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Chapter Three – Suspicious Activity

Lydia ignored Allison's worried questions about what was wrong. She couldn't tell her sister that she'd just discovered Jackson's dead body hanging from the banister. She couldn't let her know that their father was trying to cover it up. And she couldn't do anything except encourage Allison to dance when Isaac found them after dinner. Fortunately, Natalie didn't notice Lydia's distress, and neither did the rest of their table mates.

As soon as the music started, Natalie was whisked off to dance by Mr Yukimura and Allison by Isaac. Lydia was perfectly content to stay where she was, wondering who would've possibly wanted to murder Jackson. Sure, she didn't like him very much, but she didn't want him dead. Of course, she no longer had a choice in that matter.

Allison's cousin asked her to dance, but she declined, choosing to sit in her chair with her hands folded in her lap to keep others from seeing them shake.

"Pardon me, but would you care to dance?"

Lydia looked up to tell the man off, reply that no, she was waiting for her fiancé – for however long that lie would work – but froze when she saw him. He was taller than Jackson, long limbs, long fingers. He had bright brown eyes, and was smiling at her. And was wearing Jackson's suit and cufflinks that she had given him as a birthday present that summer.

"Who are you?" Lydia demanded in a harsh whisper so the neighbours wouldn't hear her.

The man looked taken aback. "Stiles Stilinski."

"What sort of name is Stiles Stilinski?" she asked. If he was wearing Jackson's suit then that suggested he knew Jackson was dead – might have even been the one to kill him.

"It's my name, Lady Lydia," Stiles replied. His hand was still out like he meant to keep it there until she danced with him.

She felt her lips thin, although she wasn't sure if it was from anger that he'd killed Jackson or fear that he was going to kill her as well. Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his and he pulled her up. They had barely taken two steps on the dance floor when Lydia worked up the courage to ask, "Why did you kill Jackson?"

It took her a second to register the fact he had asked her the exact same question at the exact same time.

"What do you mean why did I kill Jackson?" she whispered. "You're the one wearing his suit and the cufflinks I gave him because-"

"They're the same colour as your eyes, yes, I noticed," Stiles said. "And what do you mean why did I kill Jackson? I got here after the earl called my father and asked him to come investigate."

"You're an investigator?" Lydia whispered, frowning at him. He didn't look that much older than her or Allison.

"My father's the best Detective Inspector in York," Stiles replied. "I help out occasionally. Where were you between the hours of 4:30 and 6?"

Lydia gaped at him. She couldn't believe he seriously thought she was responsible for Jackson's death.

"From 3:30 until 5, my sister and I were in my dressing room getting ready for the party with the help of our maid, Malia Tate," Lydia said. She'd read enough about detective work that she knew it was good to have an alibi that was able to be corroborated by other people. "And from 5 until 6, I was here in this room, with my sister and the man she's probably supposed to marry, Isaac Lahey."

Stiles frowned, looking confused by the fact she actually had people who could account for her presence.

"And have you seen Jackson at all today?" Stiles asked.

"No," Lydia said. "My mother saw him arrive, but the only time I saw him was when I saw his body fall from the banister."

She shuddered involuntarily at the mental image and Stiles hand on her back was suddenly comforting.

"Do you know who might have wanted to kill him?" Stiles asked.

"No," Lydia said. "Have you talked to Danny?"

"Yes, but we're not supposed to let anyone know he's dead," Stiles said.

"Of course we're not," Lydia replied. "It'd be a scandal."

Stiles nodded and scanned the room over the top of her head.

"Do you know everyone here?" he asked.

"Yes," Lydia said. "They've all been coming to this party for years. At least since our parents married."

"When was that?" Stiles asked, his brow furrowing. He was staring down at her intently and Lydia felt herself colour under his gaze.

"When Allison was two and I was under a year old," she said. "Allison's mother died shortly after Allison was born and I'm not sure my father lived to see my birth."

Stiles nodded. "Can you think of any reason why Jackson might have been a target?"

"I suppose if someone wanted his wealth, but he's the only heir to the fortune," Lydia said. "It would've been me if we had got married before – before – anyway, no. It couldn't have been because of his money."

