Page 123 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
“Sitting with his da’s dead body in his room,” Sean said. “Edgar’s there, too.”
Thomas nodded. “We’ll go up.” To Ferguson, he said, “Lady Cynster is on the front steps with Niniver—you might see if they wish to move to the drawing room, and I’m sure a pot of tea would be welcome.”
“Yes, of course, sir.” Mrs. Kennedy bustled forward. “Come on.” She tugged Ferguson’s sleeve. “We can at least give Miss Niniver what comfort we can—only one of the lot of ’em who’s crying for her dad.”
Thomas exchanged a glance with Lucilla as, side by side, they made for the stairs. Richard followed close behind.
They reached Manachan’s room and found the door ajar. Quietly pushing it open, Thomas led the way in. He walked into Manachan’s bedroom and halted just past the threshold. His uncle lay on his back, his hands clasped over his chest. The shadows cast by the curtains screening the head of the bed largely hid his face; he might have simply been sleeping.
But Nolan sat by the side of the bed, one arm stretched out, his hand on his father’s sleeve; his head was bowed, resting on his outstretched arm. Edgar stood on the other side of the bed, almost in the corner of the room. His expression was devastated, his complexion ashen. He’d been with Manachan for a very long time.
Thomas inclined his head to Edgar and moved further into the room.
At the rustle of Lucilla’s gown, Nolan raised his head. He looked at them almost blearily, as if he’d been asleep, then he blinked and dragged in a huge breath. His face, always pale, looked strained, his features edging toward haggard. Slowly straightening, he waved vaguely at his father’s body. “As you can see, he’s gone.”
Thomas felt that truth—the realization that his uncle had, indeed, passed on—close about his heart, tightening his chest almost unbearably…but then Lucilla slipped her hand into his and lightly gripped, and the pressure eased. The weight of grief remained, but not the strangling sensation. He gripped lightly back, then drew in a breath. “The doctor needs to be sent for.”
Nolan snorted. “What for?” He slumped back in the chair and stared at the body. “He’s dead, and nothing any quack can do is going to bring him back.”
“Be that as it may,” Richard said, “the law dictates that in the matter of the death of a landowner, a doctor must attend the body and issue a certificate.”
Nolan’s expression darkened; mulishly, he shook his head. “He wouldn’t have wanted any quack poking at him.” He looked at Thomas and Lucilla. “You know how he felt.”
“What he might have wanted is beside the point,” Richard calmly replied. “Not even for The Carrick will the law bend.”
Nolan slouched in the chair. He crossed his arms and stared broodingly at Manachan’s body. Raising a hand, he bit the nail of one thumb; he didn’t look at Thomas, Richard, or Lucilla again.
Thomas looked at Edgar.
He stirred and glanced briefly at Nolan. “I’ll get Sean to send one of the grooms for the doctor.”
Thomas nodded. “Thank you.”
When Edgar had left, closing the door behind him, Thomas refocused on Nolan. “Where’s Nigel?”
Without looking at Thomas, Nolan shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Thomas felt Lucilla slip her fingers free of his; quietly, she walked around the bed, her goal clearly the small table beside its head and the bottle of tonic that stood there.
“When last did you see Nigel?” Richard asked.
Looking at the nail he’d been biting, Nolan replied, his voice all but toneless, “Yesterday. We rode away from the wedding following Papa’s carriage, but we didn’t stick to the road—we cut across the fields.” Nolan shifted on the chair, sitting straighter. “Nigel pulled up about halfway home. He said he wanted to ride for a while. I pointed out that Papa was ill, but he brushed me off and said that if I cared, I should ride on to the manor. Then he took off. He…was in one of his wild moods. I decided I should let him go and come back here, so I did.”
“He hasn’t returned since then?” Richard asked.
Nolan sullenly replied, “I don’t know—I haven’t seen him, but someone else might have. But he wasn’t at breakfast, and he isn’t around now. And Sean said his horse isn’t in the stable.”
Thomas shifted. “How was Manachan when he reached home?”
Nolan lifted a shoulder. “As well as he’s been these last few days.” He paused, then grudgingly added, “He’s been getting steadily weaker for about the last week.” Nolan jerked his chin at the door. “Edgar and the others can tell you.”
Half screened from Nolan by the fall of the bed curtain, Lucilla had been studying the bottle of restorative; it was a replacement for the one she’d left with Manachan weeks ago. She’d tested a drop of the tonic on her tongue, and it had tasted as it should; Manachan hadn’t grown weak through any fault of Alice’s. She set down the bottle and, frowning, turned—and looked directly at Manachan’s face.
For a moment, what she was seeing, what her eyes were noting, didn’t properly register.
Then it did and she froze.
She felt her eyes grow rounder. Swiftly, she drank in all she could see…then she swallowed and softly said, “We should have Mama come up—she’ll know for certain. But I believe you should send for the magistrate, too.” Drawing in a breath, she turned and met Thomas’s gaze. “I think your uncle was poisoned.”
