The Lady By His Side(29)

“Dying?” Under his bushy brows, Sir Humphrey’s eyes flew wide. “Blanchard said Ennis was already dead when you found him.”

“He wasn’t, but I let everyone assume he was.”

“So did he say anything?”

“After summoning the staff, before they arrived, I asked Ennis who had stabbed him. He shook his head and, instead of answering, used his last breaths to say two words. Gunpowder. Here.” Sebastian heard the grimness in his tone. “Then he died.”

“Gunpowder? Here?” Sir Humphrey all but goggled.

“Indeed. And no, I have no idea what that actually means.”

The night’s cold silence engulfed them. From deep in the wood to the side of the house came the hoot of an owl.

Sir Humphrey shifted, then he cleared his throat and gruffly said, “No insult intended, my lord, but do you have any proof of this business?”

Sebastian stirred. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat. “I have the letter from Ennis to Winchelsea—you’ll be able to verify it’s Ennis’s handwriting—and a copy of Winchelsea’s reply.” He offered the folded sheets to the magistrate.

Sir Humphrey took the letters, walked back to stand beside one of the lanterns lighting the edge of the drive, and silently read both.

Sebastian followed. Facing the house, he halted beside the magistrate and waited.

Then Sir Humphrey frowned and shot him a look from under his shaggy brows. “Why call you ‘the last man Ennis would want to see?’”

Sebastian sighed. “That was Drake’s misplaced sense of humor. Six years ago, Lady Ennis and I were, for a short time, lovers. Ennis was aware of that. Hence, Drake surmised I was not a man Ennis would want to see.”

“Ah.” Sir Humphrey glanced again at the signatures on the letters, then refolded them and handed them back. “I rather think those are proof enough. I know Ennis’s signature. This sounds like a serious business, and clearly you wouldn’t have killed Ennis when he was the source of the information you and your friend Winchelsea wanted.”

“Just so.” Sebastian tucked the letters back into his pocket. “It’s possible that Ennis was killed to prevent him passing on the information. Alternatively, he might have been killed for some other reason entirely. At this point, there’s no way to tell.”

“You’ll have to show those letters to the inspector when he arrives.” Sir Humphrey grimaced. “Reading between the lines, I take it the Irish are involved?”

Sebastian admitted, “We’re assuming we’re dealing with some offshoot of the Young Irelander movement. I suspect Ennis was a sympathizer, but most in the movement would see the use of gunpowder as a step too far.”

“Indeed.” Sir Humphrey tugged one ear lobe and frowned at the lawn. After several moments, he said, “So how do you think we should proceed?”

“Until the murderer is caught, I would caution against allowing anyone—English or Anglo-Irish—to leave. As you mentioned, all the guests had expected to be here until Thursday, so there’s no reason they can’t remain until then, at least.”

“Oh, we’ll definitely keep everyone here. The inspector should arrive in the morning, and we can decide what’s next then.” Sir Humphrey turned toward the house. “I’d best get back to the others. I have a few questions, then I’ll tell everyone they can find their beds. I’ll leave constables on guard to make sure no one bolts.”

Sebastian fell into step beside Sir Humphrey; as they crossed the forecourt, he said, “One thing—if you would, please instruct your constables to allow myself and Lady Antonia to ride out tomorrow. There’s a gentleman who lives nearby who might be able to shed some light on whatever plot Ennis had got wind of—especially given Ennis’s ‘here.’ If there’s some local connection, this gentleman might know more of it. As Winchelsea is almost certainly still in Ireland, there’s no sense in me rushing to get Ennis’s two words back to London. It would be more profitable for me to see what I can find out at this end—and to wait to see if you and the inspector can identify the murderer.”

Sir Humphrey nodded. They reached the porch, and he halted and beckoned the constable who’d been standing unobtrusively against the house’s front wall. “Sergeant Crickwell.” Sir Humphrey waved at Sebastian. “This is the Marquess of Earith. He and a lady—Lady Antonia Rawlings—have permission to ride out as they wish. Everyone else, however, staff as well as her ladyship and the guests, are to remain at the house. They can walk the lawns, but for the moment, no farther.”