Stiles scrutinised her for a second. "What about other reasons? Someone opposed to your impending marriage?"

Lydia almost laughed at the fact he'd used the same word to describe them as she had, but stopped herself. It wouldn't do to be seen laughing so soon after her fiancé's death. She was already going to have to deal with going into mourning.

"No one else wants to marry me particularly badly," she said. "So I can't imagine it's that."

"And I can't imagine that's true," Stiles said, giving her a disapproving look.

"Why not? My father's fortune went to my mother, and then to her new husband. Allison stands to inherit everything, not me," Lydia said.

This seemed to confuse Stiles.

"You think the only reason someone would marry you is for your fortune?" he asked.

"Maybe that isn't how it works in your society, but it is in this one," she said.

"Then why were you and Jackson engaged if you don't stand to inherit anything and money is everything?" Stiles asked.

"Because the Whittemores are new money and they need the prestige of the Argent name," Lydia said. "In Allison's case, they're looking for someone with money but no title so that Beacon Hills can stay in the family."

Lydia tried to imagine why someone would want to murder Jackson. If it wasn't for his money and it wasn't for her, then what else would it possibly be? Revenge? But for what? And on Jackson himself or on his parents, or her parents, or her? Although she didn't know anyone who wanted revenge on her, so she eliminated that possibility quickly.

Before she or Stiles could voice any other suspicions, Allison and Isaac appeared next to them. To Lydia's surprise, Allison was smiling and didn't let go of Isaac's hand when they stopped dancing.

"Who's your friend, Lydia?" Allison asked, smiling at Stiles.

"Stiles Stilinski," Stiles said, taking Allison's hand and kissing it quickly.

"He's a friend of Jackson's from Eton," Lydia said quickly.

"Really?" Isaac asked, looking confused. "I don't remember you from school."

"Friend is sort of a loose term," Stiles said, scratching the back of his neck. Lydia hoped Allison wouldn't notice Stiles' cufflinks, especially since Allison had helped her pick them out. At the same time, she also sort of hoped Allison would notice them because it would be an excuse to tell her.

"Especially at Eton," Isaac agreed. "And since Jackson spent all his time playing cricket and talking about how he was going to marry the prettiest girl who would have him, I can't imagine he really had that many friends."

Lydia had never heard any stories about Jackson when he was at school, and realised he really didn't have any friends that he mentioned.

"Well, he certainly found the prettiest girl," Stiles said and Lydia stepped on his toe. He did his best not to wince.

"Have you seen him yet, Lydia?" Allison asked.

"No, I haven't," Lydia said. "Have you?"

"No," Allison said. "He must have arrived while we were getting ready."

"I'm sure he did, but where he's gone since is the more important question," Lydia said. "Isaac, you haven't seen him, have you?"

"Not since Eton," Isaac said. Lydia noticed he'd brightened up considerably since arriving and had arranged his hair to block the bruise on his hairline. She tried to remember when Isaac and his father had turned up. It was after five, but not by much. And Isaac hadn't been out of her or Allison's sight since then.

"That's so odd," Allison said. "It's not like Jackson to miss a party."

"No, it isn't," Lydia agreed. She was itching to tell her sister about Jackson's death, because maybe Allison would be able to help Lydia figure out which emotions she should be feeling about it, but she didn't want to tell Isaac that Jackson was dead and she didn't want to discuss her emotions in front of Stiles.

"When did you attend Eton?" Isaac asked Stiles, and Lydia took advantage of Stiles' distraction to grab Allison and pull her away from the boys.

"What's wrong?" Allison asked at a whisper.

"Jackson's dead," Lydia said.

Allison's jaw dropped. "What?"

"They found him earlier," Lydia said. "I'm not supposed to know. But Stiles is the Detective Inspector's son, helping with the investigation. We have to keep it quiet. Father doesn't know that I know."

Allison nodded, still in shock. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, but I know I shouldn't be," Lydia replied.

"Maybe you're just in shock," Allison suggested. Lydia lifted her shoulder and looked away. She knew she wasn't in shock, but it was an easy escape for her. It would be the perfect excuse for why she wasn't showing any distress over his death.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She was distressed about the fact the murderer was probably still in the house, since Finstock had sealed the doors as soon as they found the body and he was pretty freshly dead at the time, so it was unlikely that the killer had escaped.

