Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

A fter touring the site of the fire, Rawlins conducted his interviews. He'd advised against Ethan being present as he thought that might intimidate the staff and prevent them from being entirely truthful. Ethan had relented, with the caveat that Rawlins apprise him of all findings. The constable did so, reporting that William and Fred had been asleep when the fire started, and as they shared quarters, they provided alibis for one another.

Mrs. Johnson had also been asleep, but she had her own room, and no one could confirm or deny her claim. Canning and Parkhurst claimed they'd stayed up playing cards, parting ways sometime after one. Having developed a megrim, Canning had requested willow bark from Brunswick, who verified that he'd brought the powder to the guest around two o'clock before heading to bed himself.

"If the fire started around two in the morning," Rawlins concluded, "then the whereabouts of Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Parkhurst during that time remain unconfirmed. I will delve deeper into your cook's background, my lord. As for Mr. Parkhurst…"

"Leave him to me," Ethan said starkly.

"As you wish. There is, er, one other matter."

The constable's hesitation caused Ethan's nape to prickle.

"Yes?"

"It concerns Mrs. Wood." Rawlins cleared his throat. "I know she was with you at the time the fire started, but she seemed rather nervous when I spoke with her?—"

"I did not give you leave to interview her," Ethan cut in.

"Yes, but she is, after all, a newer addition to your household. I would suggest taking the precaution?—"

"Mrs. Wood is not involved," Ethan said firmly. "You are not to harass her further. Is that understood?"

"As you wish, my lord."

Afterward, Ethan found himself mulling over the constable's words. Xenia's nervousness did not surprise him; after all, he knew she had secrets. What bothered him was that he'd not yet won her trust, and he was getting tired of waiting. He had been forthright about wanting a future with her…hell, he'd introduced her to his family, and she'd more than held her own with them. He refused to hide her like some dirty secret. She was a part of his life—a permanent part once he could get her to discuss the future without wheezing—and those in his inner circle might as well get used to it.

Papa and James strode into the study together.

"Ready to go?" Papa asked. "I've had the carriage brought around."

Ethan nodded, and they headed out.

Ethan's gut had told him that Dobson Gill's demise was no accident. Since Rawlins had his hands full, Ethan had decided to make inquiries on his own. He wanted to search Gill's lodgings to see if he could turn up any clues. Papa and James had insisted on accompanying him, and he saw no reason to turn down their company. He was, however, relieved that Owen had decided not to join. While he and his younger brother had managed to be in the same room without succumbing to fisticuffs, he didn't want to push his luck.

Papa's well-sprung carriage bounced over the country road, the rolling hills and farms passing by in a blur of green and gold. Sitting across from him, Papa and James discussed land management, a topic the two had a shared passion for and which Ethan had once found soporific. Now that he was managing his own estate, the conversation held some interest for him. It felt good being in his family's company again. In fact, it felt almost like old times—before his injury and the falling-out with Owen. He felt lighter and better than he had in a long time.

He cleared his throat. "I am surprised you managed to convince Mama to stay home."

"You know better than that, lad." Beneath the brim of his hat, Papa's eyes gleamed with amusement. "No one convinces Mama to do anything she does not wish to do. She said she had other plans today."

"What sort of plans?"

"She did not inform me of the specifics," Papa replied.

"Maybe she is tending to Owen," Ethan said.

Instantly, he was embarrassed by his snide remark. Devil take it, he was no longer a child competing with his siblings for parental affection. Growing up, Owen had been the baby for years before Gigi came along, and he'd leveraged his position to his advantage, especially where Ethan was concerned. He'd instigated fights for which Ethan got blamed and acted like a daredevil without fear of reprisal. Once, he'd fallen out of a tree and nearly flattened Mama, who'd tried to catch him…but Owen, being Owen, escaped punishment.

Ethan was ashamed that he'd held on to the old, petty resentment. Rationally, he knew their parents loved him and his siblings equally. He also understood why Owen had needed the bulk of their parents' attention since his return from war.

"Owen is fine." Papa's tone held no judgment. "In fact, he is better than I've seen him in some time."

"Then why didn't he join us?" Ethan couldn't help but inquire.

After trading looks with Papa, James replied, "He was not certain that he would be welcome."

Ethan stiffened. "I never said or did anything to?—"

"It is not you, son. It's Owen. After the price you paid for his mistakes…"

Papa drew a breath and looked at him squarely, and Ethan glimpsed the pain behind the stoicism. The pain of a father who knows that he cannot make things right between his sons, that they would either come to an understanding themselves…or they wouldn't.

