Chapter 6 #3
I allowed her to guide me into the bedchamber and undress me as I succinctly relayed the events of the evening.
By the time I’d finished, I was nestled beneath the thick ivory counterpane.
I fell silent, tracing the gold-threaded embroidery with the tip of my finger while my maid fussed about the chamber, straightening and gathering my clothing. A deep furrow pleated her brow.
“Bree,” I said softly, waiting until she paused to look at me. I almost couldn’t force the words out. “It was awful.” The tears I’d been withholding began to fall, and I pressed a shaking hand to my forehead. “Truly awful,” I hiccupped. “That poor woman.”
Bree perched on the edge of the mattress, taking my other hand in hers while I quietly wept. After a few minutes, I inhaled a ragged sniffle, and she passed me a handkerchief.
“Dinna worry, m’lady. We’ll figure oot who did this.”
I eyed her warily as I blotted my eyes and nose. “I thought you might object.”
She turned to me in surprise, and I could see the weight of the memory of our past conversations settle across her shoulders.
The last few inquiries we’d undertaken had proven to be tremendously dangerous, particularly for Bree and Anderley, and I’d belatedly begun to realize the hazards we all but forced our staff to undertake.
We never asked them to do more than they were willing, but when one was a servant, how much of a choice did one truly have?
Her frown eased, and a sheen of tenderness briefly washed over her features before she set her jaw in determination. “This is different. Miss Whitlock. She…well, she was one o’ us. A member o’ the staff. Mayhap, she was a bit higher ranked than some o’ us, but she was staff, all the same.”
I understood what she was trying to convey.
Most of our clients were aristocrats or well-to-do.
The times we had investigated the deaths of a lower-ranked individual had been at our own impetus because it directly touched someone we cared for.
The same could be said for Miss Whitlock, given the fact the murder had occurred in my father-in-law’s home and her employee was the man my brother hoped would one day be his father-in-law, but this didn’t change the sentiment behind what she was saying.
She might willingly assist us with all of our investigations when asked, despite the dangers they posed, but in Miss Whitlock’s case, she would have insisted on it.
Bree tucked a loose strand of her strawberry blond hair behind her ear as she considered her next words. “Though ye havena said as much, I gather from what ye have said that ye dinna think Miss Whitlock did anything tae inspire such anger.”
“It’s early days…” I qualified “…but no.” I exhaled heavily. “I don’t think Miss Whitlock incited the attack. Unless…it was to keep her quiet.” I explained in greater detail how the secretary had asked me earlier to meet her in private.
“In private. Yet she asked Mr. Birnam tae join ye?”
I could hear the skepticism in her Scottish brogue and wondered if I’d been too quick to try to dismiss Birnam as the culprit. “Lord Gage is collecting the alleged note.”
“If he does, I s’pose that’ll tell ye somethin’.” Bree studied me with her whisky brown eyes. “What do ye think she was afraid tae tell ye?”
I shook my head in bewilderment. “I don’t know. But the fact she referred to our reputation as inquiry agents makes me think it must be something criminal. And considering she works for Birnam…” I met Bree’s troubled gaze. “I can’t help but wonder if it’s something to do with him.”
“How did she act at dinner?”
“Quiet. Reluctant.” I frowned. “I got the impression she would rather not have been asked to join us.”
“Maybe she was embarrassed?”
“I wondered the same thing,” I admitted. If she’d known Birnam had all but forced me to include her that might explain why. “She comported herself well, but I could sense her discomfort.”
Unless it was for a different reason. Birnam had been nearly belligerent in expressing his opinions and dominating the table topic.
Perhaps the views he’d expressed were what had rattled her.
Lord Gage had suggested Birnam wasn’t complying with the existing Factory Act.
If that was true, and Miss Whitlock knew it, she might have felt agitated by his blatant lies.
But would she truly have been afraid to speak of it?
Maybe.
“I’ll ask aboot her tae the other staff,” Bree said.
“Should be easy tae get ’em tae talk. Though I can tell ye she was generally well-liked.
Knew her place, but didna lord it o’er nobody.
Spoke kindly.” Her fair eyebrows ruffled.
“Near as I can tell, the only person who had a problem wi’ her was Mrs. Birnam’s maid.
But given hoo little Mrs. Birnam liked Miss Whitlock, ’tis nay surprise McClintock took her mistress’s side. ”
She pushed to her feet, gathering the pile of soiled garments into her arms once again. “Get some rest, m’lady. Ye ken the wee one’ll be up wi’ the dawn.”
And wanting me.
I glanced at the clock, estimating how many hours of slumber I might be able to get before then. When I turned back, Bree was nearly out the door. I halted her by calling her name.
“Thank you,” I said as our eyes met, knowing she would understand what I meant. That I was aware that she was setting aside any reservations she might have once again because Miss Whitlock deserved justice, and the surest and quickest way to get it for her was with Bree and Anderley’s help.
She didn’t reply, but there was a light of genuine solidarity in her eyes. One that I had sorely missed.