Her expression must have conveyed some of her apprehension because Aunt Vera drew her attention with a discreet flicker of her hand and grinned broadly at her, signaling that she should do the same. Bea wanted to roll her eyes at her aunt’s advice, but she realized there was nothing to be gained by standing there looking thunderous and scared. She smiled.

  “Um…g-good afternoon,” she said, stumbling over a greeting because she wasn’t sure if a greeting was necessary. But she had to start with something, for she couldn’t just announce without preamble, “And the murderer is…”

  If she didn’t want to seem as wildly speculative as Mr. Skeffington had only hours before, she needed to first provide context for her conclusions. “As his grace explained, I was very surprised and troubled by the ruling of suicide in the matter of Mr. Otley’s death. It had grave implications for not only his soul but also his family’s future and that seemed deeply unfair to me. Not aware of the duke’s reasons, I began to look into the matter myself in hopes of proving the truth in order to attain justice for the dead man and his wife and daughter.”

  Did she sound sanctimonious?

  She didn’t want to sound sanctimonious. She wanted to sound sincere and concerned.

  “Naturally,” she continued, “to discover what really happened, I had to remain open to all possibilities, and that included the prospect that the guilty party was one of the guests at Lakeview Hall.”

  Now that did sound sanctimonious.

  And it made it startlingly clear that she considered herself above suspicion.

  “Kesgrave seemed at first to be the most likely culprit, as he was on the scene and he lied about the cause of death,” she explained.

  “For goodness’ sake, Beatrice,” Aunt Vera said impatiently, “he couldn’t have done it. He’s a duke.”

  “Yes,” Beatrice said, recalling the early interaction with Kesgrave, “that’s precisely the argument he made.”

  Her aunt wasn’t amused by this continued abuse of such an esteemed personage, but Nuneaton chuckled and the duke himself smiled.

  Now Bea worried she didn’t sound sanctimonious enough.

  “Mr. Skeffington also required investigation, as did Lord Amersham, since both had been swindled out of a great deal of money by the deceased. That provided them both with a reason to wish him dead, which I couldn’t in all good conscience ignore,” she explained.

  Amersham’s cheeks reddened at further discussion of his credulity, and Mr. Skeffington abruptly ceased his pacing to defame the absurdity of a proceeding that allowed the guilty party to stand in front of the company and point her finger at everyone else.

  Kesgrave, his tone slightly bored, assured the young man that he would get the opportunity to present his case next.

  Mr. Skeffington glared at him balefully and asked, “Why do you get to decide? Who put you in charge?”

  With a rueful smile at Aunt Vera, he said, “I’m a duke. As it has been suggested, these things generally go in order of precedence.” Then he turned to Bea and advised her to continue.

  She looked warily at Mr. Skeffington, then at the Runner, whose interest was impossible to gauge at a glance. “Because of their history with Mr. Otley, I felt compelled to discover more about the two men. My foray into Mr. Skeffington’s rooms has already been detailed by Mr. Skeffington himself as well as the duke. It’s true Kesgrave and I found the candlestick in his rooms. Kesgrave recognized it at once as the one he had carried to the library and observed the blood. It did seem pretty damning evidence against Mr. Skeffington, but it was hardly conclusive and I had no intention of rushing to judgment—especially when there were other people to consider.”

  Bea darted a glance at Mrs. Otley and her daughter and wondered how to proceed. It did not seem right to reveal private information about their relationships, and yet the murder itself had already exposed so much. “His family, which was not immune from suspicion, was also in need of a careful look,” she said cautiously.

  This revelation did not surprise Emily, who always considered herself in need of a careful look, but her mother paled at once, visibly unsettled at the thought of someone discovering her secret liaison with her husband’s business associate. Seeing her discomfort, Bea could only conclude that the poor woman had no idea her daughter had discovered the revealing letter.

  “That careful look turned up some interesting information that necessitated further examination and most certainly required me to add Mrs. Otley’s name to the list of suspects,” Beatrice announced.

