Page 72 of Secrets of the Heart

“No. But perhaps whoever did this would not have to know the details. Perhaps someone saw that, well, that Anthony and I seemed to…have a partiality for each other before you and I were engaged. It would not be a great leap of thinking to assume that you might carry some jealousy toward the man. Perhaps Anthony even told someone or other what happened, or part of it. Or this man knew Anthony and knew that he disliked you and suspected the feeling was mutual.”

Rachel could see that Michael was considering her reasoning, and she pressed her point. “Why would Anthony have come to ask you to find out what happened to his wife if he were the one who killed her? That would be the last thing he would want. And if this is all part of some larger conspiracy, as it seems to be, do you honestly think that Anthony is orchestrating it?”

Michael looked at her consideringly. Tendrils of jealousy still twisted within him a little at Rachel’s championing of the fellow, but he knew that they were the result of emotion, not reason. Rachel had never been unfaithful to him; he knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt after last night. It had been years since what had happened between Rachel and Birkshaw, and they had not even seen one another until recently, when he came to her for help. Michael believed implicitly in Rachel’s honor and integrity.

“No,” he admitted finally. “I don’t.”

“I have no interest in Mr. Birkshaw,” Rachel told him seriously. “I do not plead his case because of any feeling for him but because of what I think. I don’t want you to make a mistake because you are affected by emotion, for I know that then you would bitterly regret it.”

Michael smiled faintly and raised her hand to his lips. “As soon as the constable arrives,” he said, “we will go visit Birkshaw and see what light he can shed on this. There is something about all this that seems planned.”

The constable arrived not long after, and Michael left him with the letter and the body, pleading a need to take his wife home from such a grotesque and upsetting scene. As soon as they were able to hail a hansom, they drove to Birkshaw’s house.

The butler showed them into the drawing room, and a moment later Anthony hurried in, looking eager. “Lord Westhampton. Lady Westhampton. This is an unexpected pleasure. Can I take from this that you have discovered anything?”

“Yes. We have found a dead body,” Michael told him bluntly.

Rachel let Michael take the lead, setting herself to closely watch Anthony for his reactions. He paled now at Michael’s words, his eyes widening. “Good Gad, man. Who?”

“Your former footman. The one who brought your wife her meal tray.”

“Someone killed him?”

“Why would you assume that?”

“I don’t know. Because he was not ill or old, I guess. Was it an accident, then?”

“It appears to be suicide.”

“He killed himself! But why? Not because—was he responsible for Doreen’s death?”

“The note he left says that you are.”

Anthony stared at Michael, speechless, his face turning whiter even than his spotless linen shirt. He sat down abruptly in the nearest chair. “My God! But why—why would he do such a thing?”

“He said that you paid him to put arsenic in Mrs. Birkshaw’s food, that he was to do it while you were gone. But he could not bring himself to finish her off, so you returned, he said, and did the deed yourself.”

Anthony’s mouth dropped open. “Sweet heaven! How could he do this? Why?” He looked pleadingly at Michael, then Rachel. “I did not do it, I swear. You must believe me. I would never have harmed Doreen. Sometimes she was silly, and she was not a woman of great grace or intellect, but there was no wickedness in her, and I never felt anything more than irritation now and then. We did not quarrel. We had a pleasant life. I would not—I could not—”

He turned away, shoving his fingers distractedly through his carefully arranged locks. “Will people believe this, do you think? Will—will the authorities?”

Michael shrugged. “It is a difficult accusation to overlook, Mr. Birkshaw.”

“But it is untrue! It’s unfair! I have no opportunity to defend myself against him.”

“Yes,” Michael agreed without any sign of sympathy. “I would say your only hope is to help us find out what really happened. I don’t think that you have been honest with us, have you, Mr. Birkshaw? There is more here than what you have told us.”

Anthony turned to him, startled. “What do you mean?”

Rachel read the guilt that flitted across Anthony’s face. She jumped to her feet, anger surging through her. “Michael is right! You have been lying to us! Anthony, how could you!”

“No! I mean, I did not hurt Doreen. I swear that to you on all that is holy that I did not harm my wife.” He stopped, then sighed. “But…yes…I was not…entirely truthful with you.”

“You lied to us? Why?” Rachel asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand it, either!” Anthony shot back. “What I told you was all true. I didn’t lie. Everything happened as I told you. Doreen died, and we all believed that she had caught some illness or other. Then, after I came to London, I got those letters that I told you about. The bit of the arsenic label, and then the other one saying that I owed someone a favor in return. I—it scared me. I realized that someone must have killed Doreen and that now they expected me to help them. I—I assumed that they were threatening to make the authorities think that I had done it if I didn’t help them. Well, you see how it has turned out—they have made it look as if I killed her. And I did what he asked!”

“What? Who? Who asked you?” Michael barked.