"Yes, maybe," Lydia said. She wanted to tell Allison that no, she wasn't, but it wasn't the right moment. "You mustn't tell anyone."

"Of course not," Allison agreed. "We shouldn't leave Stiles alone with Isaac, especially if he didn't really go to Eton."

Lydia followed her back to the boys to discover they had been joined by several other Eton alumni and Stiles seemed oddly at ease with the situation.

"That's so odd," Isaac said as they walked up. "We were in the same house even and I don't remember you."

"I kept to myself mostly," Stiles said. "And spent far too much time in the headmaster's office."

The other men in their group roared with laughter.

"But I did have occasion to talk to Jackson Whittemore more often than most," Stiles continued. "I heard he was supposed to be here. Have any of you seen him?"

The men frowned and then scanned the crowds, looking confused.

"Come to think of it, no, I haven't," one of them said. "Lady Lydia, isn't he your fiancé?"

"Yes, he is, but I haven't seen him either," Lydia said. "Mr Stilinski, we ought to go find him."

She grabbed Stiles by the arm and dragged him away. Before she could ask if he'd discovered anything else, Isaac and Allison caught up to them.

"I hate to be rude, but where did you get that bruise on your head?" Stiles asked, raising his eyebrow at Isaac. Lydia could see his train of thought – Isaac had gone to school with Jackson, seemed to not particularly care for him, and was bruised in such a manner that might have been acquired in a struggle.

"Oh," Isaac said, touching his forehead and looking uncomfortable. "I'm rather clumsy. I'm afraid I slipped in the corridor back home earlier."

Stiles nodded and Lydia saw his eyes narrow briefly. The bruise had several darker marks in it that could've easily been a man's knuckles. Now she was at least sure that Isaac was lying, but she wasn't sure his lie had anything to do with Jackson.

"Actually, I ought to go find my father," Isaac said. "He's been speaking to Lady Argent extensively and I'm sure he needs to tell me something."

He glanced down at Allison with a small smile and kissed her hand before he disappeared into the crowd.

"Did he have that bruise when he arrived?" Stiles asked.

"Yes," Allison and Lydia replied.

"You sound concerned, Allison," Lydia said, unable to help herself from nudging Allison in the ribs with her elbow. Despite the situation, it was easy to tease her about her apparent fondness for Isaac Lahey.

"I am concerned," Allison said. "As far as arranged marriages go, there are far worse people I could end up with than Isaac Lahey."

"People like Jackson Whittemore?" Lydia suggested.

Allison's eyes widened. "No, Lydia, I didn't mean it like that," she said.

"It's alright," Lydia assured her. "Stiles, is there anyone else you need to interrogate?"

Stiles looked helplessly around the room. "Everyone except the Eton alumni and the three of you," he said.

"We'll split up then," Lydia suggested. Stiles glanced at Allison. "I told her."

"Oh," Stiles said. "Fine. If anyone acts suspiciously when you ask them about Jackson, let me know. I'm supposed to give my dad a list."

Lydia and Allison nodded and started to look for targets when Isaac appeared next to them, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Have any of you seen my father?" he asked.

While all three of them shook their heads, Lydia felt an uncomfortable prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She turned around to see nothing. No one was watching her, yet she could've sworn she felt someone's eyes on the back of her neck.

She took a step forward and saw the drinks table pressed against the wall. She felt her head tip sideways, and was distantly aware of Stiles, Allison, and Isaac asking her what she was doing. There was a bump on the side of the linen and when one of the guests walked past, the breeze of her passing lifted the linen long enough for Lydia to see a shoe. While Stiles, Allison, and Isaac followed her over to the table, she lifted the cloth and had to quickly stifle another scream. Mr Lahey was lying under the table, his throat gashed just like Jackson's.


Fun Fact: Cufflinks, while invented as early as the beginning of the 17th century, did not come into popular use until the end of the 18th. They ended up being useful because the fashion became to starch one's collars and cuffs. Of course, the starching that went into the cuffs made it impossible to keep them together with simply a button, and therefore the cufflink was established as common practice.