Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
H adrian Becket, the Earl of Ravenhurst, stepped from his coach and surveyed the house in front of him. It was one of the larger homes on the street, with a pleasing stone facade accented with wrought iron. His former fiancée, now Mrs. Beryl Chambers, had come out well enough, it seemed, despite throwing him over for her current husband, a self-important, arrogant ass if Hadrian had ever met one.
Oddly enough, Hadrian had encountered him last night. One of Hadrian’s colleagues had convinced him to go to his club where Louis Chambers was a member.
Despite the passage of time, Hadrian was still baffled as to why Beryl had preferred Chambers. She’d said she was in love, but Hadrian just couldn’t see any redeeming qualities in the man. He was loud, obnoxious, and utterly unaware of his irritating behavior.
Hadrian had to admit he’d felt a measure of relief after catching her in Chambers’ arms at that ball. Well, following the initial flash of anger and betrayal.
He and Beryl had parted ways, and she’d wed Chambers. Hadrian had moved on. Alone.
But now he was here because she’d sent him a somewhat succinct letter yesterday begging him to call on her today. She’d said she was in dire need of his advice and perhaps assistance. She’d ended it by saying if he’d ever cared for her at all, he would come.
So, here he was. That she had requested his help and he’d later encountered her husband was a curious coincidence.
“What’s that there?” his coachman, Leach, asked in his typical gruff tone. He inclined his head toward a wagon in front of the next house.
“That is the Metropolitan Police,” Hadrian replied with a slight frown. He hoped there was nothing amiss next door.
The sight of the wagon brought Tilda to mind. It had been just a week since he’d last seen such a wagon. The police had taken away the heinous criminal they’d caught after conducting a thorough and rather intense investigation.
He’d seen Tilda a few days ago, but he missed her already. He supposed that was normal since they’d been in each other’s company every day for a couple of weeks. Honestly, it seemed they’d known each other much longer. They’d fallen into a pleasing friendship—odd for a man and a woman—as they’d worked together.
He also missed the fact that she was the only person who knew of the strange new ability he’d acquired after nearly dying two months ago following an attack in which he was stabbed. He’d hit his head on the pavement, and now he saw visions and felt sensations when he touched certain objects or even people. It had proven rather useful in their investigation.
However, it was also quite frustrating as the ability caused Hadrian to suffer painful headaches, and he had no control over whether it worked or how. He could touch an object or a person and feel nothing. Then, ten minutes later, he could touch it or them again and a vision would flicker in his mind.
What he had learned, so far, was that the “gift”—he sometimes thought of it as a curse for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the potential that he was going mad—did not seem to work with objects or people he knew well. When his valet touched him, Hadrian did not see any visions, nor did he feel any sensations.
It also hadn’t seemed to work with someone who was dead, which he’d surmised after he and Tilda had discovered a corpse. Hadrian had been able to see the man’s memories before but had stopped being able to do so after he’d died.
However, he’d later seen a vision when touching something that had belonged to someone who had been dead for some time. That made Hadrian think the length of time someone had been deceased mattered. Or perhaps it was just that his ability was changing over time. Honestly, he never knew what to expect, except the accompanying headaches.
Thankfully, Hadrian was not affected when he touched objects in his own home. Being assaulted with the feelings or memories of other people in his household, or people who had once lived in his house, such as his father, would be unsettling.
The best defense against Hadrian’s newfound ability was to keep his gloves on, for then he couldn’t be bothered with it. He approached the front door and rapped on the wood, eager to learn why Beryl had summoned him.
A moment later, the door flew open. The butler, an average-sized fellow in his middle fifties with a stout frame, his eyes wide and his round face pale, regarded Hadrian with surprise. But there was something else in the man’s gaze—agitation or perhaps even apprehension.
“Good morning,” Hadrian said slowly as he handed the butler his card. “I’m here to see Mrs. Chambers.”
The butler glanced down at the card before inclining his head toward Hadrian. “Your lordship. She did mention that you may be calling. However, I’m afraid the household is in the midst of a tragedy, and it may be best if you call another time.”
Tragedy? And the Metropolitan Police wagon was on the street. “Are the police here?” Hadrian’s curiosity about Beryl’s note climbed.
“Yes. They arrived a short while ago.” The butler sounded most distraught.