"Owen understands that you have every right to your anger," Papa finished quietly. "For what it is worth, he is trying to do better. He has, for instance, given up spirits."

"How long has this lasted?" Ethan asked cynically.

"Longer than his previous attempts." James shrugged.

The battle between anger and forgiveness raged inside Ethan. Why was it so difficult to let go of the past? Why couldn't he move on?

"This is your home, Ethan," Papa said. "We—not just Owen, but all of us—are here to assist, in whatever fashion you see fit."

Ethan accepted his papa's acknowledgment with a gruff nod. "I am glad you came. The situation has grown worrisome."

Tacitly taking his cue, Papa shifted the topic of conversation. "Do you trust this fellow Rawlins to carry out the investigation?"

"Don't let Rawlins's manner fool you. He is sharper than he appears."

"My old friend Ambrose Kent, the retired investigator, lives in Chudleigh Crest," Papa said. "When I heard what was happening, I tried to contact him, but he is visiting the Continent with his family."

"There's no need to trouble Mr. Kent," Ethan said. "I can handle the matter."

"We will help," James stated. " Ad Finem Fidelis. "

For once, the invoking of the family motto didn't stir Ethan's antipathy. Instead, he felt…grateful. Tragedy had strained but not broken the Harrington bonds.

"I would appreciate the help," he said.

He saw his father and brother's surprised expressions.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's just that…" James smoothed a crease on his trousers. "You seem changed."

"Leaving London helped."

"I mean you've changed since I saw you last. It has been less than three weeks, and your state of mind seems improved." James gestured at him. "Your overall disposition as well."

"It is even more obvious to me," Papa said. "For I have not seen you since…well, it has been a few months."

"You were going to say since Constance jilted me," Ethan said.

Papa sighed. "My apologies. I did not mean to bring that up."

"It is all right."

"Is it, son?"

Before inheriting the marquessate, Papa had had a military career. As Lieutenant Colonel Blackwood, he'd been a hero who'd fought Bonaparte. To those under his command, he'd been known for his fairness, integrity, and insistence upon the truth. Growing up, Ethan and his brothers had been no match for the steely-blue gaze, which had led to many a boyhood confession.

In this instance, though, Ethan was glad to share the truth.

"Yes," he said. "I am fine. Better than fine, actually."

The taut line of Papa's mouth eased. "Your mama will be happy to hear it. She has been worried about you."

"As I recall, Mama was not the one who reminded me repeatedly of my brotherly duty to check up on Ethan," James said dryly.

"I was concerned, as any father would be," Papa said. "However, I had full confidence that Ethan would see that things turned out for the best."

Papa was a gentleman, and it would take a lot for him to say a word against a lady.

But Ethan read between the lines.

He arched a brow. "You didn't approve of Constance either?"

"I thought she was charming," Papa admitted. "Your mama, however, suspected all was not as it seemed with your former fiancée. She believed that you deserved better, and as usual, she was proved right."

"It seems like Ethan has found better," James said with a smirk.

Papa frowned. "There is no need to be crass, James."

Ethan didn't know if it was a lifelong habit or a flaw in his nature that made him enjoy the impeccable heir's chastened expression. His enjoyment proved short-lived, however, for he found himself under paternal scrutiny.

"However, I must ask." Papa fixed him with a severe look. "What are your intentions toward Mrs. Wood?"

"They are honorable, sir," Ethan said readily.

"I assumed as much." Papa's matter-of-fact response was that of a man who knows he has raised his sons to be gentlemen. "You have considered the consequences of such a match? Mrs. Wood, lovely though she may be, comes from a different world."

"That is not a problem for me. Is it for you?" Ethan asked.

Papa frowned. "I judge a person based on character and personal merit, not on factors beyond his or her control. When it comes to making a match, your mama and I care only for your happiness. I daresay we have been rather modern parents, encouraging our children to marry for love."

Ethan knew this, and he felt guilty for doubting his father for even an instant. He noted that James turned his head to stare out the window, his expression unreadable. Ethan wondered how James's wife Evie was faring; despite her reclusive tendencies, she usually made an effort to attend family gatherings. He hoped things were well between her and his brother.

"However, my view and that of society differs," Papa went on. "If you and Mrs. Wood marry, you must be prepared to face the consequences of what many in our sphere will label a mésalliance . It will be your duty as her husband to protect her and help her find her place in society."

"We haven't addressed the matter yet," he replied.

"I'm surprised to hear it. This is important, Ethan. You must consider how marriage will affect your future wife."

"The truth is…Xenia and I haven't discussed marriage yet."

Papa lowered his brows. "I thought you said your intentions were honorable."

