Page 125 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
She humphed and pushed past him. “It can also be slate gray, and all shades in between.”
As it transpired, the arsenic powder Nigel had been using to poison his father was pure white. Packaged in brown paper, but with the label on the inner packet still present and legible, it was hidden at the back of the bottom drawer of the tallboy in Nigel’s room.
Sir Godfrey snorted. “Sadly, the stuff’s easily enough had from any apothecary.”
Richard sighed and sat on the end of the bed.
Sir Godfrey set the damning packet on the dresser. “So…I assume we’re all supposing that the reason Nigel has fled is…” Sir Godfrey blinked. “Why, exactly? If you four hadn’t come to visit, and Lucilla hadn’t noticed what she had, in a few more hours, Manachan’s death would have been ruled as due to natural causes, or so the doctor said. I wouldn’t have been summoned, and Nigel would have gained all he presumably wants—the leadership of the clan and ownership of the Carrick estate.”
“Nigel knew we were coming here today.” Lucilla gripped her elbows, suddenly feeling chilled. “We made the arrangements yesterday, outside the church, and Nigel was there. Niniver—and the others, too—said that Manachan was set on attending our wedding, but according to Nolan, and Edgar, too, Manachan’s health started to deteriorate last week.”
Thomas put an arm around her shoulders and drew her against him. He looked bleakly at Sir Godfrey. “If it was Nigel, then he knew about the wedding, knew Manachan was insisting on attending, knew that Lucilla, at least, would see Manachan and know that something was wrong, and possibly Catriona might see…” He glanced down at Lucilla, met her gaze as she looked up at him. “Nigel probably gave Manachan a large dose before the wedding, thinking to finish him off—or, at the very least, to force him to remain at home, possibly to die while everyone else was at the wedding…that would have worked.”
“It certainly would have,” Sir Godfrey said. “But Manachan was an obstreperous old coot—he wanted to attend your wedding, so damn it all, he did. He held on until then. But if he’d remained here instead of going to the church…Nigel’s plan would likely have worked and left no one the wiser.”
“So,” Richard said, “Nigel gave Manachan a large dose intending Manachan to first fall ill—too ill to attend the wedding—and subsequently to die, possibly while no one but Edgar was around. But despite the larger dose, Nigel failed to stop Manachan from going to the wedding, and he couldn’t stop the pair of you from meeting Manachan, noting how ill he was, and arranging to call…things started looking dangerous, so he took himself off.”
“To parts unknown.” Lucilla shivered.
Richard narrowed his eyes. “As to that…I would think he’d go into hiding, but would keep an eye on the place to see what happened. Then if there is no talk of murder, he’ll know he’s got away with the deed, and as he’s apparently made a habit of going off without warning, he can simply ride in again and claim his inheritance.”
“Not a chance.” Sir Godfrey scowled. “I’ll raise a hue and cry for the blackguard as soon as I get home.”
* * *
The murder of Manachan Carrick by his eldest son, Nigel, caused a county-wide sensation. Everyone in the district was thoroughly shocked; Manachan might have been a difficult, overbearing despot to everyone outside his clan, but he was widely acknowledged as having always done right by his clansmen, and for that he had always been respected and, in passing, was rightly honored.
Most of the local men, from farmhands to landowners, joined in the ensuing manhunt for Nigel Carrick, but neither sight nor sign of the miscreant was found.
After three days of fruitless riding about the countryside, the searchers returned home, weary and disappointed, to get ready for the funeral of The Carrick.
The day dawned a misty gray, and the light remained muted throughout the morning, which seemed entirely fitting for such a somber event. The well-polished dray draped in the clan’s colors, with Manachan’s coffin on the bed, rolled slowly through the soft morning light. Manachan’s three younger children walked behind, with the rest of the clan at their backs.
All the others who had gathered to pay their respects to Manachan, and to his bereaved family and clan, were waiting outside the church. Sir Godfrey and his wife were there, along with all the other landowners and their wives, although all gave precedence to Richard and Catriona and the rest of the party from the Vale.
Everyone waited, hands clasped, heads bowed, as the coffin was carried inside, hefted on the shoulders of eight of Manachan’s clansmen, Ferguson, Sean, Mitch, and Fred among them, as well as Thomas. He’d considered Ferguson’s suggestion long and hard, but at Lucilla’s encouragement had accepted the position—his last duty to his uncle, to whom he owed so much.
But once the coffin had been settled on the stand before the altar, Thomas joined the Vale household in the pews on the opposite side of the church from those the Carrick clan occupied.
It was a subtlety, but an important one. He was still a member of the clan, but his first allegiance was now to the Vale.
For him, a new and deeper commitment had finally trumped clan.
Lucilla slid her hand into his as she slipped into the pew alongside him.
Thomas closed his fingers around hers and steeled himself to listen to the service.
It was a moving one, with tributes from several sources, both from within the clan—Bradshaw, Sean, and Ferguson all spoke—as well as the wider community, represented by Richard and Sir Godfrey. Somewhat to everyone’s surprise, it was Niniver who delivered her father’s eulogy. Although it cost her significant effort to hold her tears at bay, she spoke in a clear, quite lovely voice, painting a picture of Manachan that was both recognizable, but also deeply personal and immensely affecting and poignant. When she finally stepped away from the lectern, there was not a dry eye in the church.
Then the service was over, and the pallbearers stepped forward again and hoisted the coffin up. Pacing slowly and steadily, they followed the vicar out of the side door into the graveyard, where a freshly dug grave in the Carrick section waited to receive Manachan’s earthly remains.
Many of the ladies hung back, ultimately going out to wait on the lawn in front of the church, but Lucilla stepped up to support Niniver, and Catriona followed on Richard’s arm.
Marcus took station on Lucilla’s other side. He noted that Nolan and Norris both seemed absorbed, deeply sunk in their own thoughts; neither exhibited any care for their sister. Inwardly disgusted with the pair’s behavior, as he followed Niniver and Lucilla from the church, Marcus switched to walking on Niniver’s other side. If she grew faint or was overcome—and who could blame her?—he wanted to be in a position to steady her.
With Lucilla on her other side, Marcus deemed Niniver safe; although Lucilla wasn’t tall or large, Niniver was, if anything, even more finely made, more delicately ethereal.
The ceremony for interment was blessedly brief; once the first sods were cast by the family, those who’d gathered about the grave made their way around the church to join those waiting on the lawn.
