“I do. I absolutely agree. Although forgetting it will do little if you have already told Truman what I said… what I wanted.”

“I haven’t elaborated. He knows only that you deposited me in his bed without my express permission. I prefer to spare him the ugly details, given that you are his family and he cares so much about you.”

He smiled but somehow Wythe’s smiles never reached his eyes. “You are as generous as you are beautiful. What a lucky man Truman is.”

She got the impression he was being sarcastic. Obviously, a poor miner’s daughter was no real prize for an earl, but she wasn’t willing to abandon her attempt to make peace quite yet. She saw nothing to be gained by barging into Truman’s life and upsetting the balance; she was already self-conscious about what he would have to deal with, due to their decision to wed. “Thank you for your kind words. As you may know, Truman is out this evening. But he should be back shortly. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”

He chuckled.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It just might be possible.”

“To… ?”

“Make a lady out of you. You certainly sound high and mighty.”

She had done what she could to dress the part, had chosen the burgundy dress Truman had bought her for this evening, but Wythe made her feel as if she was standing there in her wool dress. “I hope to sound polite and friendly. If that is high and mighty, I apologize.”

“You won’t even fight with me?”

“Are you
trying
to vex me?”

“Getting a rise out of you would be more interesting, and probably more honest, than this, but… you are determined and I won’t provoke you.” He looked her up and down. “So… what? Are you planning to step into my cousin’s life without making a ripple?”