Max stuck his head back in the door for a moment. “I must see to this. Perth, please see me when you conclude here.” He turned to Maggie. “Meg, please listen to Dr. Perth and Mother. They will probably want to cut off this interrogation in favor of rest, but if you would like to speak later, that would be helpful. There is much we need to know.” With that, Max nodded to Dr. Perth and his mother and left quickly. She heard him giving orders to a footman to increase the perimeter patrol as he headed to his office.
“I will come back and check on you before too long, my lady.” Dr. Perth reached down and patted Shep, then packed his black bag. “It is imperative that you rest. Please stay in the house. The cold air would not be good for you, and we do not want you to get the ague or a fever. You may walk as you are comfortable. I will be back to check on you.” The doctor picked up his bag and left, closing the door behind him.
Maggie felt exhausted all of a sudden. “Perhaps I should get some rest. There is so much to think about. I feel fatigued.”
“Yes, my lady,” Anna said.
Maggie’s head crashed wearily back onto her pillow, and she pulled Shep closer. His presence comforted her in the face of a fear that she could not fully identify. She was frightened but unsure where the danger was. What she knew was that she needed to find her father’s papers. The only clue she had was that they were in a stack of his books that she would know well. That made little sense. She could not let Max and his family face the danger that followed her, but she wished she knew what she was facing.
* * *
Max hastily headed to his office in anticipation of his guests. He silently prayed for good news. Opening the door to his office, he paused just as Cabot descended the stairs. “Cabot, I will be meeting with several guests. Please send for glasses and bring a fresh bottle of brandy from the cellar. I fear we will need refreshment.”
“Yes, my lord.” The servant bowed his head and left as Max walked into his study.
Harlow stood looking out of Max’s front of the window, with his arms slightly crossed behind his back when Max entered. His friend turned and smiled. “I am glad you sent for fortifications. I am afraid I helped myself to the last of the brandy.” Grinning, he moved to shake hands with his friend.
Max chuckled. “I am glad to see you, Harlow and appreciate your help in all of this. I hope your affable mood is an indicator of the news.”
“No, but good humor helps me think better. Clears the head.”
Quickened footsteps sounded on the wooden floor outside his study before a rap sounded at the door.
“Yes?” Max hoped the investigator had arrived. He was eager to get the meeting started.
A stern-faced Cabot opened the door and stepped aside to allow Max a view of his expected guests. “My lords, a Mr. Nizal has arrived.”
“Thank you, Cabot.” Max stepped from behind his desk to greet his newest guest, dismissing Cabot with a slight nod. “Mr. Nizal.” He clasped the man’s hand and shook it. “Thank you for coming. I have heard much about your work and am eager to hear your ideas and suggestions on the matter at hand. I trust Harlow has filled you in.”
A short, stout man with a slightly balding pate, Nizal stood next to Harlow and nodded in appreciation of the welcome. His dark brown wool suit and beige linen waistcoat blended well with the faded auburn and grey hair that framed the sides and back of his dome. His cedar-brown eyes seemed to scan the room, taking in the details that surrounded him.
“If I may, my lord? I would like to get started.” Mr. Nizal made himself comfortable in one of the brown leather armchairs that faced Max’s desk. He took out a pad from an inner coat pocket and opened it to an already marked page. He extracted a small pencil nub from the same pocket. “My lord, shall we get started?” The short man regarded him somberly.
“Absolutely.” Nizal’s no-nonsense attitude impressed Max. “Cabot should return with some refreshments momentarily.” He glanced at Harlow. “We should have no other interruption.”
As if on cue, Cabot quietly entered and set three clean glasses and a brandy decanter on an ornate table to the left of the desk and exited. The door closed quietly behind him.
Max was anxious. “Harlow has informed me of the death of Lord Tipton. Do you have any further details regarding how it happened or when?”
Mr. Nizal harrumphed and cleared his throat. “Yes, my lord. A week past, they found Lord Tipton with his throat cut, lying in a pool of his own blood under the balcony of his bedroom. There were signs of a struggle.” Nizal flipped a page on his pad. “His dress…” He again cleared his throat. “His clothing was torn on the arms and chest area, and his trousers, er…the front flap was…compromised.” He finished and looked away for a moment.
Max’s blood boiled. He fought to hold it at bay. Maggie had just suffered a loss. What kind of barbarian had they forced her to marry? Tipton was a rather large man. The state of undress suggested he had recently had a companion, but it did not mean it was his wife. She had lost her child. He forced himself to recall Meg’s description of her final interaction with him. Max cleared his throat. “Are they certain his wife was in residence at the time of his death?” He did not want to ask this question but needed to know what Nizal knew.
“Yes, my lord. However, her maid attests that she had only just
