Page 37 of One Last Whisper

She gets to her feet and heads to her room. Dr. Thornton waits until she is gone, then turns to me. “Miss Wilcox, if Lord Edmund doesn’t give his approval, can I count on your testimony when I complain formally that Lord Edmund is negligent?”

I blink. “I… well… you’ve put me on the spot, doctor.”

“I know, and I’m very sorry to do that, Miss Wilcox, but…” He glances over my shoulder to make sure Lady Cordelia isn’t on her way back. Then he lowers his voice and says, “There is significant indication that an infection has already started. If we don’t treat it soon, it could turn a corner, and if it does, there may be no turning that corner again. Frankly, any choice other than allowing Master Oliver to receive treatment at the hospital is going to put his life in danger, and I can’t allow that to stand. Even if the culprit is Lord Blackwood.”

“You won’t have to worry about that, Dr. Thornton,” Lord Edmund says.

We both jump. Lord Edmund looks coldly down at the doctor and says, “I agree to your recommendation. We will transport Oliver to the Clifton Hospital at once. I shall expect a private suite and the care of your finest medical team. I will want you, and whoever else you nominate for that team on call twenty-four-seven, and I and the Lady Cordelia are to be kept apprised of any changes. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, my lord,” Dr. Thornton says. His head is lowered in shame, and his voice is soft.

“Miss Wilcox,” Lord Edmund says, “I will allow you to remain here, and when I am informed by Oliver’s medical teamthat he is well enough to take school, I will send a driver for you to complete school at the hospital. Is that satisfactory, Doctor?”

“Perfectly, my lord.”

“Good.”

The bedroom door opens. Lady Cordelia strides toward us but stops when she sees her husband. A look passes across Lord Edmund’s face. I can’t tell if it should encourage me or terrify me.

His words encourage me, though. “Pack a suitcase, Cordelia. We are going to take Oliver to the hospital.”

Lady Cordelia stares at him in shock for a long moment. Then tears fall from her eyes. She rushes into her husband’s arms and embraces him fiercely. “Thank you, Edmund. Thank you.”

He smiles softly, and I hope very much that the love in his eyes is genuine.

***

Theresa, Franny and Matilda go with the family to assist with each person’s luggage. I am left alone in the house. I don’t doubt that Lord Edmund’s decision not to include me is intended as a slight, but I will use that slight to my advantage. As soon as their car disappears up the road, I rush to Lady Cordelia’s bedroom and into the study she points out to me earlier.

In all of my past mysteries, private studies and bedrooms have revealed information that later proves crucial to the unraveling of the mystery. People are creatures of habit, and nearly all people have a habit of hoarding items that call to mind powerfully emotional memories. Many killers have been caught because they kept mementos from their victims, and I have brought several people to justice by uncovering records that prove their involvement in murder.

Lord Edmund’s study is no different. His filing cabinet is locked, but I use two bobby bins to pick the lock and open the drawers. I flip through the files and find a document stamped with a large red OVERDUE.

I frown and pull it out. Behind it is another. And another. And another.

I skim through the files. One is a property tax bill. Another is a telephone bill. One is a payroll account. My eyes widen at that. I am financially secure regardless of my income, but I can’t imagine that Theresa and the other maids can say the same.

The thrust of these documents is clear. Lord Blackwood is deeply in debt. I do some quick math and come up with a figure north of seven figures. The family is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.

This is shocking information, and it can truly explain Lord Edmund’s irritability and rudeness, but it’s not enough yet to suggest a motive for murder. I need to keep looking.

I take pictures of the documents and send them to Sean with a question mark caption. Then I replace them and look through the rest of the cabinet. I find more records that indicate the dire financial straits in which this family finds itself, but I don’t find anything that can connect this precipice with the one over which Sarah was thrown.

I look through the unlocked drawers and find nothing of importance. Nothing either that would indicate the struggles Lord Blackwood is facing. Evidently, he's chosen to keep his finances locked away and hidden from Lady Cordelia. I can’t say that surprises me.

I nearly leave the study when, out of the corner of my eye, I see a shoebox. It sits on top of the refrigerator in the office. I have to stand on tiptoes to reach it and nearly fall, but when I pull it down, I am rewarded for my efforts.

Inside the shoebox is a stack of letters. I sift through them and find mostly innocuous items. There are a few love letters from girls in college and university and a few pictures that I quickly look away from as they areveryprivate. Perhaps this is only a shrine so Lord Edmund can remember the conquests of his youth.

But when I work my way through the first few letters, I find that most of them are from Lady Evelyn. These are of more interest to me, but as I read through them, I find that they are no different from the letters Lord Edmund receives from other admirers. It’s touching that he saves the memory of his former wife’s love, but that doesn’t help me understand if Edmund could be responsible for her murder. It doesn’t really indicate innocence either, since, as I’ve said before, many serial killers keep mementos of their victims.

I finally strike gold at the bottom of the box. The letter here is frayed at the edges and written in a harried scrawl that speaks of great distress at the time of writing.

The contents of the letter are chilling.

I don’t think I have much longer. I don’t have anyone on my side. Edmund’s going to take Oliver, and no one will care that his own mother wants to raise him to be better than she was. No one believes I can.

So this letter was written by Lady Alivia Blackwood, Oliver’s mother. I read on.

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