It might have been a devil’s trick to lure them into yet another deceitful web. But Lara was at the lady’s side in seconds, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder and whispering soothing words.
His betrothed looked at him while speaking to Miss Venables. “If we have any hope of helping you, you must tell us your secret.”
Hell, he’d not help a woman who’d committed cold-blooded murder. “If Bellham gave you cause to drive a knife into his chest, then you must tell us why.” While being far from naive to his friend’s misgivings, he couldn’t imagine Bellham hurting this woman.
Miss Venables’ head shot to attention. “You think I did this terrible thing?” She looked as terrified as when they’d first entered the bothy. “You think I killed Mr Bellham?” The tears fell faster now.
Lara sighed. She captured Miss Venables’ hand and looked her keenly in the eyes. “Then pray, what leads you to inspect a dead man’s clothes?”
“Are you looking for the note?” Hugo thought it best to come straight to the point.
As expected, Miss Venables’ eyes grew wide. She dashed the tears from her face. “The note? The list of journeys from Bordeaux? Please tell me you have it.”
“I have it, though I should very much like to know why it matters to you.”
When Miss Venables failed to answer, Lara said, “You can trust Lord Denham. I give you my word that he will repeat nothing spoken in confidence.”
The need to tell Miss Lara Bennett that he loved her came upon him again. “We suspect Lord Northcott is involved in something nefarious,” he said, hoping to draw a confession from Miss Venables, and soon, for he could feel the cold rising from the floor and seeping into his boots. “Did Northcott tell you about the note? Clearly you’re in love with him. Did he ask you to confront Bellham at the gate and beg for its return? We know you went down to the gate the night he was murdered.”
Miss Venables blinked rapidly and shook her head.
“You were seen,” Lara said softly.
Miss Venables pursed her lips. “If I tell you, you cannot breathe a word to anyone.”
“How many more times must we tell you to trust us?” He was growing wearier by the minute.
After a lengthy pause, the lady said, “It’s a long and complicated story, but Lord Northcott’s involvement in matters of business always ends in disaster. I should know. My father spent two years in debtors’ prison trying to repay the money he lost in the lord’s infallible venture. He barely survived two months once we’d raised enough funds to see him released.”
Confusion rendered Hugo speechless.
“You must battle with an inner conflict,” Lara said, “loving the man who ruined your father.”
“I do not love Lord Northcott,” she snapped. Her mouth twisted into a sour expression. “I despise every bone in his devious body, but someone has to make him pay.”
The woman’s words made no sense. How did offering oneself as his bed partner hurt Lord Northcott? “He seemed remarkably well when you both left his bedchamber this evening.”
Miss Venables screwed up her nose as if she’d caught a whiff of something foul. “It disgusts me what I must do to ensure he is unsuspecting of my motives.” She sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you now, but Mr Bellham worked as an agent for the Crown.”
“For the Crown?” Hugo almost fell back in shock. “But Bellham took nothing seriously. To him, life was one riotous party.”
“Who would suspect the rakish fool?” She shrugged. “Mr Bellham was good at discovering information from the most unlikely sources. When I took the job as a paid companion, it was to find a way to seek vengeance for my father’s plight. While researching the background of every member of Lord Northcott’s household, Mr Bellham learned of the connection and offered to help.”
Bellham had bedded enough aristocratic women, learned enough secrets to hold the whole of Mayfair to ransom.
“Lord Northcott is no fool,” Hugo countered. “He must have made the connection.”
“I rarely ventured to town, and Venables is not my name. Mr Bellham discovered my secret when he followed me to Holborn during a visit to my father’s grave.”
Silence descended.
Miss Venables stepped up to Mr Bellham’s body and straightened his coat. “He was kind to me. All I had to do was snoop through the viscount’s papers and make a record of any shipments coming from Bordeaux, and then he promised to see me settled in a new position elsewhere.”
So, Bellham hadn’t brought the note to Wollaston Hall. Miss Venables had passed it to him at the gate.
“Smuggling liquor and tea will hardly make a man wealthy.” Hugo had pondered the thought ever since they’d first discovered the note. “He must have been shipping something of value.” Perhaps Bertie had mumbled the word jewels. “Stolen diamonds might be more lucrative.”
Picking up the boot and pushing it back onto Bellham’s foot, she said, “Lord Northcott is smuggling something far more lucrative than that. He’s smuggling spies, who in turn are bringing information to their French counterparts here in London.”