  Mrs. Otley let out a strangled cry as her daughter looked at her with a mix of trepidation and complacency, as if at once worried for her mother’s future and gratified at how quickly the chickens had come home to roost.

  “Really, Beatrice,” her aunt said crossly, “there’s no need to be so impolite to a fellow guest, particularly one who just discovered her husband has been murdered.”

  “Of course not,” Bea agreed calmly, as if the proceedings were not about to grow significantly more indecorous. As they had all learned earlier that afternoon in the field by the shed, one could not accuse a person of murder without creating a great deal of awkwardness. “Although Mrs. Otley was on the list, I did not consider her very seriously for her frame is too small to overcome a man of her husband’s height and girth. It seemed highly unlikely she would be able to bash him over the head with a candlestick until he was dead.”

  “Beatrice!” Aunt Vera said in dismay. “A lady doesn’t say bash.”

  “After the Otleys, I considered the possibility that Lord Skeffington was responsible,” Bea continued as if her aunt hadn’t spoken. “If he had learned about the two thousand pounds, he and Otley might have had words about it. This seemed like a distinct possibility, as I’d found a cheroot in Otley’s dresser when I searched his rooms. The deceased did not like the smell or taste of cigars, so it couldn’t be his. Perhaps it was his lordship’s, brought with him when he went to confront Otley about cheating his son. If he knew the truth, it would provide motivation for harming Mr. Otley, as it must be particularly stinging to discover an old friend has swindled your child.”

  “He didn’t know,” Mr. Skeffington called from the other end of the room.

  “No, I did not,” his father said calmly. “Your speculation about me, like your speculation about everyone else in the room, is worthless. How much more do we have to endure? I’ve already told the cook to push dinner back by an hour so that we’ll still have time to change.” He turned to Kesgrave and said with aggressive humility, “I assume, of course, that’s all right with you.”

  The duke nodded and congratulated him on his foresight. “I’d been about to suggest that very thing.”

  “I apologize, my lord, if it seems as though I have drawn the matter out,” Bea said, wondering at her own need for courtesy when things had already strayed so far from conventional etiquette. For goodness’ sake, there was a Bow Street Runner in the room waiting to take someone into custody. When that happened, she imagined dinner would be the last thing on any of their minds. “I assure you, I’m very nearly done. Your name was promptly removed from the list by the duke himself, who said he’d left you in your study when he followed Otley to the library. Obviously, there was no way for you to travel so quickly between the rooms unless you had a secret passageway connecting the two.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and said, “You don’t, do you?”

  “For God’s sake!” Skeffington said.

  “Of course,” Bea added quickly. “Your removal from the list left one last name, a gentleman whom I shall call Mr. X, as it’s not my place to divulge private information about other parties present. Having considered and found wanting all the other suspects, I could see only one remaining possibility: an accomplice, who, in order to have committed the crime, must be at large on the property. This assumption is why I was interviewing the staff this morning. I deduced that the easiest way for Mr. X to infiltrate the house was to hide among the servants. Thurman mentioned a new groom, and I was seeking him out to confirm he wasn’t this mysterious Mr. X when Mr. Skeffington assaulted me and locked me in the shed this afternoon.”

  “Harker?” Skeffington said churlishly. “Harker the groom, whose father is the village blacksmith. My dear girl, you are perfectly ridiculous and I don’t know what Kesgrave is thinking to subject us to your feeble reasoning.”

  Before the duke could defend her—if he planned to defend her—Beatrice enthusiastically agreed with him. “You’re right, my lord. My reasoning was feeble. I had become so attached to my own theory about an unknown accomplice that my hypothesis had grown increasingly and more implausibly elaborate, which, to his credit, the duke had tried to warn me about. But when we were standing in the field in front of the shack that was my prison this afternoon, it all suddenly became startlingly clear. All the various pieces of information I’d gathered coalesced into a single, simple solution.”

