“He was charming too,” Eleanor said. “At least, some people thought so. I never found him to be, but I’m told he had a persuasive way about him. He charmed his way into every living he held, apparently. The only person who ever blocked him was Louisa’s father, Earl Scranton, and he and Hargate had words over it.”
So had every single person Fellows interviewed told him; they’d told him as well that Earl Scranton had later taken much of Hargate’s money in fraudulent schemes.
“Why did your father cause problems for him over the living?” Fellows asked Louisa.
Louisa shrugged, looking past him and out the window. “Father didn’t approve of young men getting above themselves. The living at Scranton is quite prosperous, and Hargate wanted it. He was the Honorable Frederick Lane then. My father didn’t like him and didn’t want him to be the local vicar. He found Hargate foppish, and said he preferred an older clergyman.”
“Simple as that?” Fellows asked.
“As simple as that.” Louisa looked at him again, her eyes green like polished jade. “Hargate was angry, of course, but once he began his rise to power, he forgave my father. Well, he said, rather deprecatingly, that taking my father’s church would have held him back, so it was all for the best.”
“Forgave him enough to let your father invest money for him?” Fellows asked.
Louisa’s smile was thin and forced. “Investing with my father became the fashionable thing to do. Everyone wanted to say they’d of course entrusted their money to Earl Scranton.”
All the worse when the scheme came tumbling down. “And Hargate was angry when everything fell apart?”
Eleanor broke in. “Of course he was. So many were, unfortunately. But when I spoke to Hargate earlier this Season, he seemed unconcerned about it. No grudges there. But Hargate’s family have always given him piles of money, even though he was the second son, and he never had to worry much about the ready. Seems to me Hargate led a charmed life. He would have found a seat in the House of Lords soon and lived happily ever after. Well, happy except for being a bit bullied by Hart. But then his luck ran out, poor man.”
“And I need to find out who killed him, and quickly. That’s why I’ve come to you for help,” Fellows said, looking at Eleanor.
Eleanor contrived to look surprised again. “I don’t know what I can do.”
She did know, but she was making Fellows spell it out. “You know everyone. When I talk to them, they see a policeman prying into their affairs. No, don’t bother telling me I’m one of the family and they should treat me as though I’m a true Mackenzie. I’m the illegitimate son and always will be. When you talk to them, they see their friend Lady Eleanor Ramsay. They’ll tell you things they’d never dream of telling me.”
“And then I report it all to you.” Eleanor gave him a severe look. “You are asking me to spy on my friends.”
“I am, yes.”
Eleanor’s severe look vanished, and she beamed a smile. “Sounds delightful. When do I begin?”
“As soon as you can.”
“Hmm, Isabella’s supper ball would be a good place to start. Absolutely everyone will be there. She’s hired assembly rooms for it, because her house is far too small for such a grand event—even this house isn’t large enough to hold the entire upper echelon of English society. Besides, Hart has become quite tedious about having any large affairs here now that there’s a baby in the house, although I—”
Eleanor broke off when a small cry—more of a grunt—invaded the silence, even over Old Ben’s snores. Fellows saw now what he’d missed by focusing all his attention on Louisa—a bassinet hidden behind the sofa, its interior shielded from the sunshine by a light cloth.
Eleanor rose immediately, went to the bassinet, and lifted out a small body in a long nightgown. “Here’s my little man,” she cooed, her voice filling with vast fondness. “Forgive my abruptness, dear friends, but I wanted to pick up my son before he started howling. He can shatter the windows, can little Alec.”
Fellows had risen automatically as soon as Eleanor left her seat. Eleanor lifted the boy high, gazing at him in pure rapture. “Did you have a good nap, Alec? Look, Uncle Lloyd has come to see you.” Eleanor turned the baby and held him out to Fellows.
Fellows looked at a sleep-flushed face, tousled red-gold hair, and the eyes of Hart Mackenzie. At the age of four months, Alec—Lord Hart Alec Mackenzie, Eleanor and Hart’s firstborn—already had the hazel-golden Mackenzie eyes and the look of arrogant command of every Mackenzie male.
As Fellows stood still, unwilling to reach for this little bundle he might drop, Alec’s face scrunched into a fierce scowl. Then he opened his mouth, and roared.
Fellows had heard plenty of children cry in hunger, in fear, or in want of simple attention. Alec’s bellowing possessed the strength of his Highland ancestors, calling out for blood.
Old Ben woke up with a snort, looking around in concern. Eleanor laughed, turned Alec, and cuddled him close. “There, now, Alec. The inspector can’t help looking at you like that. He scrutinizes everyone so.” Alec’s cries quieted as he snuggled into his mother’s shoulder. Ben huffed again then laid his large head back down.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Eleanor said. “I must return this lad to the nursery for his afternoon feeding. Tell Louisa what you wish me to do, and thank you for keeping us up on the matter.”
So saying, she gathered Alec tighter and breezed out of the room before Fellows could say a word.
The closing door left him alone with Louisa. She looked up from her place on the sofa to where Fellows stood, awkwardly holding his coffee cup.
“You may leave if you wish,” Louisa said. She wanted him to, that was plain.
Fellows remained standing but set down the coffee. “I’m glad to report I was able to make the investigation turn its focus from you,” he said, trying to sound brisk and businesslike. “You’re not to be arrested unless there’s evidence solid enough to bring you before the magistrate. The coroner and my chief super don’t want to risk putting an earl’s daughter in jail unless the chance of making the charges stick is very high. I’ve convinced my sergeant and my guv that the story of the man escaping from under the tent wall is true.”
“It’s very good of you.”
Such a stiff and formal response from the woman he wanted to gaze at him in soft delight. His heart burned. “No, it’s very bad of me to lie to my own men, but I am trying to keep you out of Newgate.”