“Allow me to help,” Hadrian said calmly. He walked into the entrance hall, and the butler had no choice but to close the door behind him. “I’m an old friend of Mrs. Chambers, and since she requested my presence, I am sure I can provide assistance. Where is she?”
The butler pursed his lips, his rather wide forehead creasing. “In the study, my lord, with the police. But it’s a … sensitive situation.”
Hadrian gave the man an encouraging nod. “Is the study through here?” Hadrian moved toward the archway at the rear of the entrance hall.
“Yes, my lord.” The butler hastened past him into the staircase hall and then into a sitting room where he turned to the left.
Voices carried from the room they were about to enter, presumably the study. The butler stepped to the side after crossing the threshold. There was one constable speaking with Beryl. Her cheeks and nose were red as if she’d been crying.
“Beryl?” Hadrian said tentatively as he approached them.
“Oh, Hadrian!” Beryl practically leapt upon him, throwing her arms around his neck. Her body quivered against his.
Surprised by her embrace, Hadrian loosely held her, awkwardness warring with the overwhelming sense of unease. Something was very wrong.
The constable cleared his throat, and Hadrian separated himself from Beryl. She sniffed and dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes.
Hadrian addressed the constable. “Good morning, I’m Lord Ravenhurst.”
“He’s a friend of mine,” Beryl said. She clasped Hadrian’s arm tightly, her fingers digging through his coat. “Louis has been murdered. The maid found him this morning.”
Hadrian’s pulse quickened. This was not what he’d been expecting. How strange that he’d just seen the man last night.
And Beryl’s note had arrived yesterday. Apparently, she’d begged Hadrian to come hours before her husband had been found murdered. What the devil was going on?
“I’m so sorry, Beryl,” Hadrian murmured as he patted her hand. Thankfully, she loosened her grip, though she did not release him.
“I’m just glad you’re here,” she said with another sniff.
A man stepped out of the next room. “Did I hear Lord Ravenhurst has arrived?” Inspector Samuel Teague regarded Hadrian. In his middle thirties, the inspector was of average height and build. He was also not wearing his usual police uniform of a blue coat and helmet.
“Teague,” Hadrian said, surprised to see him here, though he should not have been. “Where is your uniform?”
“I was promoted to the Detective Branch after finding justice for that missing young woman.” He referred to the investigation that Tilda and Hadrian had completed, and on which Teague had provided assistance. “It just happened two days ago, in fact. I’d planned to inform you and Miss Wren.” Teague sent him an earnestly appreciative look.
Whilst Teague had been of great help in apprehending the culprit, the majority of the investigative work had been done by Tilda and Hadrian. Still, Hadrian was glad to see the man had been promoted to Detective Inspector. “Congratulations,” he said warmly. “You rightly deserve it.”
“Thank you. How is it you are here?”
“I’m an old friend of Mrs. Chambers,” Hadrian replied. He did not add that she’d requested his presence. He wanted to gather more information before he offered any himself.
Teague’s features darkened. “Her husband has been murdered.”
Hadrian inclined his head toward the doorway that Teague was standing near. “In there?”
“That’s his bedchamber,” Beryl responded. Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe he’s dead.” She took her hand from Hadrian’s arm and clapped it over her mouth as a sob wracked her frame.
“Do you mind if I look?” Hadrian asked, though in truth, he was more interested in touching something to see if he could glean anything about what had happened. His ability had allowed him to see the memories of the man who’d tried to kill him. Perhaps he’d see those that belonged to Chambers’ murderer, and perhaps identify the killer. Not that Hadrian could share his findings with Teague, for then he’d have to reveal his “gift,” and the inspector would likely insist he seek medical help.
Teague’s auburn brows rose. “We are collecting evidence.”
“I could help,” Hadrian offered. “You know I’m of some use in that area.”
The detective inspector grunted in response. “You can stand at the doorway.”
“Good enough,” Hadrian said benignly. He could likely inch his way inside. Before he went to look at the bedchamber, he met Beryl’s gaze. “Is someone bringing you tea? Perhaps you should sit.”
“I don’t think I can. I’m too distressed.” She shook her head, closing her eyes tightly.
“It’s going to be all right,” Hadrian murmured. He felt a pull to stay and comfort Beryl, but he was also eager to see what he might learn from the bedchamber.
