“Because I believe in her,” Niles replied.
Bedford looked heavenward. “Fine. We will all go together, if only to prove that Aunt Isabella has nothing to do with this,” he said, already heading towards the stables. “Let’s get this over with before I lose what little patience I have left.”
As Niles took a step forward, Elsbeth placed a hand on his sleeve, stopping him. “Thank you,” she said. “For believing in me.”
Niles tipped his head slightly, a faint smile on his lips. “Always.”
17
Elsbeth stared out of the coach window, the passing scenery blurring as her thoughts raced. Her heart felt heavy with doubt and fear. Could her mother truly be involved in Alfred’s secrets? Worse yet, could she have had something to do with her father’s death? The idea was unfathomable, but the questions gnawed at her.
No.
It couldn’t be. Her mother loved Elsbeth’s father. Didn’t she?
Charles broke the silence beside her with a disgruntled sigh. “This is foolishness, Elsbeth. We should turn the coach around right now.”
Elsbeth tore her gaze from the window and met his gaze. “I need to know what my mother is doing with Alfred in the village. I can’t ignore this.”
Charles frowned. “Why? For heaven’s sake, this is your mother we’re talking about. She doesn’t have a single nefarious bone in her body.”
Niles shifted in his seat, his calm voice cutting through the tension. “If that’s true, then there’s no harm in following them, is there?”
Elsbeth gave a small nod of agreement. “Exactly. If she has nothing to hide, then all we’ve wasted is a little time.”
Charles threw up his hands in exasperation. “Fine! I see I’m outnumbered. But for the record, I think this is a terrible idea.”
“Duly noted,” Elsbeth said.
The coach came to a halt, and a footman stepped forward to open the door, offering his hand to assist Elsbeth. She descended gracefully onto the cobbled street and immediately spotted Alfred’s coach parked farther ahead in front of the coaching inn.
“There,” she said, pointing. “It seems Alfred has another meeting at the coaching inn.”
“Or maybe they’re just getting a drink,” Charles muttered.
Elsbeth arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think my mother is sharing a pint with my stepfather?”
Charles shrugged, his frown deepening. “Perhaps not.”
“Come on,” she said, gesturing for them to follow her. She led the way to a narrow alley beside the inn, stopping at a grime-covered window. Peering inside, her eyes scanned the room until they landed on three figures: her mother, Alfred, and someone she instantly recognized as the blond-haired man who had met with her stepfather on two separate occasions.
Niles came to stand beside her. “What do you suppose they’re discussing?”
Elsbeth’s voice was tight as she answered, “I don’t know, but it’s clear my mother is aware of Alfred’s secrets.”
Charles, who had hung back, stepped closer, his tone grim. “I know that man.”
Elsbeth turned to him. “How?”
“I saw him leaving the coroner’s office when I went to speak about your father’s death,” Charles revealed. “I remember him because he had a pistol tucked into his waistband. It struck me as odd.”
Niles’s brow furrowed. “Do you think he’s the one who threatened the coroner?”
“It seems likely,” Charles replied. “But the real question is, why would Alfred go to such lengths to silence the coroner?”
Elsbeth felt her frustration mounting. “None of this makes sense. If my father’s death was truly an accident, why investigate it? Why all these secrets?”
Niles’s voice lowered, his words measured. “What if Alfred killed your father and is now covering it up? We overheard him telling that man that if Charles kept asking questions, it could get him killed. What if he’s willing to silence anyone who gets too close to the truth?”
