“Yes,” they replied in unison, hanging on Blackwood’s every word.
“As he twisted Lord Fernall’s neck he said it was a little trick he had learnt in India. Then he threw Lord Fernall over his shoulder as though he was a sack of grain, carried him down the stairs and laid his body out on the floor. I hung back in the shadows, kept my hand across my mouth fearing he would hear me breathe.”
“In India?” Tristan clarified.
“Yes,” Blackwood replied. “And as he stood over the body he said that the Devil reaps what he sows. Then he walked out of the front door.”
“India,” Tristan repeated.
“Does that mean something to you?” Isabella asked.
“It is just that I know someone who has recently returned from India,” he said rubbing his chin as the suspicious part of his mind grew more alert. “Perhaps it is simply a coincidence. After all, there must be many people who make such a journey.”
“Samuel died two years ago. I doubt we are talking about the same person,” Isabella said confidently.
She was right, of course. Besides, Mr. Fellows struck him as a man who lacked the strength to undo the knot in his cravat, let alone break a man’s neck with his bare hands.
“How recently?” Blackwood said, chewing on his fingernail while he waited for a reply.
“Excuse me?”
“This person you are acquainted with, how recently did he return from India?”
“I’m not sure. A few months ago.” Tristan shrugged. “I barely know the gentleman, but Mr. Fellows is far too affable—” He stopped abruptly, aware of the look of horror on Mr. Blackwood’s face. “What is it?”
Blackwood gulped. “Mr. Fellows? But that is the name of the gentleman who murdered Lord Fernall.”
Chapter 20
“Do you think the plan will work?” Isabella rubbed the fine layer of mist from the carriage window with the tips of her fingers. She peered out into the dimly lit street, watched Mr. Blackwood’s hazy form disappear through a cloud of fog. “What if Mr. Fellows is not at home?”
“Then Blackwood will leave a note for him to meet us in Green Park.”
Doubt surfaced. “Mr. Blackwood scuttled away so quickly I do wonder if he will come back.” Indeed, the man had been fraught with fear at the thought of confronting a murderer.
“Blackwood has nowhere else to go,” Tristan said with an air of confidence as he lounged back against the squab. “He has neither the funds nor the resourcefulness to hide indefinitely. And I have a feeling it will only be a matter of time before Mr. Fellows discovers where he has hidden the notebook.”
Isabella sat back in the seat. Staring out of the window only served to make the time pass more slowly. “I have seen Andrew examining his notes numerous times during his visits to Highley Grange, but he refused to disclose the information. I know he told me he was making enquiries, but I did not imagine he would discover anything of interest.”
“I must say I am rather intrigued to read what he has written. Hopefully, there will be something we can use against Mr. Fellows.”
“We can only pray.” She dismissed the frisson of fear coursing through her. Should Mr. Fellows discover the extent of their involvement, they would be forever looking over their shoulders, too. “I shall be relieved to see an end to it all.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said with an amused grin. “I rather enjoyed our ghost hunting in the dead of night. I particularly enjoyed kissing away your fears. And watching you writhe restlessly in your sleep, that delightful cotton nightdress getting wrapped around your shapely thighs.”
His playful tone helped to ease her anxiety. “You observed me sleeping?”
“What else was I to do stuck in a rickety chair for hours?”
“But you said you could sleep anywhere.”
Tristan grinned. “I can unless there is a tempting beauty lying but a few feet away, calling out to me during her whimsical dreams.”
Panic flared. “What … what did I say?”
Tristan rubbed his chin as he stared thoughtfully at a point beyond her shoulder. “You said something about how pleased you were to have me home.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Had I been talking about you I would have said something far more salacious, though I am pleased you found a modicum of pleasure whilst cramped in the chair.” Her most memorable moment had occurred a little later. “I much preferred our early evening activities. Who would have thought that a waltz in a musty drawing room could be so stimulating.”