  “Curious how the moment I reveal the truth is the moment you discover it,” Mr. Skeffington said jeeringly.

  Nobody paid him any heed, not even his mother.

  “I will tell you now who the murderer is. But first let me review the information,” Bea said to grunts and exhales of impatience from everyone save Kesgrave and the Bow Street Runner he had fetched from London. She wondered if her unprecedented reluctance to say something without providing the proper context was how the duke felt all the time. All of a sudden, knowledge felt like a responsibility. “We know someone left the candlestick in Mr. Skeffington’s room, and by all indications it was the murderer. Mr. Skeffington believes the candle was placed there to make him look guilty. And yet nobody has produced the candlestick in question as evidence of his guilt. In fact, he’s the only one who has drawn our attention to it. We know someone visited Mr. Otley in his rooms and left the cheroot behind, which indicates whoever killed him enjoys taking a smoke and felt comfortable enough to visit him in his private chamber. We also know that Mr. Otley’s size means his assailant had to be of a certain height in order for the candlestick to be an effective weapon. And last, the killer had to have known that Otley had fleeced his hibiscus investors, for the swindle itself was the main motivation for the attack. It was, however, not the only motivation. The murderer also acted out of a great deal of rage, revealing the murder to be a crime of passion, as—”

  “Good God, Beatrice,” her aunt squealed, “what a ghastly description.”

  “—spontaneous as it was brutal,” Bea continued, once again ignoring her aunt’s objection. Now that the moment had finally arrived, she discovered her heart was beating with almost unbearable apprehension and dread. She had no idea what would happen when she finally said the words. As someone who had stood accused hours ago, she could only imagine the new defendant issuing an equally vigorous denial while the Bow Street Runner stepped forward with handcuffs. “Only one person meets these criteria, only one person would possibly leave the candlestick in Mr. Skeffington’s room and the cheroot in Mr. Otley’s, and only one person showed not the least bit of surprise when it was revealed that Mr. Skeffington had invested in the India hibiscus scheme. To be clear, this person also—”

  Lady Skeffington stood up, her hands raised as if unable to take yet another review of the evidence. “For goodness’ sake, dear, I confess,” she said irritably. “I did it. I killed Thomas. Really, young lady, has nobody ever taught you that brevity is the soul of wit? I begin to see now why you remain unmarried. I’d naturally assumed it was because you were a plain-faced girl with a meager portion, but now I see it’s because you’re deadly dull. You are quite the dullest girl in Dullminster.”

  “Mother!” Mr. Skeffington shrieked, so stunned by her admission, he had to hold on to the back of the settee to steady his balance.

  “I’m sorry, darling, about the candlestick,” she said comfortingly as she walked around the sofa. “There must have been some blood still on my hands when I picked it up. I’d thought I’d wiped it all on my dress. If I’d known, I would never have left it in your room when Mrs. Langston and I visited to discuss repainting. As you know, it’s been several years since we redecorated the upstairs and I think the entire floor could do with a little brightening. But I didn’t mean for you to think I was trying to make you appear guilty. I would never do something so atrocious to anyone, let alone my own son.”

  Although her apology was both earnest and heartfelt, it merely agitated Mr. Skeffington further, and he looked to his sire for help in comprehending what was happening. “Father!”

  His lordship was also struggling to understand and looked at his wife with a sort of curious disinterest. “I suppose this was about your affair.”

  Mrs. Otley, who had been staring at her old school friend with horror and confusion, for the declaration of guilt had been so blandly stated it seemed like a prank, convulsed with shock at this comment. “What?”

  Bea thought it was a little hypocritical for a woman who had been conducting a love affair with her husband’s former steward to be surprised or appalled that he in turn had been trysting with her friend.

  Her daughter thought so too, for Emily immediately rose to her feet, pointed a finger at her mother and said with ringing condemnation, “You drove him into her arms with your liaison with Mr. Wilson.”

  Aunt Vera gasped to discover how much salacious behavior had been going on under her nose, while Nuneaton murmured, “Mr. X.”

