As expected, the action caused raised brows amongst the jury.
Mr Marshall, being a man with a sharp mind and a skill for deduction, drew the obvious conclusion when he peeled back the silk folds and studied the silver knife with the mother-of-pearl handle. “Is there such an item missing from any cutlery caddies in the dining room, my lord?”
“I have checked every set, and that knife has not come from this house.”
The podgy man peered over Bellham’s body to gain a closer look at the knife cradled in Mr Marshall’s palm. “Forgive me, my lord, but footpads usually carry hunting knives, not ones snatched fro
m the dinner table. A footpad is more likely to knock a man unconscious than thrust a blade into his chest. And if he committed such an atrocity, he would not leave his weapon behind.”
“It is not for me to determine a criminal’s motive for choosing his weapon. But you’re free to take statements from every member of the household including the guests.” Hugo listed the aristocrats in attendance while a man from the jury recorded the details.
“Well, it’s clear from the place of death that a highway robber or some such felon attacked Mr Bellham.” Mr Marshall nodded profusely as he glanced around the few members of his jury who’d ventured out on this bitter morning. “As a matter of course, we shall take statements, but members of the nobility do not parade outdoors in this weather brandishing cutlery.”
Mr Marshall’s reaction confirmed why Hugo omitted to mention the whispered words of a dying man and the scribbled note hidden in a boot. Even a coroner was reluctant to question a peer on suspicion of murder. One word of protest from Lord Northcott and Mr Marshall might find himself out of a job.
“With all due respect,” one juror said. “Mr Bellham’s gold medallion is still attached to the ribbon in his fob pocket.”
Mr Marshall shook his head, tutted and with some frustration said, “The felon had already used his knife to stab the gentleman. He wasn’t about to linger at the gates of a grand house. From the choice of weapon, it is clear the felon is inexperienced in such crimes. No doubt we will find the blighter drowning his misfortune in the local tavern.”
The magistrate would ensure someone paid for the death of a man of Bellham’s pedigree. Hugo needed more time to investigate. He’d narrowed down the suspects and had to apply more pressure. But one whisper to the guests’ high-born families that the coroner had named their kin as suspects, and heaven knows what dishonest deals would be done behind closed doors.
No, the best way to seek justice for Bellham was for Hugo to catch the criminal himself.
“Assuming the statements reveal nothing untoward,” Mr Marshall said, “we shall rule death by violence on the King’s Highway. Sir Ellis will be informed.”
“Then I shall escort you all back to the warmth of the house and arrange for private rooms where you might attend to the matter promptly.”
The coroner pulled his watch from his pocket and inspected the time. “Yes, two hours should suffice. Indeed, gentlemen, we should be home in time for roasted goose.”
Once back at the house, the guests assembled in the drawing room while waiting to give their statements. Miss Pardue and Miss Mason-Jones had just returned, and the viscount and Miss Harper had left to give their accounts.
Hugo had spoken to Miss Bennett only to inform her why he’d not mentioned Bertie’s mutterings or the notes on the Strawbridge. With cool politeness, she agreed to keep the information to herself for the next few days. They’d had no time to discuss the matter further. Now, watching her animated conversation with her grandfather whilst they sat on the sofa, he realised just how much he missed her company.
Lady Denham approached wearing a dress of deep sapphire blue that drew the gaze away from her tired eyes. She slipped her arm through his and squeezed. “I must tell you that you were right in your insistence not to marry any of the girls here.”
He’d said he wouldn’t marry any of those invited. Miss Bennett had taken it upon herself to leave her carriage in the snow and ride to his front door.
“Are you feeling unwell, Mother?” he teased. “Has the cold seeped into your bones and played havoc with your mind?”
“Be serious, Hugo. I may have made a mistake in my choice of potential brides, but your oath still stands.”
“You expect me to find someone to marry before the day is out?”
“Of course not. But I expect you to take the matter seriously.”
“So the fact Miss Harper’s brother will be one of the richest men in the country is no longer of great importance?”
She clutched his arm a little tighter and drew him away from the guests assembled on the sofas. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Lord Northcott is on the verge of bankruptcy. Montague heard tell that the viscount had people spread a good word about his venture to encourage more investors. Why do you think Miss Harper is so desperate to secure your hand? She needs a wealthy husband before it’s too late.”
Hugo arched a brow. “And I presumed my handsome looks and charming wit might have been an enticement.”
His mother huffed. “Marriage is a business. You’re the only person who thinks otherwise.”
“Not the only person.” He glanced at Miss Bennett’s warm brown eyes and wide smile. “Some people still believe in the value of love. After reuniting with Lord Forsyth, I expected you to feel the same.”
A sad sigh left her lips. “I have lived a lie for so long, Hugo, I cannot just change overnight.” Water welled in her eyes. “Somewhere beneath this costume lives a young woman full of hope and ambition, I just need to find her.”
Hugo cupped her cheek. “Do what you must to find happiness, Mother. For thirty years, I’ve witnessed your immeasurable sorrow. What loving son wouldn’t hope that the next thirty are filled with immense joy?”