Page 126 of The Meaning of Love
Julian had seen ladies pander to gentlemen’s vanities in pursuit of information before. He knew that approach frequently worked and prayed his brothers and Gordon would follow his lead and remain silent.
Sure enough, Findlay-Wright relaxed on his improvised throne and happily revealed, “As it happened, I had my epiphany when I was here for the late earl’s funeral. That’s when it occurred to me how unexpected accidents could move control of a major estate on down the line of succession, and I started hypothesizing about removing Julian and making Felix appear guilty.”
Melissa nodded. “Two birds with one stone.”
“Exactly. And that would advance my potential cause in a leap and a bound. Andthen”—Findlay-Wright was clearly warming to Melissa’s implied understanding and her subtext of flattery—“I recognized Mitchell and realized who he was, and he became my first pawn on the board, as it were. I took that—finding Mitchell already ensconced and in place—as a sign that the plan crystalizing in my mind was worthy and that if I pursued it carefully, it would work.”
His gaze had grown distant, his expression unconcerned as he grew consumed with his tale. “And given that older groom had suicided, Mitchell was reasonably secure.”
Julian couldn’t resist confirming, “So you had no hand in my father’s death?”
Findlay-Wright refocused on him and smiled condescendingly. “No, indeed. You won’t catch me with that. By all accounts, it was pure accident that took your father off.” The captain’s eyes twinkled. “And gave me my grand idea.”
“I’m curious.” Melissa edged forward, recapturing Findlay-Wright’s attention. “I take it all the strange accidents were dictated by you and put into action by your pawns. Was the first the thorn Mitchell put in Julian’s saddle?”
The captain nodded. “Another idea sparked by the late earl’s death.” He shrugged. “It was worth a try.”
“But next came the shot in Hyde Park.” Puzzled, Melissa frowned. “Who was that?”
“Ah.” Findlay-Wright looked faintly chastened. “I fear that was me. I was at that family dinner a few nights previously when you announced your wedding date. That, I admit, unsettled me. Until that moment, I had hoped the engagement, coming about as it had, would prove more bluff than substance. Then while riding in the park, I saw you and Julian riding, too, and I’d seen Felix out as well, and I couldn’t resist seizing the opportunity and trying for a hit.” He grimaced. “Sadly, nothing came of that, and I really should have learned the lesson that planning always pays, but…”
When he didn’t go on, Melissa prompted, “The urn falling during our engagement ball was the next incident.”
Findlay-Wright sighed. “As I said, I really should have learned my lesson, but when you both went out onto that side terrace, it was simply too good a chance to squander, or so I thought. But then I came within a whisker of being caught.” His gaze shifted, rising past Julian’s shoulder to Damian, and Findlay-Wright smiled. “If it hadn’t been for young Master Damian”—the way he said Damian’s name was openly disparaging—“and his band of merry men, I would have been hard-pressed to explain why I was in that rear corridor at that time. But several of the men were so well oiled they didn’t notice that, although I walked back to the ballroom with them, I hadn’t been with them when they’d left nor yet been to the water closets.” He returned his attention to Melissa. “After that near miss, I truly did learn my lesson and left the actual acting to my pawns.” He smiled gently. “That is, after all, why I put them in place.”
Melissa nodded, her expression suggesting Findlay-Wright’s tale was an eye-opening revelation.
That wasn’t all that far from the truth.
“And then,” he confirmed, “your wedding gave me the perfect opportunity to escort dear Helen here and spend a few days contacting my pawns, reminding each of them of what they had at stake and giving them their orders.”
From the corner of his eye, Julian watched as his wife’s expression once again grew puzzled. “We know who did what after the incident with the urn—Manning rigging the bookcase to fall, then once we were here, Mitchell with the mantrap, the spring gun, the line across the bridle path, and the gig’s axle breaking, followed by Manning with the punt, Richards trapping us in the barn and setting it on fire, and Benton trying to poison me.”
How she managed to keep her tone so even, so merely curious, Julian didn’t know; he would have battled to do the same.