Hadrian glanced toward the young constable who stood nearby. He held a notebook and had likely been asking Beryl questions. Surreptitiously removing his gloves and stuffing them in his coat pocket, Hadrian walked to the bedchamber and stood in the doorway.
A large, four-poster bed dominated the room. The window hangings had been pulled open to let in the morning light. There were also a few lanterns about the room providing plenty of illumination.
The bedclothes were drawn back to reveal the body of Louis Chambers. He wore a night shirt, the front of which was stained a dark brown-red.
Another constable was writing in a notebook, or perhaps drawing. Teague was poking about the room, looking in corners and under furniture.
“How was he killed?” Hadrian asked.
“Stabbed through the heart,” Teague replied. “I’m looking for the knife—without luck so far.”
Hadrian touched the doorframe with his bare hand, his breath halting as he hoped for a sensation or a vision.
Nothing.
“Would you like help looking?” Hadrian offered.
“This is a police matter,” Teague said as he dropped to his knees and bent to search under the bed. “I need a bloody lantern.”
Hadrian moved quickly, swiping one from a dresser and bringing it to where Teague was crouched. Just before he set the lantern on the floor beside the detective inspector, a vision flashed in Hadrian’s mind: he saw a hearth. There was an accompanying sensation of feeling tired, as if he hadn’t slept long enough. Hadrian presumed he was seeing and feeling the memories of a retainer who’d touched the lantern at some point.
Teague frowned up at him. “You weren’t supposed to come in.”
“Apologies, I was only helping.” Hadrian clasped the post of the bed as he pivoted to return to the doorway.
Chambers’ face flashed in Hadrian’s mind. The man was laughing. Then his eyes narrowed seductively. Hadrian felt a rush of desire, but the sensation didn’t belong to him. It came from whoever’s memory he was seeing. Chambers reached out, and Hadrian felt as though he were being pulled. He saw an outstretched hand that was decidedly feminine clutching Chambers’ fingers. Chambers fell back on the bed, and Hadrian landed atop him.
Hadrian blinked, and the vision disappeared, thank goodness. Hadrian wasn’t sure he’d wanted to see—or feel—what would happen next. But he could guess. Whoever’s memory Hadrian had seen was a woman Chambers had taken to bed.
Hadrian had to assume it was Beryl. He didn’t particularly care to see his former fiancée’s memories, and he definitely didn’t want to feel her emotions.
“How do you know Mrs. Chambers?” Teague asked as he looked under the bed.
Hadrian, rattled and head aching from the vision, was grateful for the interruption to his thoughts and moved back to the doorway. “She was my fiancée.”
Teague banged his head on the underside of the bed, then he swore rather colorfully. He came out from beneath the bed and massaged his scalp as he stood. “You might have mentioned that association when you arrived. Have you learned nothing about investigations and sharing information to solve crimes?”
“I wasn’t hiding anything,” Hadrian said. “This is a shock.”
“Is it shocking to you?” Teague asked, his brown eyes narrowing. “Since you’re still friendly with your former fiancée?”
“It’s shocking because a man was murdered in his bed. And I am somewhat friendly with Mrs. Chambers,” Hadrian said vaguely. He would need to tell Teague about the note she’d sent him as it may pertain to his investigation. Why was he hesitating? Because he wanted to know more about the situation before he said or did anything that might incriminate Beryl. She’d sent Hadrian a rather desperate note, and then her husband had been killed. He couldn’t help wondering what the connection might be.
Wait, did Hadrian think she’d killed her husband? No, he couldn’t fathom it, actually.
Teague’s gaze hadn’t moved from Hadrian. “Why didn’t you marry her?”
“We were not a love match,” Hadrian said.
“Mrs. Chambers, I am so sorry.” The feminine voice carried to Hadrian in the bedchamber from the study. He knew that voice. His pulse picked up speed and a rush of anticipation spread through him. The pain in his head lessened, as if driven away by his excitement.
Hadrian turned and went into the study. His gaze fell on Tilda, and he couldn’t help the smile that teased his mouth. She looked lovely, her reddish-blonde hair neatly coiled beneath her smart green hat. Her green gaze was fixed on Mrs. Chambers.
Wait. What in the bloody hell was Tilda even doing here?