"They are. I am not the one who is dragging her feet when it comes to marriage."

"I do not understand." His father looked genuinely baffled. "You are a gentleman of sound character, with excellent means and prospects. You come from a family who will welcome her into the fold. What is the cause of her prevarication?"

Ethan felt as if he'd entered a field of tarpits. Warily, he said, "There are things in Xenia's past that she fears will affect our future."

"What things?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "She will not tell me."

"Secrets are dangerous, son." Papa's expression turned grave, some dark emotion leaking through the steel of his gaze. "If they are allowed to fester, they can destroy a relationship. Take it from me: you must insist upon honesty from the start . Otherwise, you are gambling with your future happiness."

Ethan swallowed. "Yes, sir."

He was saved from further reply by the stopping of the carriage. It was just as well, for his papa's advice had shaken him more than he cared to acknowledge. As they alighted in front of a decrepit row of buildings, he saw that James looked somber too.

"Be vigilant, lads." Papa's military background was evident as he scanned the environs. "This is not a place to be caught unawares."

His father was not wrong. The narrow street was flanked by lodging houses, taverns, and other disreputable establishments. Men lounged in packs, some leaning against lampposts, others propped up against walls. Some had eyes that were red-rimmed by the excesses of the night before, and some continued tippling from flasks. Weapons glinted in the sunlight.

With the address provided by Rawlins, Ethan located the lodging house. The three-story edifice sagged with age, and he ducked to enter through the low-hanging doorway. The place had a sickly stench, ammonia masked with cheap scent. The proprietor, a fellow with side whiskers and twitchy movements, seemed in awe of the presence of gentlemen in his establishment, and Ethan used it to his advantage. In a lordly tone, he stated that he was Dobson Gill's former employer and demanded to see the fellow's quarters. The proprietor scrambled to fetch the key, bowing and scraping as he showed them to Gill's room.

After dismissing the proprietor, Ethan studied the cramped quarters.

"Not much to see here," James muttered.

There was a cot set against the wall, a chipped dresser, and a small washstand. The unmade bed was the only sign that the room had been occupied. Wordlessly, Ethan went to examine the dresser, a floorboard squeaking beneath his boot. The dresser wobbled as he opened the drawers and rifled through the contents.

"Find anything?" James inquired from the cot.

Ethan shook his head. "A few items of clothing. Nothing of note. You?"

Grimacing, James plucked a dirty pair of smalls from the sheets and held it up between pinched fingers. "I've discovered that hygiene was not a priority for Gill."

"The man had to have some personal effects," Papa said. "Unless they have already been purloined?"

"Living in a place like this, Gill would know to hide anything of value," Ethan said.

He took a step forward, pausing when the floorboard squeaked again. Crouching, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. The resulting resonance suggested a hollow space. He ran his fingertips along the perimeter of the plank, jiggling it until it came loose.

The others joined him.

"What did you find?" Papa asked.

One by one, Ethan removed the items from the hiding place. A battered purse with a few coins and some letters of reference extolling Gill's work as a footman, undoubtedly forged. His blood chilled as he fished out a set of chains and pots of white and red face paints.

"The first cook I hired thought she saw Bloody Thom," he muttered. "It could have been Gill in disguise…but I hadn't fired him at that point. He had no reason to retaliate against me."

"Unless Gill wasn't after revenge but something else." James crouched beside him. "Anything else in there?"

The space looked empty. Nonetheless, Ethan reached down.

"I don't think…wait, there's something stuck in a corner. Some sort of fabric…"

He tugged and felt the material tear free from whatever it was snagged on. He lifted it out, and his pulse quickened at the sight of the familiar orange stripes.

"Why the devil would he hide a neckcloth?" James curled his lip. "Although if I owned such an eyesore, perhaps I would conceal it too."

"It is not just a neckcloth," Ethan said. "It is a badge of membership worn by the Corrigans."

"Do you think Gill was a member of that gang?" Papa asked.

"This neckerchief would indicate so." Pieces of a puzzle jostled in Ethan's mind, and to his frustration, they did not quite fit. "But Gill worked for me prior to my confrontation with Patrick Harlow, the leader. If Harlow sent him to infiltrate my household, the motive would not be one of revenge."

"Methinks it is time to consider other reasons why someone might want you gone from Bottoms House," James said. "Let's bring the evidence back and see what the others have to say. I'd wager the womenfolk are anxiously awaiting our return."

"I would hold on to my money if I were you, son." Papa's smile was wry. "By now, you ought to know that Mama is not one to wait on anyone. She finds ways to keep herself occupied."