“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.