He stepped toward them. “Tilda, what a surprise to see you here.” He watched her eyes flash with her own surprise, then she cocked her head in a manner that indicated an awkwardness to the situation.
“I am working on an investigation involving Mrs. Chambers,” Tilda said, her heart-shaped face reflecting concern and perhaps a touch of hesitation. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I invited him,” Mrs. Chambers said quietly.
Both Tilda and Hadrian swept their gazes toward her.
Mrs. Chambers went on, keeping her voice low. “I was going to ask for his help in finding a place to stay, as you suggested, Miss Wren. That was before. Before what happened to Louis.”
Why was Tilda suggesting Beryl leave her home? Hadrian looked from Beryl to Tilda.
“What are you investigating?” Hadrian also spoke softly.
“I wanted to divorce Louis,” Beryl whispered.
Hadrian’s insides went hollow for a moment. She wanted to divorce her husband, and now the man was dead.
“Does Detective Inspector Teague know that?” Hadrian asked.
Tilda snapped her attention to Hadrian. “Teague is here? And he’s a Detective Inspector now?”
Hadrian nodded. “He was just promoted to the Detective Branch two days ago. He’s in the bedchamber.” He glanced toward the constable who was eyeing them suspiciously. “Perhaps we should postpone this conversation.”
“Yes,” Tilda murmured. “The butler told me Mr. Chambers had been murdered. Do you know what happened?”
“Stabbed in the heart,” Hadrian replied.
A sob caught in Beryl’s throat. She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth as a few more tears leaked from her eyes. “Clara found him when she went in to stoke the coals this morning. She’s quite distraught.”
“Clara is the maid?” Hadrian asked, and Beryl nodded.
Tilda looked at Beryl with sympathy. “Then you sent for the police?”
“Yes. I do think I need to sit down. And drink the tea you mentioned, Hadrian.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll go downstairs and fetch some.”
“I’ll come with you.” Tilda gently put her hand to Beryl’s arm and guided Beryl to a table and into a chair. “We’ll be back with tea directly.”
Tilda strode from the study, and Hadrian followed. When they were in the sitting room, she turned her head to give him an arch look.
“What?” Hadrian said.
Tilda moved to open a door in the corner that led to the servants’ stairs down to the kitchen. “This is not where I imagined I would encounter you next.”
“Nor is it where I expected to see you. You’re helping Beryl secure a divorce?”
Tilda explained how the barrister who sometimes hired her to assist with divorce cases had employed her to work with Beryl. “I called on her yesterday to obtain information. She had bruises and spoke of her husband’s physical abuse and menacing behavior.” They reached the bottom. Tilda turned to face him. “I told her I would return today to see how she’s faring. I was worried about her being here with Chambers. That is why I suggested she find another place to reside for the time being—for her own safety. Apparently, she turned to you for help with that.” Tilda’s curiosity was evident, but then she was the most curious person he’d ever met.
Hadrian had no idea Beryl’s life had taken such a turn. “I didn’t realize Chambers was hurting her.” He felt a surge of fury toward the man who’d stolen his fiancée. “But Beryl and I have not remained close since dissolving our betrothal. I’ve only seen her a few times over the years and never on purpose.”
He hadn’t wanted to maintain even a friendship with her, though he’d been cordial despite the embarrassment that had come from a broken engagement. Perhaps that was because his anger had so quickly become relief after Beryl had chosen to wed Chambers instead of Hadrian.
Early in their courtship he’d experienced a thrilling flutter in his chest—the one he’d felt upstairs when he’d seen Tilda—but it had faded during their betrothal. He’d mistaken that for love and was glad he’d avoided marriage to Beryl.
“You’re angry,” Tilda noted, drawing him back to the present.
“I’m upset that Beryl has been mistreated. As are you, I gather.”
“Yes,” Tilda said with a nod. “But I do not have a history with her as you do. She asked you to call on her despite not remaining friendly?”
He nodded. “She sent a note yesterday, which I did find odd.”
“What did the note say?” Tilda asked, clearly in the throes of her investigation.
“She requested I call on her because she was in dire need of my help.”
“Did that concern you?” Tilda concluded.
“Yes, particularly because we haven’t been close. I couldn’t imagine why she would be writing to me for help.” Hadrian smiled at her. “I found myself very curious, which I think you understand.”
She returned his smile. “I do.” Her features smoothed. “Has Teague questioned you yet?”
