The Bet

Estelle could feel Isaac’s gaze boring into the side of her face but refused to look at him. Instead, she focused on Myles, who was her only supporter. While the others hadn’t said as much outright, she suspected they too doubted her.

Myles nodded. “Everybody in this house, apart from Barnabas and me, could be the murderer. It is our house, and I too received a letter calling me home, so we cannot be suspected of doing this.”

“Hah!” Beatrice snorted. “There is nothing to say that you received a letter in London, Myles, and you know it. I mean, who else is there to vouch for your honesty? Your friends in London wouldn’t know if you had asked the barmaid to bring you the letter and claim it had just been delivered. You have to admit that it is a damned odd thing to happen. After all, who would know which tavern you were in at what part of any day since your arrival? Are you expecting us to believe that someone followed you all the way to London just to give you a letter?”

When she put it like that, Estelle had to concede Beatrice had a very valid argument, although she had no idea what letter she was talking about.

“We all have to be considered guilty until we can all prove our innocence,” Barnabas argued.

“Well, I didn’t do it,” Isaac snorted.

Myles turned on him in very much the same way Isaac had accused Estelle earlier.

“Well, you are not going to be considered innocent yourself just because Gerald is your father, Isaac. Everybody knew you and Gerald were always at odds. Why, the only reason you were going shooting with him was to try to persuade Gerald to give you another sizeable loan, and I use the term ‘loan’ broadly, you understand, because we all know you don’t pay him back.”

“Balderdash,” Isaac snorted, but without heat. “I may have borrowed funds from my father every now and then but that is a private arrangement between me and him. It isn’t a reason for me to kill him.”

“But I know Gerald was going to refuse to give you another penny,” Barnabas replied flatly. “You and I both know he was fed up of your profligate ways and was pressuring you into joining the clergy, if not purchase a commission. He said you would be better of having to fend for yourself for a while. He knew you were going with him to Scotland to demand some more money again. This time, though, he had no intention of letting you have anything. So, if anybody has a good reason to want Gerald dead it is you. After all, you are likely to be his main beneficiary now, aren’t you?”

Isaac opened his mouth to argue, but the prospect of being handed the family wealth rendered him silent. He slumped into a chair beside the window without uttering a word.

“Who else has he argued with recently, besides Beatrice?” Myles asked.

Barnabas threw Myles a dry look. “Gerald fell out with everybody one way or another at some point during his visits, you know that.”

“I know,” Myles sighed. “Beatrice hates – hated – him. Isaac only hung around for the money Gerald gave him. The only people I can be sure of right now are you and me. Even Estelle-”

He ignored Isaac’s and Beatrice’s angry protestations, and stared at his father when Barnabas jerked, his face thoughtful.

“Do you think-?”

“I don’t know,” Myles replied honestly. “I should like to say no to her too, but in all honesty, I cannot help but think it highly suspicious that she has arrived the night before my uncle is murdered in cold blood. While she was at the breakfast table when I got there this morning, I have no idea how long she had been there. Nor do I have any idea when Gerald was killed. He is still warm, but what does that mean? He could have been here for an hour at least. That puts both Isaac and Estelle in doubt because they certainly hadn’t been at the table for an hour when I got there.”

Estelle f

elt her cheeks blush. Where she might have once been somewhat bolstered by Isaac and Beatrice’s discomfort at being accused of Gerald’s death, that bemusement vanished when she had the finger firmly pointed at her.

“I cannot believe any of the staff would do this.” Barnabas waved a hand to the body. “There has been no discontent of late with any of them. Why, they are the most trustworthy and reliable people a man could employ. No, I cannot contemplate any of the servants would kill.”

“We cannot discount anybody, father.”

“I suppose we need to address everybody, including the servants, don’t we?” Barnabas turned his gaze to the swaying trees outside. “How long this storm is going to last is anybody’s guess, but until this clears one thing is certain-”

Myles nodded; his face grim. “We are all stuck in the house with a killer.”

Fear flooded Barnabas’ eyes. “Do you think they were warning me? You know – the letters. They predicted my death,” Barnabas whispered.

“I cannot say. It is evident that the killer has pre-planned this, but who his victims are besides Gerald, nobody could possibly know. Until we can find this person, or persons because there may be more than one, it would be wise to keep your door locked, and a weapon with you at all times. Don’t stay in any room without locking the door and pocketing the key either.”

“What about me?” Beatrice cried. “I cannot go walking around this place with a gun in my hand.”

“She is right,” Isaac replied. “She is likely to shoot herself.”

Beatrice threw him a filthy glare but was prevented from speaking by Barnabas, who immediately launched to his feet, his voice loud when he spoke.

“This is my house, damn it. I refuse to skulk about like a criminal just because someone cannot be trusted. Why? Why do this? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know, father.” Myles sighed heavily. “I think this weather might work to our advantage, though.”