Chapter 10 #2
Perhaps if I had been younger, I would have found her admission appalling. But motherhood had given me insight into the viciousness of love. Delia felt abandoned by me, and in a way, she was right. I had been rather dismissive of her and our relationship.
“Don’t,” I urged. “Don’t ever think that.
You did nothing to deserve this. No matter what you may have thought about me.
I should have been more understanding of your feelings as well.
And I am sorry for that. But this … Delia, I know you loved Charles, and what happened to him is awful.
But it doesn’t need to color the rest of your life.
Especially if he really was married to someone else and lying to you about it.
Not that he deserved to die, of course,” I added hastily, but Delia didn’t seem to be listening.
She looked up at me then, her face ashen. “I think I’m with child.”
My ears rang as the meaning of her words slowly sunk in.
“But—but I thought you said you were careful,” I sputtered, feeling a bit thick.
Delia glanced away. “I meant we were careful not to be seen alone together. Not that we hadn’t …”
I let out an exasperated sigh. Well, this certainly complicated matters. “Did he know?”
“No. That was another thing I meant to tell him. It’s only been a little over a week since I missed my courses.” I sighed again, as any other response I could manage at the moment would not be helpful. Delia suddenly looked fearful. “You won’t tell Mother, will you?”
I let out a harsh laugh. “If you really are pregnant, I’m afraid she will catch on eventually.”
“I know. But maybe by then I will have found a solution.”
“Delia, the only solution would have been to marry as soon as possible,” I snapped. And now that option was gone. Charles already being married was far less of an obstacle than death.
My sister’s eyes filled with tears, and I felt horribly guilty. “I’ve been such a fool,” she said as she buried her head in her hands.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly,” I said as I rubbed her back. “We will figure something out. I promise.”
Delia wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace. “Thank you,” she said through her tears.
I was glad she had such faith in me, but I couldn’t ignore the pit in my stomach.
For it was now more imperative than ever that I determine who the murderer was. And there wasn’t a moment to waste.
I sat with Delia a while longer, and when she admitted she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, I rang the bell to request tea and soup.
“You must keep up your strength,” I said while we waited. “Especially now.”
She gave me a faint smile. “Thank you. It’s nice to be doted on. You’re very good at it.”
I paused in the act of fluffing her pillow. “Am I?”
Delia rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and it was nice to see some of her old spark return. “You know you are.”
Like most women of her class, our mother had been distant, both emotionally and physically.
Nanny had provided the affection we craved as children, but it hadn’t entirely made up for being kept at arm’s length from one’s own parents.
Raising my children away from London society had emboldened me to treat them with the loving care I longed to have from my own mother.
“It’s nice to see you with Tommy as well,” she added with a thoughtful look. “To know that there is another way to be a parent.”
“There are many, many ways to be a parent,” I said. “But thank you. I try my best and have failed more often than I would like to admit.”
Delia smiled at that. “I appreciate your honesty.”
I laughed. “Glad to hear it. Because you will be hearing quite a bit more from me.”
A maid arrived then with the tray of food, and I helped Delia settle back against the pillows.
“Now then,” I began once we were alone again, “I have no intention of leaving until you finish your soup.”
“Very well,” Delia said as she dutifully picked up her spoon. But after a few sips, she turned pensive. “Do you think the police will find the killer?”
“I think Detective Inspector Dorian seems very capable.”
“He’s the brother of Mr. Dorian, isn’t he?” I was surprised that she had picked up on that little detail while in the midst of a great personal tragedy. “They look alike,” she explained, noting my surprise. “Especially when they’re frowning at you.”
A surprised laugh erupted from me, and Delia smiled in return. “You never did mention what happened between you on Corfu,” she said after another few sips.
I narrowed my eyes, not at all fooled by her casual tone. “I told you I was his typist.”
“I think it must have been a good deal more than that.”
I bristled at the suggestion in her voice. “What on earth does that mean?”
She set down the spoon and tilted her head. “Did you really not notice the way he looked at you?”
I crossed my arms. “Like he was just as surprised and annoyed to see me as I was to see him?”
Delia choked out a laugh that nearly upset the tray. Then she sobered. “My God, you’re serious. Minnie, you can’t possibly think—”
But I was saved from whatever rubbish she was about to say when there was a scratch at the door and the same maid from earlier entered.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Harper, Miss Delia,” she said in an anxious rush.
“But there is a gentleman downstairs. He’s come to call on the both of you.
Mr. Morris asked me to see if you are at home. ”
Delia and I exchanged matching looks of surprise. It was outside normal calling hours, and I couldn’t think of anyone in London who would call on me, especially here. Well, anyone except Mr. Dorian.
“Here is his card,” the maid continued, holding it out.
As I took it, I immediately noticed the fine quality of the cardstock. And a glance at the name revealed why.
“It’s Lord Linden,” I said as I handed Delia the card. This was surprising indeed.
“I suppose he has heard the news,” she replied cryptically. Then she lifted her eyes to mine. “Perhaps you should speak to him.”
It seemed unlikely that his lordship would have already spoken to the police. And I would not miss this chance to ask him some questions. “All right.” Then I turned to the maid. “Tell Morris I will see him.”
The girl gave a little curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.” And hurried from the room.
“How well did Charles know the baron?” I asked my sister.
“Quite well, I think. I believe they had known each other since school. Or at least since Cambridge.”
“Hmm. I wonder if either of them knew Oliver.” He had also attended Cambridge, and likely around the same time.
But Delia shook her head. “Charlie certainly didn’t. I told him about Oliver, and he would have mentioned knowing him. There was no reason to lie about it.”
I gave a bland smile in response. “Of course.” While I certainly didn’t think Charles was necessarily lying about knowing Oliver, it was possible that the man did possess a capacity to lie about very important things.
And I should probably approach the baron with a healthy dose of skepticism as well.
I rose from the bed. “I’ll come check on you after he leaves.
And to make sure you’ve finished your soup,” I added archly.
Delia picked up the spoon with a heavy sigh. “Yes, yes. There won’t be a drop left.”
“Good,” I said, then kissed her forehead and left the room with a newfound determination thrumming in my veins.
It was time for the investigation to begin.