“He was busy searching Chambers’ bedchamber,” Hadrian replied. “I told him of my betrothal to Beryl.”
Her gaze turned sympathetic. “That could not have been easy to discuss. I am sorry that history is being revisited.”
“It’s particularly odd because I encountered Chambers last night.”
Tilda’s brows shot up. “Where?”
“A club called Arthur’s. I am not a member, but I accompanied a colleague who invited me.”
“Did you speak with Chambers?”
Hadrian recalled their encounter and the discomfort as well as surprise that he’d felt. Tilda was right that this wasn’t easy. He would prefer to leave the past alone, especially the chapter that pertained to Beryl and her husband. However, after hiding his ability from Tilda when they’d become acquainted, he’d promised that he would be completely honest with her going forward.
He grimaced as he responded. “That is not how I would characterize it. Chambers yelled at me from across the room. He was a boisterous, gregarious fellow, but not in a charming way.” The man was most disagreeable in Hadrian’s experience, albeit limited.
“You didn’t like him?” Her eyes briefly shuttered. “I’m sorry. I know you caught him with Beryl whilst you were betrothed to her. Of course you didn’t like him.”
“I barely knew him,” Hadrian gritted out, his jaw clenched. “I found him annoying, as do most people, including my colleague—Sir Godfrey Hammersmith.”
“What happened when Chambers yelled at you?” she asked.
Hadrian summoned the incident in his mind and decided to start from the beginning. “When I arrived, Chambers was standing in the main reception room with a few other gentlemen. They were talking and drinking. I recognized Chambers immediately and hoped we would not meet. However, Chambers saw me. He called across the room and then approached me. He did not appear pleased to see me and demanded to know what I was doing there.” He frowned as he recalled the burst of irritation he’d felt at Chambers’ behavior. “I believe his words were, ‘What the bloody hell are you doing in my club?’”
Tilda grimaced. “That must have been awkward. Why would he greet you in such a manner?”
Hadrian shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only met him on a few occasions, and I can’t remember the last time I saw him. We don’t move in the same circles.”
“I can’t imagine you would want to after his behavior with your fiancée,” Tilda observed softly. “What happened next?”
“I think he was drunk,” Hadrian said. “After his obnoxious greeting, he said I would not enjoy Arthur’s, that I would be happier at my priggish club for pompous arses, since I was one. Pardon my vulgarity; those were his exact words. Then, one of the men Chambers had been speaking to came to pull him away. Sir Godfrey and I moved to another part of the club.”
“You didn’t want to leave?” Tilda asked.
“I did, but also didn’t want to abandon Sir Godfrey. We went upstairs to a quieter room and drank port. I left about an hour after I arrived. Thankfully, I did not encounter Chambers again.”
“Teague will want to hear about this encounter,” Tilda said. “Did you go straight home after leaving the club?”
Hadrian narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you think I may have gone somewhere else?”
“I think you should have an alibi,” she replied evenly.
Her words chilled Hadrian. “You can’t think I would kill Chambers.”
“I don’t, but you have a motive.”
Alarm pricked Hadrian’s neck, making him feel hot and agitated. “What would that be?"
“Jealousy. Revenge. Anger after the way Chambers treated you at the club.”
“I’ve been treated worse,” Hadrian replied with a snort. “And I am not jealous, nor do I have any reason to seek revenge.”
Tilda again looked at him with sympathy, but he didn’t like it. “Chambers stole your fiancée. You caught them in a compromising position.”
“Yes, but in the end, everything worked out as it should,” he said coolly. Tilda was right that it wasn’t easy to revisit this. In fact, he preferred not to.
“You weren’t … heartbroken?” Tilda asked, her brow creasing. “Forgive me, I assumed you were marrying her because you loved her.”
Hadrian exhaled. “Must we delve into the specifics? I was not heartbroken. I was relieved. After I was done being angry. It was an embarrassing situation.” Now more than ever, Hadrian couldn’t understand why Beryl would choose Chambers over him.
“I understand. I won’t pry any further, but Teague might, so you should be prepared for that.”
Hadrian shook out his shoulders in an effort to clear his agitation. “Aren’t we supposed to be fetching tea for Beryl?”
