Free The Masterful Mr. Montague by Stephanie Laurens Page A

The slate gray gaze returned to pin Milborne. “So, Doctor, what say you? Is this a natural death, or something the Yard needs to be aware of?”
    “Ah . . .” Milborne was out of his depth and floundering; he patently did not know which way to leap. “I . . . ah, had thought it might be, could be, purely the result of old age. I mean, although she appears to have struggled, well, she might have been gasping her last, as it were, and—”
    “Were her eyes closed, her lids lowered, when she was found?”
    The question, uttered in an urbane voice that instantly commanded attention—and respect—came from the tall, blond man who had accompanied Stokes. Strolling into the room, he politely inclined his head to Violet, nodded briefly—as to a friend—to Montague, then glanced at Milborne, before halting by the bed and looking down at Lady Halstead’s face.
    After an instant, the man glanced up at Milborne, then at Violet. “The Honorable Barnaby Adair. I’m a consultant to the Yard, and often work with Stokes. Especially”—his distinctly blue gaze returned to Lady Halstead’s face—“in cases involving members of society.”
    It took Milborne another moment to digest that, then some of his tension left him. “In that case—”
    Violet spoke over him. “Her eyes were shut—the lids lowered—when we found her.” At Adair’s cocked brow, she elaborated, “Tilly, her ladyship’s maid, and I came up to wake her as we usually did, and found her.” Violet nodded at the bed. “Just like that. We didn’t move her at all.”
    “Excellent.” Adair crouched and looked at Lady Halstead’s face from close quarters, then angled a glance at Milborne. “Any bleeding in the eyes?”
    Milborne shifted. “A little. But she’s old, and—” He broke off, then bent, raised one of the lids, and looked again. When he straightened, one could see that he’d paled. “Yes. There’s unnatural bleeding in the eyes.”
    “Hmm.” Adair slowly straightened. “That’s usually a sign of suffocation, isn’t it?”
    Milborne’s lips tightened, but he nodded. “Yes.”
    Adair glanced at Violet. “Was there anything else in the room when you found her—or anything you’ve noticed that’s missing?”
    Violet stepped forward and looked at Lady Halstead. “The only thing that’s wrong, that’s out of place, is that pillow. The one that’s been pushed under her head. Her ladyship never slept with that many pillows, but that one was left on that chair by the bed”—she nodded at the armchair—“because she needed it behind her when she sat up.”
    “So,” Adair all but purred, “when you and her ladyship’s maid arrived with her breakfast tray, had it been a normal morning, you would have found Lady Halstead lying asleep on one less pillow, and the pillow presently beneath her head would have been waiting on the chair for you to place at her back when she sat up.” Adair slanted a quietly encouraging look at Violet. “Is that correct, Miss Matcham?”
    Meeting his eyes, Violet raised her chin and nodded. “That’s precisely correct, Mr. Adair.”
    Adair glanced at Stokes. “I believe that settles it.” He looked at Milborne. “So, Doctor, what’s your verdict?”
    Milborne looked grim but dutifully intoned, “Death by suffocation by persons unknown.”
    Violet glanced at Stokes and saw him smile a positively sharklike smile.
    “Murder, then,” Stokes said.
    Milborne grimaced. “As you will have it so, but I warn you the family aren’t going to like it.”
    Stokes’s face darkened and his response came in a dark growl. “ I don’t like it and I’m not even related. But I’m sure you’re not saying that the Halsteads are the sort of family who would happily sweep murder under the carpet in order to avoid a little inconvenience?”
    Milborne shifted and reached for his black bag. “No. Of course not.” Lifting the bag, he moved to pass around Stokes. “If you have no further need of me,