There was no answer to that. Letitia looked across the room and saw that Lord Keating had shifted to sit beside Swithin. He attempted to question Swithin, raising his voice to cut through the constant babbling.
Swithin paused. For a moment it seemed he might respond rationally, but then his gaze found Letitia and he grinned. “I even helped Randall organize his bride. Now that was plotting to a high degree. And then there was…” He went off on another, unconnected subject.
Justin, sitting close on his other side, had paled. He leaned closer, tried to catch Swithin’s eye. “How did you help Randall organize his bride?”
Swithin’s silly grin grew broader. “Investments are my forte, you know. The old man…” His voice trailed off, then he said loudly, “The grammar master was always unfair, you know. He liked Randall and Trowbridge better than me.”
From that, he switched to buying a house. His mind seemed unable to remain on one subject for more than two short sentences.
Lord Keating sat back, defeated. After a moment Justin did the same. Then he looked across the room and met Letitia’s eyes.
Justin rose. Leaving Lord Keating consulting with Tristan, Christian, and Mrs. Swithin, he came to stand beside Letitia’s chair; he pretended to look out at the garden.
“So it was as I suspected,” he murmured. “It wasn’t Papa’s fault.”
“Apparently not.” Her marriage to Randall no longer held any power to disturb her; it was all in the past—a past that no longer mattered.
Lord Keating cleared his throat portentiously. “Very well—it seems we’re all agreed. Given the circumstances, and the testimonies I’ve received today, I cannot but conclude that Mr. Henry Joshua Swithin, for reasons of his own advancement, killed Mr. George Martin Randall of South Audley Street in London, and this morning attempted to kill a Mr. Trowbridge of Cheyne Walk in Chelsea, then later t
oday attempted to kill Lady Letitia Randall, also of London, by flinging her, bound, from the roof of this house.”
His lordship glanced around. “It is my judgment that Mr. Swithin is incapable of standing trial by virtue of his transparent insanity. I therefore order that he be confined within this house for the foreseeable future.” He turned to Mrs. Swithin. “My dear lady, I realize this is an onerous burden to place on your fair shoulders, but I must ask for a declaration that you are prepared to ensure that your husband never leaves these premises.”
Mrs. Swithin nodded decisively. “Yes. The staff and I are prepared to give our assurance that Mr. Swithin will remain confined within doors.”
“Thank you.” Lord Keating turned to Tristan. “That’s all we can do, I believe.”
“Indeed.” Tristan stood, holding out his hand to assist his lordship to his feet. “The last duty I believe we need to attend to is to compose a report for the authorities, to be conveyed back to London by Barton here.” Gathering the grateful runner with a look, Tristan turned his lordship to the door. “I assume there must be a study here somewhere?”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Swithin waved at her butler. “Please show their lordships to the master’s study, Pascoe.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
While the butler led Tristan, Keating, and Barton out, Mrs. Swithin looked, somewhat uncertainly, around at the company. “I realize this is a trifle awkward, but I do think tea would be appropriate before you all start your journeys back to London.”
They all exchanged glances. It had been a long day.
“Thank you.” With a bow, Christian accepted for them all. “Tea would be much appreciated.”
They set out in their curricles an hour later.
Dalziel gave up his seat in Christian’s curricle to Letitia, handing her up with a bow.
She looked down her nose at him, but her lips quirked.
Christian flourished his whip and they set off.
Dalziel walked back to where Justin waited in his curricle, the reins of his restive blacks in his hands. Tristan and Tony had already set off. Swinging up to the seat beside Justin, Dalziel nodded ahead. “Home, James, and don’t spare your horses.”
Justin laughed and flicked his whip.
Barton, hanging on behind, mumbled, “Just as long as you don’t drive as fast as you did coming down.”
“I promise not to lose you,” Justin called back. “Aside from all else, you hold my freedom in your hands—I’m counting on you to explain all to your masters in Bow Street.”
“Aye, I will. They’ll be pleased to close the case.”
“Indeed, they should be.” Sitting back, arms crossed, Dalziel’s gaze was fixed on the road ahead. “It occurs to me that you should receive a commendation—not least for saving your masters the unfortunate embarrassment of wrongfully arresting the future head of one of the oldest aristocratic houses. Just think how unpopular that would have made them.”