Page 35 of From the Ashes
"Well?" I said, stretching my fingers over the warm stove. Cook and Doyle were enjoying their own cup of tea at the table. Upon seeing his master, Doyle scrambled to his feet and stood awkwardly. Cook slurped his tea. "What did you learn?" I pressed.
"Marchbank was the only one of the three male committee members not at the club that day," Lincoln said. "Buchanan was also there, as was his brother."
"His brother! Lord Harcourt!" We'd met Lady Harcourt's eldest stepson when his brother, Andrew, disappeared. I thought he and his wife were living peacefully in the country. "The staff remembered?"
"The manager's memory is good, but not infallible. I asked to see the wagers' ledger for that day. Every day, wagers between members are recorded by the club manager. Between questioning him, the footmen and reviewing the ledger, we ascertained who was there and who was not. Both Buchanans like to gamble, and General Eastbrooke and Lord Gillingham are well known at the club."
"So it seems Marchbank is not a suspect."
"It would seem so."
"What if the killer be someone else?" Cook asked. "Someone we don't know."
"That's a possibility," Lincoln said. "I have the names of everyone recorded in the wagers' ledger."
"Can we see the list?" I asked.
Lincoln tapped his temple. "It's in here. I'll write them down for you."
Seth poured two cups of tea from the teapot on the stove and handed one to Lincoln. Lincoln hesitated then took it.
"Sit," he ordered Doyle as he himself sat.
Doyle expelled a breath and resumed his seat, albeit with a rigid back and shoulders. An awkward silence simmered among our little group. It was inevitable, I suppose, but I didn't like it. I knew just the way to break it, although I didn't expect the situation to explode the way it did.
"We need to draw the killer out," I said.
Lincoln looked up sharply. "No."
"How?" Seth asked.
"No," Lincoln said again, louder.
"I agree with him," Cook said. "It ain't a good idea."
"How?" Seth repeated. "Will someone answer me?"
"We'll announce my return to Lichfield and draw the killer to me," I said.
"NO!" the three of them shouted.
"I agree." Doyle surprised me by voicing his opinion too. He seemed a little embarrassed to have contributed to the conversation, and quickly sipped his tea, his gaze averted once again.
"It's too dangerous," Seth added.
Cook crossed his arms and glared at me. "It be a foolish idea, Charlie."
I crossed my arms too and matched his glare. "But—"
"No," Lincoln cut in with cold, calm finality. "And that's final."
I blew out a breath. "Overbearing men," I muttered. "Very well. We'll keep my return to ourselves for now, but I refuse to cower in here for more than a week. If the murderer hasn't been exposed in that time, I'll make my return known. Surely that will draw him out."
"We'll renegotiate in a week," Lincoln said. It wasn't an agreement, but I doubted I'd ever get one from him, or the others. I hoped a week would be long enough, if only to avoid a confrontation between us. I was still exhausted from the last one.
"One more thing," I said when he got up to leave. "You should know that Lady Harcourt's past has been exposed in the newspapers. We read the article just now. She'll be upset."
"Bloody hell." Seth dragged a hand over his face and down his chin. "How did they find out?"