  With her son taking no comfort in her presence, her ladyship walked around the couch to console Emily. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around the girl. “What a burden you have been carrying. No, don’t think that. Never think that. Indeed, your mama did everything she could to keep him out of them. To his credit, your father resisted my overtures for a good many weeks, preferring to keep his birds-of-paradise a little farther from his own nest.”

  Miss Otley, shrugging free of her hostess, stared aghast. “You seduced him?”

  “I had to. ’Twas almost a moral imperative. He was engaged to me before he threw me over for your mama, and I could not let that stand without reprisal. It was merely a matter of finding the right moment to strike, and it finally arrived when East India Company took over his poppy fields and bankrupted him. Yes, Amelia,” she said to her friend, who’d gasped in surprise, “I know your husband’s so-called spice-trading business was really a disreputable opium-smuggling venture. I’ve known it since the very beginning, first because I would never consent to marry a man I hadn’t investigated thoroughly and then because I made it a particular hobby of mine to stay abreast of all the dealings of the cad who threw me over. That is how I knew Thomas had swindled my son. I waited until he’d lost everything before showing my interest because it would allow me to brandish my very great fortune most effectively. It had come down to dowries, you see, all those years ago. Despite the vast buckets of money he had made in India, he still wanted more, and your mother had the larger one. She knew precisely how to sway him with it.”

  “I did not sway him,” Mrs. Otley said. “He chose me out of love.”

  As far as protests went, it was not the most convincing one, certainly not to her daughter, who shuddered with tears at the chilling indifference her parents seemed to feel for each other and dashed out of the room. Her misery felt so acute, Bea had to smother the compulsion to run after her and resolved to seek her out later. Perhaps witnessing firsthand the destruction superficiality could work would persuade her to cultivate a little depth and aspire to more than merely relying on her beauty to achieve things in life.

  Aunt Vera watched Lady Skeffington air ancient grievances with astonished wonder, her eyes wide, her mouth agape, her head darting from one old school friend to the other. Every so often she turned to Beatrice and glared at her with unarticulated urgency, as if expecting her niece to somehow bring the ugly scene to an end. You’re the one who started it, her expression seemed to say.

  Beatrice, who wanted to be flattered by her aunt’s apparent belief in her preternatural abilities, stared back helplessly, while Mrs. Otley contemplated the door through which her daughter had just run. Her brow knit as she debated the wisdom of following her distraught progeny.

  Lady Skeffington, caring nothing for the demands of motherhood, commanded her full attention. “What I find particularly interesting is that Thomas’s qualms about sullying his own nest did not extend to my son. He had no compunction about fleecing a boy who had been like a nephew to him for thousands of pounds.”

  Although affecting outrage over his wife’s scandalous behavior to comfort his son was beyond Lord Skeffington’s ability and interest, he glowered at her now, disgusted that she could be intimate with a man so blatantly bereft of morals. “You were always an appalling judge of character.”

  Rather than angrily defend herself against the charge, she conceded its validity and apologized for not grasping how thoroughly unscrupulous Mr. Otley was before engaging in the affair. “You understand my fury, then, when I discovered the truth. At first I assumed it was an oversight, that he hadn’t intended to cheat my son with his fraudulent scheme. I assumed there were two funds—one legitimate, one fraudulent—and he simply put Andrew’s contribution in the wrong envelope or column in his ledger. I confronted him on the matter in the library, where we had arranged for an intimate rendezvous away from the prying eyes of my guests, and he freely admitted that there had been no mistake. Skeffington had plenty of blunt, he said, and would hardly miss such a trivial amount. He resisted all attempts to convince him to return the money, and then he walked away, laughing at my foolishness for thinking my son deserved special consideration because of the nature of our relationship. I could not let that stand, either, without reprisal.”

  Despite the many explanations his mother had given for her behavior, Mr. Skeffington’s understanding of events was no more keen than before. “But killing him?”

 

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