“What I don’t understand,” she went on, “is how you managed to recruit your pawns. We know Mitchell really is a groom, and at some time in his past, Richards was a footman, but the other two aren’t all that well-trained in the roles they were hired to fill.”
Findlay-Wright tipped his head in mild approval. “Noticed that, did you? Clever of you, and yes. Benton is a highly regarded seamstress in London, and Manning is an engineer, while more recently, Richards was a solicitor’s secretary. But each of them knew enough to play the roles I had in mind for them, well enough to pass muster for a while.”
Still puzzled, Melissa tipped her head. “But what did you offer them to secure their services?”
This time Findlay-Wright’s smile was patronizing in the extreme. “My dear countess, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that in order to get people to commit murder for you, you need much more than ‘something to offer them.’ You need a lever—a truth, a fact—that will destroy them. Or even better”—Findlay-Wright’s expression grew chilling—“destroy someone they hold very dear. I assure you that, once you have such a lever in your hand, you can be certain people will do whatever you say in order to stop you from pulling it.”
Sensing that Melissa was struggling to hold back, to hide her disgust, Julian said, his voice flat, uninflected, and low, “So with these four pawns…”
“Well…” Findlay-Wright tipped his head as if inwardly debating, then his chilling smile returned. “As they’ve all failed, and you’ve caught them, I suppose there’s no reason I shouldn’t tell you all. So, let’s see. Mitchell’s younger brother, who looks sufficiently like Mitchell that I realized the relationship as soon as I set eyes on him, was in a regiment fighting alongside mine during a skirmish in India. He subsequently deserted and made it back to England, so on my word, I could have him charged not only with desertion but also for murdering an officer.” The captain’s smile grew positively evil. “Not that the boy had anything to do with the murder, of course, but the added threat lent heft to my leverage over Mitchell.” If anything, his smile grew. “And then there was Richards, whose young nephew works in the War Office and has a sad and provable preference for men. Quite aside from the activity being illegal, the government takes a dim view of such things and, given the young man’s role, might even consider the matter a treasonable offence. Manning, I stumbled over by sheer luck. His eldest son recently won a prized scholarship to Winchester, with the only fly in their ointment being that the family is secretly Catholic—not something the Winchester board would be pleased to learn. And lastly, there’s Benton, whose younger sister was known to some as being no better than she should be, but is now married to an upright deacon who is entirely unaware of his wife’s past.”
Findlay-Wright leaned against the sacks of wheat at his back. His smile as he regarded Julian and the others brimmed with confidence and assurance. “It really was a hell of a plan. A pity I didn’t think to hide my guiding hand sufficiently well with Gordon.”
“The final point I don’t understand,” Melissa said, and her tone was no longer admiring but direct and to the point, “is what you hoped to gain from all of this. You can’t inherit, so how did you think to benefit from Julian’s death?”
Findlay-Wright studied her, then surveyed them all. “Not just Julian’s death, but in one way or another, I intended removing Felix as well.” His taunting smile returned. “Once they were gone…”
He paused, then in almost philosophical vein, went on, “That, you see, is one mistake the aristocracy frequently make, an entrenched weakness in their system, if you will. They don’t promote their strongest and most capable but rather the one who is next in line, and that”—he held up a hand to stay any protest—“bear with me, would be Frederick. He would be earl, and Gordon would be heir, and that, of course, would give me the keys to the Delamere coffers.”
Findlay-Wright met Julian’s gaze, and for once, there was neither pretense nor boasting in his words. “I never cared about the title or anything else to do with the earldom. I wanted access to the money, and with Frederick so old and not really all that able, and Gordon as he is, it would have been child’s play to promote myself—Helen’s faithful savior—into the role of trusted advisor. Over time, both Frederick and Gordon would have handed the financial reins to me—so much easier than trying to manage them themselves—and then I would have achieved my goal. To have unfettered access to the Delamere wealth and no one in a position to stop me bleeding the family dry.”
There was enough malignant triumph in his tone to make Julian ask, “Why the Delameres? As far as I know, prior to you returning from India with Helen and Maurice’s body, you and the family hadn’t crossed paths.”
