“And there,” Julian grimly said, “lies the rub. Even the setting up of the wire could have been done by someone from outside the estate. All they would have needed was the right information, albeit fed to them by someone on staff.”
He paused, staring unseeing into space as he imagined the outcomes of the various tacks they could take. After several moments, he refocused on Melissa, then looked at his brothers. “If I call in all the staff—for it could just as well be a junior footman or even a maid who’d kept watch from the house and signaled someone—we’ll achieve two things immediately. We’ll put the perpetrator on notice that we’re actively after them, but of even greater concern, we’ll signal to all our staff that we do not have faith in them, in their honesty, their integrity. That is no small thing.”
He waited to allow those words to sink in, then said, “As far as I can see, the person who gathered the critical information—how high to put the wire, on which bridle path, and when—could have been anyone on staff.” He immediately qualified, “At least theoretically. In practice, we know our senior staff are loyal and solidly behind us, and that goes for the staff who hail from local families.” To Melissa, he added, “We have and have had no disagreements or even vaguely difficult situations with the local estate families, and the majority of our staff are drawn from their ranks.”
Melissa, Felix, and Damian all frowned, but none of them argued.
That gave Julian the chance to say, “Incidentally, Damian, we’re saying as little as possible to Mama and Uncle Frederick about any of this, and at this point, they know nothing of this morning’s incident.”
“Good God, no.” Damian looked aghast. “You know what they’re like. Worrywarts, the pair of them. They’d fuss and hover and try to smother us all.” He licked his index finger and crossed his heart. “I won’t breathe a word.”
Julian couldn’t suppress a smile. There were times when Damian was still ten years old.
Felix stirred. “While I don’t like not being able to react, I agree that we can’t simply call in all the staff and start interrogating them.” Felix looked at Damian, then Melissa, and finally at Julian. “But there has to be some way forward.”
Julian had been juggling possibilities like the pieces of a jigsaw. “Potentially, there are several people involved, and we need to identify and capture them all. Putting aside the three attempts in London, not because I think they’re unconnected but because they’re well-nigh impossible to follow up”—he held up a single finger—“we have the person who got the information—for instance, that the groundsmen had scythed the path in the shrubbery and wouldn’t return for at least two weeks, or how tall I sit on Argus, and when I rode out from the stables alone. Let’s call that person our informant.”
The others were following; they nodded.
“The next person who must exist is the one who actively puts the traps in place—who strung the wire or set the mantrap in the shrubbery lawn and the spring gun along the path to the fishpond. Let’s label him the perpetrator.”
“And,” Felix put in, “it’s certain our perpetrator is a man. No woman could have put that trap in place.”
Julian nodded. “Indeed. And continuing with our list of people we need to identify, the third and last is whoever is behind the push to kill me, because as far as I can see, no maid, footman, gardener, or even an ordinary person from outside the estate who would know to set up a spring gun or mantrap has any motive or reason to murder me. Not on their own behalves.”
His eyes on Julian’s face, Damian observed, “Very few people would gain anything from seeing you dead.”
“Exactly. It makes no sense that someone has, for no real reason, decided to attack the head of the House of Delamere. Yet there’ve been seven attempts thus far—three in London and four here, including the thorn stuck in my saddle.” Julian paused, then added, “More than anyone else, we need to identify who’s behind this, because they’ll be the one actively driving each and every attempt, and ultimately, they are the one we have to stop. Catching and removing their agents won’t stop the attacks.”
“A person with a real motive to kill you.” Melissa’s dark-blue gaze met his. “Do you have any idea who that might be?”
“I’ve wracked my brains, and I can’t think of anyone—or even any reason that might suffice.” After a moment, he went on, “But to return to our list of people—or in actuality, roles—we have an informant, a perpetrator, and a motivator.”
Felix’s eyes were narrowed in thought. “As far as I can see, in all the attacks so far, the roles of informant and perpetrator could have been filled by the same person.”
Julian nodded. “But the motivator has to be someone else. Someone unlikely to be at the castle or even anywhere close.”
“Someone lurking in the shadows,” Melissa said.
“That’s certainly how it looks and feels.” Julian contemplated that scenario.
Melissa stirred, and when Julian glanced her way, she caught his eye. “The informant”—she glanced at Felix—“who may or may not be the perpetrator. I know none of you want to think it, but the informant, at least, must be one of the castle staff.”
The three brothers stared at her, reluctance in their expressions. She ignored that and went on, “Our only real way forward is to try to identify that person.” She glanced at Julian. “We didn’t tell anyone else about the wire today. Who did we tell about the spring gun?”
“Only Phelps, Edgerton, and Hockey,” Julian supplied.
She nodded. “Those three, and Mrs. Phelps, we all agree we can trust. And if you think about it, the informant must by now be getting nervous. Two attacks have now passed without anything happening. You’re walking about, plainly unhurt, unharmed, and very much alive, and what must be even more confusing, you’re not reacting and demanding someone’s head.”
“That,” Julian said, “is a very valid point.” He paused, plainly furiously thinking, then went on, “I’ve been wondering why anyone would stage such a succession of strange attempts. Except for the incident in Hyde Park and the bookcase falling, they’ve all been of the sort that might at a stretch be deemed an accident. Even the Hyde Park incident could have been someone shooting at something else, something relatively innocuous, and the bookcase could have been a politically motivated warning from the Irish, not an actual attempt to kill me.”
Damian frowned. “I’m not following.” He looked at Melissa, then Julian. “How does confusing the informant explain the strange nature of the attempts?”
“Not confusing the informant,” Julian replied, “but the assumption that I would react and how others would expect me to react. What if the thinking behind the attacks is that if they succeed, well and good, but even if they don’t, they’ll result in me thundering about and accusing the staff and ending alienating the entire staff? If I did that, and subsequently, I was killed anywhere on the estate, the likely suspect list would be—”
“Very large, indeed.” Felix looked grim. He met Julian’s gaze. “Thankfully, you haven’t yet done anything to sow seeds of discontent among the staff.”
“No. Nor do I intend to.”
