Tristan dragged his hand down his face. Relief flowed through him. Nothing would bring his brother back but knowing his death was an accident was perhaps easier to bear.
“I had told him about the night Lord Fernall died,” Mr. Blackwood continued. Now he had begun his story the words flowed freely. “I’d not wanted to tell a soul, but his lordship had a commanding way about him. He wanted me to go to London, to confront the gentleman responsible. But I avoided him, hid in the woods opposite the gates and watched him leave without me.”
“Were you afraid to speak up?” Isabella asked, her tone soft, serene.
“I’m the only witness. I didn’t want to reveal what I saw that night. But his lordship asked too many questions, prodding and probing until my mind was a jumbled mess.”
Tristan suspected it would not take a great deal of effort to push the man to his limits.
“But something made you change your mind,” Tristan said, “else you would not have attempted to follow my brother.”
Mr. Blackwood shrugged. “I kept thinking, what if the scoundrel came back to Highley Grange? What if he thought to silence us all?”
“Did you not think to tell the current Lord Fernall what you saw?” Isabella said.
“At the time I had no proof. Besides, he is not an easy gentleman to talk to.”
“And so you saw my brother fall from his horse?”
Blackwood nodded. “He was dead by the time I got to him. I thought to get help, but then I remembered the notebook.” He hung his head. “I stole it from his saddle bag. When I heard the pounding of horse’s hooves I made it away through the woods.”
Isabella sighed. “And you have been running ever since.”
Tristan’s thoughts turned to Andrew’s notes. “Do you still have my brother’s book?”
Blackwood simply nodded.
“Why did you not think to bring it to me?”
“How could I when it was the only thing keeping me alive,” Blackwood implored.
Isabella sat forward. “The murderer knows you have the book?”
“I don’t know what game Lord Morford was playing,” Blackwood said, “but after his death, the gentleman came back to Highley Grange. He knew of my involvement, and I have used the notebook to blackmail him into staying away.”
“A gentleman you say.” Tristan had suspected a disgruntled guest was the likely candidate. “Has this gentleman not made some attempt to recover the book?”
“One night, I returned to the gatehouse to find the place had been ransacked. I have been mugged twice in the space of a month. It is why I must move, why I cannot be seen to follow a routine.”
Everything was beginning to make more sense. “Is that why you wanted Lady Fernall to leave Highley Grange? Is it because you fear what the gentleman might do in his desperation to find the notebook?”
Blackwood nodded. “The gentleman is unstable I fear.”
“And you are certain Lord Fernall did not simply trip and fall down the stairs?” Tristan had to ask the question. An innocent man would be just as determined to obtain slanderous material.
“Lord Fernall did not fall down the stairs.” Blackwood’s eyes grew large and wide. “The gentleman came up behind him and snapped his neck as though it was nothing more than a twig.”
“Good Lord!” Tristan could not hide his shock. It took a cold, callous man to behave in such a vicious manner. “And you bore witness to the crime.”
“I shouldn’t have been in the house, but I’d taken Molly back to her room after … well … Mrs. Birch had locked the outer door leading to the servants’ quarters and so we’d come through the main hall. On my way back, I heard the boards creaking on the landing and so hid at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Did you not hear a conversation?” Isabella asked. “Did the gentleman not give a reason for killing my husband?”
“The gentleman crept up behind him. Lord Fernall was too slow to react. The gentleman caught his lordship before he hit the floor.”
An eerie silence filled the room. Tristan presumed their minds were busy imagining the macabre scene.
Blackwood suddenly jumped in his chair. “I do remember the gentleman saying something, though I thought both things odd at the time.”