“If Nicholas had located or heard of Gimby, and sent some henchman to…” She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Indeed. Neither of Nicholas’s reasons would call for Gimby to be killed unless Gimby had been trying his hand at blackmail, and not only is there no evidence nor even much likelihood of that, if Nicholas had desired Gimby’s death, he wouldn’t have been shocked and shaken to hear of it.”
“But he was…you don’t think it was an act?”
“No act. Nicholas might have perfected a diplomatic straight face, but it’s under severe strain and crumbling. You saw it yourself—he was visibly upset.”
“So he’s frightened…of someone else.”
Grimly, Charles nodded. “Someone else, and that someone isn’t under Nicholas’s control. He’s not a henchman. If Nicholas had learned of Gimby and sent someone to treat with him for his silence, and something had gone wrong ending in Gimby’s death and Nicholas hadn’t heard about it until I told him, he might have been shocked, perhaps a little shaken, but I can’t see any reason for fear. He’d have been calculating where that left him, and feeling free of Gimby’s threat. Yet I detected not a glimmer of satisfaction—he was appalled, and struggling to hold himself together, to not show that the news meant anything to him.”
Penny humphed.
Leaning forward, Charles rested his elbows on his thighs. “There’s someone else involved. Someone acting independently of Nicholas. Some other player in the game.”
He’d suspected as much when he’d stood looking down at Gimby’s broken body. He’d hoped it was Nicholas’s work; he was now convinced it wasn’t.
“Does Nicholas know who this other person is?”
The crucial question. “I don’t know—at present there’s nothing to say either way.”
Penny glanced at him; from the corner of his eye he saw her gaze flit over his hunting jacket, note his cravat, then rise to his freshly shaved chin. He’d ridden home at dawn, bathed, changed, attended to business, then ridden back in time to shake Nicholas over breakfast.
“Have you heard anything from London?”
“No—it’ll be tomorrow at the earliest.” He straightened. “Filchett knows to send word to Norris if anything arrives unexpectedly, but I’ll go back every morning to check. I’ve alerted both my stablemen and yours to ferry any messages that might arrive to me.” He glanced at her, lips curving. “There are some benefits to being a mysterious war hero.”
“Hmm.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, over the gardens. “That leaves us with this unknown someone lurking about—presumably he’s Gimby’s murderer. How do we flush him out?”
We don’t. He kept his lips shut, said nothing at all.
She frowned. “Perhaps we can raise a hare? Create some situation that would lure him out—that would prompt him, if he knows Nicholas, to contact him. Or perhaps”—she warmed to her theme—“we could start a rumor that there’s some secret something to be obtained at a certain time and place—”
“Before you get too carried away, we’ll need to wait on the information from London before we play any more hands in this game.”
His dry tones had her turning his way. “I thought you were the reckless one?”
“The years have taught me wisdom and restraint.”
Her humph was derisive; he hid a smile.
She glanced at the stables. “Do you think Nicholas will go out today?”
“If he’s feeling half as rattled as he looked, I doubt it—not unless he does in fact know who the murderer is.”
After a moment, she said, “It has to be one of those five visitors, doesn’t it?”
He hesitated, then agreed. “I don’t know of any local who would have known to do what was done to Gimby.” Except me. He stirred. “One of the five visitors would be my guess.”
“Which one? The Chevalier?”
“There’s no way to tell, not from the faces they show the world.”
“How do you expose someone like that?” She looked at him, searched his eyes. “And don’t bother suggesting that I just leave it to you.”
He smiled faintly, took her hand, idly toyed with her fingers. “I think he—whoever he is—would have hoped Gimby’s body wouldn’t be found, at least not so soon. Now it has, he’ll lie low for a time, a few days at least. Unfortunately, it won’t take long for such news to fade, then he’ll…”
She followed his line of thought easily. “What’s he after? What’s his purpose in this?”