nervously scanning its pages and shaking his head at the same time. “Forgive me, my lord; either Mr. Hendrick neglected to advise me of your appointment or I neglected to write it down.”
“Neither. I have no appointment. But I’m confident Ellard will see me, given the urgency of the situation—a situation I believe Desmond advised him of yesterday. Suffice it to say, dire circumstances have ensued since our last meeting. I must see Ellard at once.”
“Quentin, come in.” Hendrick opened his office door and beckoned, simultaneously nodding to his clerk. “Thank you for your diligence, Peters. But Lord Quentin is quite right. Given the gravity of the situation, no appointment is necessary.”
“Of course, sir.” The wiry man whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, clearly weak with relief.
“Can I offer you anything, Quentin?” Ellard asked, closing the door behind them. “Or shall we get right to the appalling issue at hand.”
“The latter.” Quentin dropped into a seat. “Ellard, I know Desmond met with you yesterday. But he and I didn’t cross paths last night, so I hadn’t the opportunity to ask him what your reaction was to the authorities’ discovery.”
“My reaction?” Hendrick blinked. “I was horrified.”
Quentin shook his head. “That wasn’t what I meant. Of course you were horrified. What I meant was, did you—can you—think of anyone who would want to hurt either of my parents or Ardsley Townsend?”
Hendrick tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully. “No one,” he said at length. “Pamela, Kenton, and Ardsley were three of the most well-liked and well-respected members of the ton. Who, in the name of heaven, would intentionally harm any one of them is beyond my comprehension.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Quentin frowned at an imaginary speck of dust on his trousers. “I’ve racked my brain trying to conjure up an answer. Thus far, I’ve been totally unsuccessful. It occurred to me that I should take your suggestion and glance over my parents’ wills.”
“Their wills?” Hendrick inclined his head. “Why would a Last Will and Testament provide any clues to the murderer’s identity?”
“I don’t know that they would.” Quentin leaned forward. “Ellard, when were my parents’ wills drawn up?”
“When? Why, about a decade ago, I believe. I’ll have Peters fetch them so I can give you the exact dates. After which you can peruse them as thoroughly as you’d like.”
“I’d appreciate that. And while Peters is collecting the wills, are any of my father’s other papers on file—business documents, perchance?”
“Of course. I’ll have Peters bring Kenton’s entire file.” He stood, exiting the office only to issue the brief instructions before returning. “Quentin, may I ask what it is you’re searching for?”
“I have no answer for you, Ellard—not because I’m being vague, but because I simply don’t know. All I’m certain of is that the authorities are stymied and I must do what I can to unearth the bastard who killed my mother and father.”
“I understand.” Hendrick glanced up as Peters entered, carrying a thick file.
“This is everything, sir,” the clerk advised, setting the file on Hendrick’s desk. “The papers are organized chronologically.”
“Thank you, Peters. That will be all.” Hendrick opened the file, removing the first document. “Your father’s will,” he pronounced, handing it to Quentin.
The instant the will was in his hands, Quentin sought and found the date. “Hendrick, this will is dated the twentieth of May, 1804.”
“As I said, a decade ago.”
“Are there any codicils? Any amended clauses whatsoever?”
“No, none.”
“Then explain to me why Father summoned you to Colverton last week for the express purpose of revising his will.”
Hendrick sighed, but didn’t avert his gaze. “I was hoping you wouldn’t learn of that meeting.”
“Then it did
“Neither. I have no appointment. But I’m confident Ellard will see me, given the urgency of the situation—a situation I believe Desmond advised him of yesterday. Suffice it to say, dire circumstances have ensued since our last meeting. I must see Ellard at once.”
“Quentin, come in.” Hendrick opened his office door and beckoned, simultaneously nodding to his clerk. “Thank you for your diligence, Peters. But Lord Quentin is quite right. Given the gravity of the situation, no appointment is necessary.”
“Of course, sir.” The wiry man whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead, clearly weak with relief.
“Can I offer you anything, Quentin?” Ellard asked, closing the door behind them. “Or shall we get right to the appalling issue at hand.”
“The latter.” Quentin dropped into a seat. “Ellard, I know Desmond met with you yesterday. But he and I didn’t cross paths last night, so I hadn’t the opportunity to ask him what your reaction was to the authorities’ discovery.”
“My reaction?” Hendrick blinked. “I was horrified.”
Quentin shook his head. “That wasn’t what I meant. Of course you were horrified. What I meant was, did you—can you—think of anyone who would want to hurt either of my parents or Ardsley Townsend?”
Hendrick tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully. “No one,” he said at length. “Pamela, Kenton, and Ardsley were three of the most well-liked and well-respected members of the ton. Who, in the name of heaven, would intentionally harm any one of them is beyond my comprehension.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Quentin frowned at an imaginary speck of dust on his trousers. “I’ve racked my brain trying to conjure up an answer. Thus far, I’ve been totally unsuccessful. It occurred to me that I should take your suggestion and glance over my parents’ wills.”
“Their wills?” Hendrick inclined his head. “Why would a Last Will and Testament provide any clues to the murderer’s identity?”
“I don’t know that they would.” Quentin leaned forward. “Ellard, when were my parents’ wills drawn up?”
“When? Why, about a decade ago, I believe. I’ll have Peters fetch them so I can give you the exact dates. After which you can peruse them as thoroughly as you’d like.”
“I’d appreciate that. And while Peters is collecting the wills, are any of my father’s other papers on file—business documents, perchance?”
“Of course. I’ll have Peters bring Kenton’s entire file.” He stood, exiting the office only to issue the brief instructions before returning. “Quentin, may I ask what it is you’re searching for?”
“I have no answer for you, Ellard—not because I’m being vague, but because I simply don’t know. All I’m certain of is that the authorities are stymied and I must do what I can to unearth the bastard who killed my mother and father.”
“I understand.” Hendrick glanced up as Peters entered, carrying a thick file.
“This is everything, sir,” the clerk advised, setting the file on Hendrick’s desk. “The papers are organized chronologically.”
“Thank you, Peters. That will be all.” Hendrick opened the file, removing the first document. “Your father’s will,” he pronounced, handing it to Quentin.
The instant the will was in his hands, Quentin sought and found the date. “Hendrick, this will is dated the twentieth of May, 1804.”
“As I said, a decade ago.”
“Are there any codicils? Any amended clauses whatsoever?”
“No, none.”
“Then explain to me why Father summoned you to Colverton last week for the express purpose of revising his will.”
Hendrick sighed, but didn’t avert his gaze. “I was hoping you wouldn’t learn of that meeting.”
“Then it did
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