“Yes, let us speak with the cook.” She preceded him into the kitchen where three women stood around a table. Two were in their forties, one of whom wore an apron, whilst the third, garbed in a dark-blue gown, was young—younger than Tilda.
The woman with the apron looked toward Hadrian and Tilda first, then the other two followed suit. “Can I help you?” the woman in the apron asked.
“That’s Miss Wren,” the young woman said. A white cap sat atop her dark-brown hair, and Hadrian assumed she was the maid.
The other two women reacted faintly to this revelation, as if they knew of Tilda but hadn’t yet met her.
“Good morning, Clara,” Tilda said with a brief smile as she walked toward them. Hadrian followed her. “I’m sorry about Mr. Chambers.”
The maid looked down, and the other two exchanged glances. There seemed to be a wealth of communication in what they didn’t say.
When no one said anything in response, Tilda said, “Mrs. Chambers would like tea.”
“I’ll take it up,” the woman in the apron said. She fetched a pot from the warming stove.
The other older woman—she looked to be the eldest of the three, perhaps nearing fifty—also wore a white cap, which covered her severely styled gray-and-sable hair. Her brown eyes were sharp and assessing as they surveyed Hadrian and Tilda. “I am Mrs. Blank, the housekeeper. This is Mrs. Dunning, our cook.” She pinned her attention on Tilda. “I believe you met Clara yesterday.”
“I did,” Tilda said with a nod. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintances as well. This is Lord Ravenhurst.”
All three retainers showed a reaction—including the cook who’d just picked up the tray—but the young maid’s was by far the most revealing. Her jaw dropped before she snapped it closed and averted her eyes.
“Have you heard his name before?” Tilda asked.
Hadrian wasn’t at all surprised that she’d noticed the maid’s reaction, nor that she’d questioned her about it.
Clara nodded, but it was the housekeeper, Mrs. Blank, who spoke. “We know who his lordship is.” She cast an enigmatic look toward Hadrian that piqued his curiosity. What did they know?
“Mrs. Chambers has mentioned him?” Tilda prodded.
“And Mr. Chambers,” Clara replied.
Mrs. Blank pursed her lips at the maid but said nothing. The cook sniffed as she departed with the tea tray.
Now Hadrian was even more curious. Why were they discussing Hadrian years after Beryl had decided to wed Chambers? He didn’t like it, particularly since it involved him in this situation.
“Mr. Chambers discussed his lordship?” Tilda asked. “How peculiar as they are not friends.”
“He’s only mentioned him a few times,” Clara mumbled.
The butler entered the kitchen from a corridor that led toward the front of the house. He looked toward Hadrian and Tilda. “Your lordship. Miss Wren.” Then he moved his gaze to the young maid. “Clara, it is your turn to speak with the constable.”
Clara took a deep breath and chewed her lip.
“Don’t fret,” Mrs. Blank said. “Just answer his questions.” She gave the young woman a direct stare, and again, Hadrian had the sense that there was silent communication.
The maid hurried toward the doorway the constable had come through and disappeared into the corridor.
“The constable has been interviewing all of you?” Tilda asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Blank replied. “He’s asking us if we’d noticed any evidence of someone breaking into the house, but everything was as it should be this morning. Except for Mr. Chambers, of course.”
“Not everything,” Oswald noted. “What about the missing kitchen knife?”
Hadrian snapped his attention to the butler and noticed Tilda did the same. “There’s a knife missing?” Tilda asked.
“Mrs. Dunning noticed it was gone this morning,” Oswald replied.
“Do you need anything?” Mrs. Blank asked, her expression expectant.
“No. We came to ask about the tea.” Tilda smiled at the housekeeper. “We’ll leave you to it.” She turned and slightly inclined her head toward the door to the stairs whilst meeting Hadrian’s eyes.
He accompanied her from the kitchen, and they climbed the stairs to the landing on the ground floor. The door to the sitting room was ajar.
“I can tell that you wanted to interview the retainers,” Hadrian said. “I am very curious as to why Chambers is mentioning me after all this time.”
She turned to face him, her features shadowed in the dim space for there was only a single candle burning in a sconce. “We are not conducting an investigation. I was hired to assist with a divorce, and that is no longer necessary.”
“But we make a good team,” Hadrian said with a smile. “I was hoping we’d have a reason to work together again, and here we are at the scene of a murder.”
