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Nine
Lord Carrick was a young lord with a newly established household and he was still in mourning so it wasn’t difficult for Paul to track him down early in the afternoon.
“His lordship is in his study,” the butler informed Paul as he took their coats.
Reginald could see and feel that the house was grieving as he passed somber maids and sober footmen. Black crepe had been draped over the front door, tied in bows around door knobs, and hung from the banister that wrapped around the staircase and the gallery overhead. He was reminded that Queen Victoria had made mourning fashionable but Victorian society had been morbidly obsessed with death long before Albert’s passing.
But Lady Carrick’s murder would have been a staggering tragedy in a household that had been so recently established. The fantasy of a fresh new start and a beautiful future had been dashed as the young lord of the house grieved the very sudden loss of his new bride.
They found Lord Carrick at his desk, looking lost. A daguerreotype photo of the couple in their wedding finery sat proudly on the shelf behind him but Carrick was a shell of the man he’d been that day. He was faded and haunted, his eyes dull as he stared blindly at the ledger on his desk. The butler cleared his throat softly, gently announcing their presence and Reginald wondered why his dream had to be so cruel as Carrick glanced at them with a face far too haggard for a man in his mid-twenties.
“Mr. Sloan?” Lord Carrick said as he jumped to his feet and hurried around the desk to greet them. “Have you discovered something?” He asked, gesturing for them to take a seat. Carrick was bravely earnest as he rested against the edge of his desk.
“I think we might have,” Paul said and looked pained as he sat. “Another girl was murdered last night.”
“Dear Lord,” Carrick crossed himself, then risked a curious glance at Reginald. “Aren’t you supposed to be…” He raised his brows suggestively.
“Hiding?” Reginald offered and laughed. “Not on your life. Things are just getting interesting and Paul’s falling in love with me again,” he said, making Paul flinch and duck.
“Blast it, Marston! Stop saying such things!” He scolded as he swatted Reginald with his hat. Reginald shushed soothingly as he held onto the hat and smiled sunnily at Carrick.
“Tell me, was your wife related to or did she know a young woman named Lady Mary Eldon?” Reginald asked him.
“Not that I’m aware of. Could she be related to Lady Bridget?” Carrick frowned as he shook his head. “Even then, no. Why?”
“She was the young woman who was murdered at the Coonans’ last night,” Paul explained and Carrick gasped at Reginald.
“Well, isn’t that an odd coincidence?”
“Isn’t it?” Reginald agreed. “So your wife didn’t know Lady Mary?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I can’t recall Lady Bridget mentioning any female cousins or even friends with the same name,” Carrick said.
“What about anyone named Lois Mara or someone with a similar name?” Reginald asked hopefully. Carrick became distant as he scrubbed his chin and stared over Reginald’s shoulder.
“Not that I can recall.”
“Did she know Sir Francis O’Leary?”
“O’Leary?” Carrick asked, alarmed. “He did call on Lady Bridget a few days before she…” He couldn’t finish and had to hold onto the desk as he composed himself. Their marriage may have been arranged over long-distance but Lord Carrick had fallen in love with his wife before he lost her.
“Is her maid still here?” Reginald asked evenly, despite his growing certainty that they had the right Eldon. Carrick nodded. “I would very much like to ask her a few questions.”
The maid was presented a few minutes later, a slight, shaking thing with deep auburn hair.
“This is Margaret O’Reilly,” Lord Carrick said as the girl was bid to take one of the seats in front of the desk. Paul stayed in the corner so she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed and Reginald perched on the edge of the desk, radiating gentle reassurance.
“Hello, Margaret!” Reginald folded his hands in his lap and beamed at her. “Do you have any idea why Sir Francis called on your mistress a few days before she was murdered?” He asked, keeping his tone light and lulling as if he was approaching a skittish horse. She nodded and he winked at Paul, making him jump and blush. “I think you should tell us, Margaret.”
“I didn’t think it had anything to do with her ladyship’s death. I swear!” She said and looked at Carrick nervously. He held up a hand and shushed her.
“I understand and you’re not in any trouble.”
“I might be,” she squeaked. “I overheard him telling her she’d regret getting in their business, that she shouldn’t have been nosing around. I couldn’t make out much more than that except that she said she wouldn’t give it back.”
“Give what back?” Reginald demanded but she shook her head.
“I don’t know, my lord. I could hear that she was scared so I came into the room with the tray and said I had a letter for Lady Carrick. I said I thought it might be urgent, in case she wanted an excuse, you see?”
