Page 43 of An Execution, an Earl, and Miss Hughes
“In that case, I might join you,” Lucian said, then explained to both Northcott and Crabb what Sarah had learned from the butcher’s boy.
It was decided that Lucian and Lord Crabb would set off for Long Acres at once. Northcott did offer to go with them but thebutler then summoned him to say Her Grace had requested his assistance, and he was forced to cry off.
“Happy wife, happy life and all that,” Northcott said, as he beat a hasty retreat from the room to attend to his ailing duchess. “See you both at the fête!”
Lucian then called for his horse to be saddled and, a few minutes later, he and Lord Crabb were galloping off toward Long Acres.
The door of the house was opened by a young woman Lucian did not recognise.
“Mrs Vickery is in the drawing room, my lords,” she said in a whisper, as she led them down the dark hallway. “I can bring tea, if you like? Just give me a few minutes, I usually only come in to do the cleaning.”
The girl led them into the drawing room where they found Mrs Vickery seated on an overstuffed chaise, staring vacantly into the empty fireplace.
“I am sorry for your loss, Mrs Vickery,” Lucian offered, as he and Lord Crabb took a seat opposite her.
“Thank you,” Mrs Vickery answered, her eyes still staring vacantly into the empty grate. “I have lost both my employer and my home in one night; I pray you will forgive my distraction.”
Lucian looked helplessly at Lord Crabb; he doubted they would be able to coax anything from Mrs Vickery in this state, let alone a vital clue.
“I understand your great upset, Mrs Vickery,” Lucian ventured across the silence, “But I must ask; did you lie about Mr Leek’s whereabouts on the night of Mr Hardwick’s murder?”
The housekeeper started, as though she had just properly realised their presence. She glanced from Lucian to Lord Crabb balefully, the whites of her eyes bloodshot from tears.
“I thought I was protecting him,” she offered after a lengthy pause. “I know it was wrong, please forgive me.”
“Do you think Mr Leek killed Mr Hardwick?” Lucian pressed, hoping in her shock that she might reveal something.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged, worrying the handkerchief in her hands. “All I know is that he went out that night, when I said he hadn’t.”
Lucian bit back a sigh of frustration. Mrs Vickery seemed more worried about being caught out in a lie, than a murderer on the loose.
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to do Mr Leek any harm?” he continued, leaning forward in his seat.
The housekeeper sighed, her eyes once again returning to the empty fireplace.
“There were those who envied his success,” she murmured. “Rival horticulturists; men who called themselves experts but hadn’t half his knowledge or passion.”
Lucian and Lord Crabb exchanged an amused glance at the very idea of a roving band of violent gardening enthusiasts being the culprit.
“Or maybe he was the victim of a madman, as Mr Hardwick was,” Mrs Vickery shrugged, then added distractedly, “Or a madwoman.”
Her glazed expression told Lucian that she was plucking theories from thin air, though her addendum brought to mind Mrs Bridges—who was still not completely in the clear.
“What about ladies?” Lord Crabb asked bluntly. “Did Mr Leek have a lover that you know of?”
“I could not say. I worked for the man for thirty years and I don’t think I knew him at all,” Mrs Vickery answered, folding the handkerchief in her lap into a neat square.
She gazed up at them again, her bottom lip trembling, and Lucian decided it was time to put the poor woman out of her misery. He felt a jolt of guilt for pressuring the woman when she was so overwrought.
“Our thanks for your time, Mrs Vickery,” he said. He rose to his feet and Lord Crabb followed suit. “If there are any further developments, we’ll let you know.”
“My lords,” Mrs Vickery inclined her head, then her gaze returned to the empty fireplace.
The two men waited until they had reached the end of the drive before either gave voice to their suspicions.
“I’m rather shocked to be saying this,” Lord Crabb said, “But I’m beginning to think Mrs Fawkes might be the true culprit after all.”
“A dangerous woman in disguise,” Lucian agreed. “Perhaps beneath her polished exterior, she suffers from some sort of affliction of the mind. Such things are not impossible—I’ve read of them in the, ahem, Bloody Register.”
