Page 29 of A Body, A Baron, and Miss Mifford
“I find it’s best to keep any meetings with Mr Cartwright as brief as possible, my lord,” the maid whispered before the door was flung open to reveal a furious-faced Mr Cartwright.
“What is it this time?” the elderly valet snapped, glaring at Rob and the maid.
“Beg your pardon, Mr Cartwright,” the girl answered, her tone syrupy sweet, “But Lord Delaney requested he be brought to see you.”
As Cartwright turned his gaze toward him, Rob briefly relived the feeling of utter terror his former Latin Master in Eton had inspired in him. Mr Cartwright had every look of aman who’d take the rod out and lash a lad for being unable to conjugate a verb.
You’re a baron, not a schoolboy, Rob reminded himself sternly as he offered Mr Cartwright a smile.
“Might I have a moment of your time?” Rob asked lightly.
“Are you here to accuse me of murder like Lord Crabb, my lord?” Cartwright groused, “Never in my life have I been so insulted; do sixty years of service count for nothing these days?”
“I am sure that Lord Crabb did not mean to accuse you of murder,” Rob soothed, alarmed by the elderly valet’s puce colour, “As magistrate, he has a duty to question everyone over the killing. I would assume that he wished to interview the least likely suspect first to get that formality out of the way. Your years of loyal service have been highly praised by all.”
For a moment, Rob wondered if he had laid his flattery on a bit thick, but Cartwright’s expression soon softened as he absorbed Rob’s words.
“I suppose he must interview everyone for appearance’s sake,” the valet relented before turning to the maid, “Fetch a tray of tea for my guest, Flora. Mind you be quick this time - the last pot you brought up was tepid at best.”
Rob caught Flora indiscreetly rolling her eyes at Cartwright’s order, but the valet did not notice, for he was settling himself into his chair. Cartwright offered Rob a conspiratorial smile once the door closed behind the maid.
“I suppose you’d like to know who I believe to be the murderer?” he asked, very directly, once he was sure they were alone.
Rob could not help but raise his brows in surprise. He had been expecting to have to force that information out of the man.
“Well, as you knew Lord Albermay better than anyone - even his own son - it’s only natural that a man be keen to learn yourviews on the matter,” Rob answered, continuing with his plan of overt flattery.
Cartwright smiled contentedly, proving Rob correct.
“My thanks for your confidence, my lord,” he said, his cheeks pink with pleasure, “Lord Crabb was less enthusiastic when I tried to offer my opinion on the matter.”
Rob hid a smile; the viscount was not the type to pander to another man’s amour propre. Rob, on the other hand, was happy to do whatever was needed to learn the killer’s identity. This was due mostly to his searing need to make Eudora happy rather than any pressing desire to see justice served.
“As magistrate he must act somewhat impartially,” Rob replied, in Lord Crabb’s defence. “Though I’m certain he took all that you said on board. Tell me, Mr Cartwright, who do you suspect carried out the heinous act?”
“It was one of two people,” Cartwright answered, his jowls quivering with certainty, “Either the viscountess or her sea-faring lover.”
“Really?”
The disappointment in Rob’s voice was evident, and Mr Cartwright frowned with annoyance.
“You sound just like Lord Crabb,” the valet huffed, upset by Rob’s reaction.
“Forgive me,” Rob rushed to reassure him that his suspicions were not being dismissed, “I am merely loath to believe that a member of the fairer sex might be capable of such brutality. Pray tell, why do you think it was Lady Albermay who committed the murder and not someone else? Someone like…Mr Wellsely - father and son were heard having a terrific argument when they first arrived.”
“Father and son were always arguing,” Cartwright snorted derisively, “I would not try to pin the murder on the new viscount on account of one verbal spat.”
“But this time, they argued over money,” Rob interjected, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice, “Perhaps our new Lord Albermay decided that he no longer wished to debase himself by asking his father for money and thought to inherit the title immediately instead?”
“Fudge,” Mr Cartwright groused, “Lord Albermay knew right well that he did not have to wait long to inherit the title.”
“On account of his father’s age?” Rob guessed.
“No, on account of his tumour of the stomach,” Cartwright answered with a visible shudder, “It had grown so large that I was forced to fashion a corset of sorts to support it. Lord Albermay knew of the tumour, knew that his father could not hold down much more than a few bites of food, and retched blood most evenings - why would he think to kill the man when he had to wait but a month or two for him to expire naturally?”
Rob remained silent, for he, too, was at a loss to explain why Lord Albermay might have murdered his father for his title if he knew that his death was imminent.
“Was Lady Albermay aware of her husband’s ill health?” Rob asked, seeking to break the silence which had fallen between them.
