Without a whimper or a murmur of protest, she nodded. The look of confidence flashing in her eyes made his chest swell with pride. She really was a remarkable woman.
Mr. Blackwood attempted to drag his leg through the window, but he stumbled back, until naught but the sole of his shoe was visible.
Tristan suppressed a snigger. “Once you have found your feet, you are to open the door for Lady Fernall. I shall enter via the window.”
“It doesn’t seem as though I have a choice,” Blackwood groaned.
Tristan watched Isabella until she entered the building. After a minute or so, she appeared at the raised sash and assisted him as he climbed through into a small parlour.
Whilst Tristan brushed the cobwebs and dirt from his coat and breeches, Mr. Blackwood fiddled about with a tinderbox, lit the solitary candle and placed it on the mantelpiece. A musty smell lingered in the air but their host raced to the window, pulled down the sash and drew the dusty drapes.
The sparsely furnished room consisted of a small sofa and two chairs. The coverings were far more threadbare than the ones in Isabella’s drawing room in Brook Street.
“You may as well sit.” Mr. Blackwood gestured to the sofa. He waited for them both to take a seat before flopping into the chair nearest the hearth.
Tristan observed the man’s demeanour. With his head hung low and his shoulders hunched, he did not appear to be capable of general everyday tasks, let alone theft and murder.
“Do you know why we are here?” Tristan stared at the sorry state of a man, waiting to catch his gaze.
“How did you know where to find me?” Mr. Blackwood looked up. A thick, dark line of hair ran the breadth of his forehead, giving the appearance of one eyebrow, not two.
“A charming lady in Gerrard Street told us where to come,” Tristan informed him, his tone revealing a hint of pride in their investigative abilities.
Mr. Blackwood did not pass comment but lifted his chin in a look of resignation. “I suppose it was too much to expect I could go about unnoticed.”
Isabella straightened. “Do you not have something to say to me, Mr. Blackwood? Do you not owe me an apology for arranging a rather terrifying welcoming party whenever I returned home to Highley Grange?”
The man’s long slug of a brow twitched. “You know about the ghost then?”
Isabella scoffed. “The ghost? I think it is fair to say that Mrs. Birch is still of this world. What I fail to understand is why you saw fit to carry out Lord Fernall’s plans with such eagerness and commitment.”
“It was for your own good, my lady.” Blackwood did not even attempt to deny his involvement.
“My own good? Good heavens, I almost expired from fright.”
Tristan patted her hands as they lay in her lap. “Lord Fernall has explained his reason for wanting the house vacated. Yet I do not see how, in any way, the outcome would prove satisfactory for Lady Fernall.”
Mr. Blackwood pushed his hand through his hair and groaned. “While I am bound to act on my employer’s request, that was not the only reason I arranged to frighten my lady away.”
“Then tell us your reason.” Tristan threw his hands up. “Good Lord, man, you owe the lady an explanation.”
Mr. Blackwood shook his head. “What you don’t know cannot hurt you.”
Damnation. The man spoke in riddles.
“If you were so concerned for my welfare,” Isabella began, “then tell me why you saw fit to steal from me. I know you took valuable items from Highley Grange. I know you have my brooch.”
With another pitiful groan, Mr. Blackwood buried his head in his hands. “I don’t have them anymore.”
Tristan glanced at Isabella, noted the firm line of her jaw and knew she was struggling to suppress emotion. It was perhaps a little naive of her to assume the man had held onto something so precious.
“Are you telling me you do not have my brooch?” she said in choked voice. “Well, what you have done with it?”
“I’ve sold it, my lady.” He looked up, his frantic gaze flitting about the room, struggling to settle on anything. “I had to find the funds to allow me to relocate. I couldn’t take the risk of remaining in one place.”
Isabella jumped to her feet. “You are not making any sense. Are you attempting to hide from your creditors? Have you gambled away a loan and now cannot repay. Heavens, will you not just explain yourself.”
Tristan grasped her hand. He wanted to take her in his arms and make everything right. “Sit down, Lady Fernall. We must be calm if we are to discover the reasons behind Mr. Blackwood’s actions.”