Mrs. Dunning opened the door wider from the sitting room and stopped short upon seeing them.
“Pardon us,” Tilda said, as she moved past the cook into the sitting room. Hadrian followed her, and the cook went into the stairwell.
Tilda’s gaze followed the cook’s movements. “Mrs. Dunning, I understand one of your knives is missing.”
The cook pivoted, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Yes, but I didn’t use it to kill Mr. Chambers. I already spoke to the constable.” There was a glimmer of apprehension in her gaze.
“When was the last time you used it?” Tilda asked.
“Yesterday morning when I butchered a guinea fowl. I cleaned the knife and returned it to the block. This morning, it was gone.” The cook put her hand on her hip. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m an investigator,” Tilda said.
“I thought you were investigating Mr. Chambers so Mrs. Chambers could get a divorce.” Mrs. Dunning sounded skeptical.
“I was.” Tilda gave the woman a benign smile and said nothing else. The cook went downstairs.
Hadrian closed the door to the servants’ stairwell. “Do you have the sense the retainers are holding something back?”
“Perhaps. They seem guarded—the cook and the housekeeper anyway.” She glanced at Hadrian’s hands. “You aren’t wearing gloves. Have you been able to see or feel anything helpful?”
“In fact, I had a vision in Chambers’ bedchamber.”
“Teague allowed you inside?” she asked.
“Not really. But he needed a light to see under the bed, so I provided him with a lantern.” He didn’t bother telling her about the vision that had provoked, but he shared what he’d seen when he touched the bed, including the feelings of desire the woman had felt.
Tilda’s cheeks tinged faintly pink. “How odd for you to have to feel such things. Which hand of hers did you see?”
Hadrian thought back. “The left.” Details were so important, revelatory even, and Tilda was always focused on them.
“Was there a ring on her finger?”
“No.” It wasn’t Beryl then. She wore a wedding ring on her left hand.
“Then it was not Mrs. Chambers. Although, I wouldn’t have guessed it to be her. She hasn’t shared her husband’s bed in nearly three years. Though I suppose you could be seeing a memory from years ago. We know that’s possible.”
Indeed it was, as Hadrian had seen memories going back more than thirty years. “Chambers was a philanderer as well as cruel then.”
“Mrs. Chambers believes he was having an affair, and she will need to prove adultery to have any hope of securing a divorce.” Tilda glanced toward the study. “Not that she needs a divorce any longer.”
If Hadrian could be a potential suspect, so could Beryl. In fact, she’d be a greater one than him, probably. “I don’t think Beryl killed him.” The words fell from him before he realized he meant to say them.
Tilda snapped her gaze to his. “Why not? It doesn’t seem you know her very well.”
“I knew her once, and I would not have betrothed myself to a murderess.”
“I doubt you intended to marry an unfaithful woman either,” Tilda said wryly.
“Your point is well made.” Though it rankled him. “Beryl may not be the most faithful person I’ve known, but she is not a killer.”
A man came from the stairwell they’d just left. He glanced at Tilda and Hadrian but didn’t stop. He appeared to be in a hurry, his face flushed as he strode into the study.
Hadrian exchanged a glance with Tilda, and they wordlessly followed the unknown man.
“How did he die?” the unknown man, who was tall and lanky, his dark hair falling over his forehead, asked Teague.
Beryl stood nearby, fidgeting her hands at her waist. “This is my husband’s valet, Massey.”
“We will need to ask you some questions,” Teague said to the valet.
“I need to see Mr. Chambers first,” the valet insisted.
Beryl moved to touch the valet’s arm. “Massey, he is gone.”
The valet shook her hand from him and turned his head to direct his glower at her. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.” His lip curled.
Hadrian stepped toward the valet. “There’s no call for such behavior in this moment. It’s a sad and shocking time for all.”
Massey looked Hadrian up and down. “Who the devil are you?”
“Ravenhurst,” Hadrian replied succinctly.
The valet’s dark eyes popped, and his jaw dropped briefly. “ You? ”
“Do you know the earl?” Teague asked, his brow creasing with interest.
“Mr. Chambers said he saw Ravenhurst at his club last night.”
Teague snapped his gaze—now angry—at Hadrian. “You saw Chambers last night?” He glanced at the valet. “Pardon me, Massey, but I must interrogate Lord Ravenhurst first.”