Chapter Forty
Lady Mary
This mode of investigation was far superior to dull paperwork.
I was tempted to pull the drapes closed to block out the sun.
The day was bright, without a cloud in the sky, which in one respect, made my stint into housebreaking easier.
Anyone who saw me entering this apartment would only think that Lady Mary Cavindish had come to pay a call.
But the bright light made me feel less furtive, which diminished a bit of the fun.
I slid the set of skeleton keys back into my reticule. It had taken some effort to convince Julius to lend them to me, and he’d stressed that they didn’t fit many of the newer locks or those that came from the Continent, but the rooms I needed entry to were neither new nor French.
It had taken more effort to convince Julius not to accompany me.
I didn’t quite know what I was looking for and was too embarrassed to tell him I wanted to break into someone’s lodgings only to poke about.
I’d convinced him I didn’t need his protection in the middle of the day, when my quarry was safely engaged elsewhere for at least two more hours, leaving the apartment empty.
I was certain, however, Julius had immediately gone to report on me to my nephew. I should tell Cook to expect a guest to dinner tonight.
I started at the small desk wedged into the corner of the parlor. It contained only stationary, ink, and a couple of quills. No incriminating letters. No unused spaces that could contain hidden compartments.
I moved to the bedroom. Something thumped against the wall connecting to the next apartment, making me start. A woman yelled. A man answered, then it went quiet again. Heart beating just a bit more rapidly, I went through the drawers of the dresser.
There was another thump against the wall.
Another. Then a long screech. The neighbors must be moving furniture.
Good. It should cover any noise I might make.
I checked the small trunk at the foot of the bed, running my fingers over the edges looking for anything that could be hidden behind the paper.
When I finally found it, I was a bit disappointed.
There hadn’t been a loose brick on the mantel to search behind.
No floorboards that weren’t nailed down.
The letter had been casually tossed onto the bedside table, the only attempt at concealment was that the cream paper matched the lacy, eggshell-colored cloth that covered the table.
I took the letter to the window and pushed my spectacles higher on my nose.
It was addressed to “Mrs. L—.” The author apologized for her past actions, herself “deeply wounded” that her selfishness had caused such hurt.
She had decided to start anew, rededicating herself to her marriage and to a more righteous life.
It ended: “I hope you can understand and forgive me. Sincerely—S.”
The neighbor yelled at her husband to “use your bloody legs”, followed by a particularly loud screech.
I drew my finger over the letters that had been squeezed into the margin. It was the final nail in the coffin and made my chest ache. Lady Richford had truly had a change of heart, decided to be a better person, and it had gotten her killed.
The next knock was so loud, I looked up to see if a hole had been punched through the wall.
I stilled, the hair on the back of my neck rising.
The wall remained intact.
But Miss Abbott stood in front of it, holding a pistol pointed straight at my chest.