Page 70 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

“Yes, of course.” Lady Lockwood waved away the objection. “But they’re French. And they hadn’t a penny to their name; they escaped with the clothes on their backs and that’s all.”

“Oh!” Noelle looked up in surprise. “I met her.” She turned to Carlisle. “She was at Lady Halder’s party. I remember the French ambassador’s wife introduced me to Lady Snowden because I could speak French. I’m certain she said something about her son. Gaspard?”

“Of course.” Lady Lockwood emphasized her words with a thump of her cane. “Damned silly name.”

“I believe it’s French, Mother.”

“But why saddle an English lad with a French name?” Lady Lockwood retorted. “They had another boy, too, now that I think of it. Another foolish name. Filbert or something.”

“Fulbert,” Noelle said, giving it the French pronunciation. “But I believe Madame Blanchard—the ambassador’s wife—told me he died several years ago. He was climbing a tor and fell to his death when he was sixteen. He was the older of the two.”

“So, another deceased heir,” Carlisle summed up. “That leaves rather few people—Nathan, me, Brookwell’s younger son, Haverstock’s younger son, and this Gaspard fellow.”

“That’s also a great many deaths,” Nathan put in grimly. “Six of the original signers. Four of their heirs.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Adeline said, “But, Nathan, surely someone didn’t do away with that many people?”

“That’s ridiculous,” her mother said. “Brookwell’s boy died in the war. Some boys died as children; Sprague Haverstock drowned in a boating accident. All the others who died were old men.”

“And several of the original signers are still alive,” Adeline added. “Lord Haverstock and Sir Basil, Freddie Penrose, Mr. Snowden, Mr. Brookwell.”

“No, Vinson Brookwell died some years ago,” Lady Lockwood corrected. “Accident while he was cleaning his gun, they said. But I suspect that was a kind lie. More likely killed himself. He was never the same after Milton died at Waterloo.”

“I have to point out that the large number of deaths also means a rather small number of suspects,” Carlisle said. “One of those remaining is Gil, who is the intended victim, and two of them are Nathan and me, who I would hope we can assume are not the perpetrators.”

“Which leaves only John Brookwell and Gaspard Snowden,” Noelle said. “Unless one thinks the Haverstock who is in poor health is doing it.”

“Yes, I suppose we can’t leave him out,” Carlisle agreed.

“What about the creators of the trust who are still alive?” Nathan asked. “You said there were four of them, correct? I can imagine that the men who had no children or had all daughters might resent the fact that they have no hope of winning the prize. Does it have to be an heir who receives it? Could it be one of the original men if they outlived everyone else?”

“Or possibly it reverts to them if all the heirs die,” Carlisle mused. “If so, would they split it among them? That would be a larger amount than they put into it, depending on whether the fund has grown. We have no idea how it’s distributed. Or when it terminates. Or how much money is in the trust.” A heavy silence fell on the room as they looked at each other in frustration.

“Then we had best get started.” Noelle rose from her chair. “We need to find that agreement. It will answer most of our questions. And we have to talk to these men. Lord Haverstock, Mr. Snowden, Sir Basil, Mr. Penrose.” She turned to Carlisle, her eyebrows raised in question.

“Yes. Hopefully one of them has it. Or, at least, they can direct us to the lawyer who drew it up. I’d like to speak with the surviving sons, too. John Brookwell and Snowden. The younger Haverstock son.” Carlisle paused, thinking. “Haverstock’s place is in Sussex, isn’t it? We can travel to my home and look through my father’s papers, then go on to Haverstock’s to speak to him.” He stopped abruptly and turned to Noelle. “That is, if you wish to accompany me.”

“Yes, of course.” Noelle’s pulse picked up a little at the thought. She and Carlisle would be alone again. It was terrible, she knew, that her mind went to that thought when there was such a serious matter at stake. “I’m Gil’s mother. I must help. And two people to observe are better than one.” It occurred to her that she was giving too many explanations. Last time, she had simply, forcefully, said she would go. Last time, before Carlisle and she had made love. Before she felt guilty.

Belatedly, she turned to Adeline. “If you do not mind being in charge of Gil for a few days.”

“Nonsense.” Lady Drewsbury beamed. “I’m happy to look after him. And dear Nathan, I’m sure, could be persuaded to join us again.” She cast a smile at Carlisle’s friend.

“I would never pass up the opportunity to be with three charming ladies.” Nathan added with a grin, “And frankly, I sorely miss Mrs. Demson’s cooking when I am at my own estate.”

“Luckily for your appetite, that is a rare occasion,” Lady Lockwood said pointedly.

“I’m going to send Diggs a message to come here, as well,” Carlisle told him.

Nathan raised his brow. “Are you suggesting I won’t be able to protect Gil?”

“No, of course not. But I want to have someone to patrol the grounds as well as you watching over Gil inside the house. I don’t want to leave it to just the gardeners and grooms. And Diggs will be far more useful here than he is in London, looking for something to point to Rutherford. He’ll be under your direction, naturally.”

Nathan nodded. “Yes. I see. Perhaps he will be able to dig up some local information about who shot at Gil, as well.”

“Good. It’s settled then.” Carlisle nodded. “The only question now is where we should go from Haverstock’s?”

“The Snowdens are in London,” Noelle offered. “Or, at least, they were when we were there.”