Chapter 2 #2
He took in the light Scots burr of the Inspector’s voice, which he imagined might be modulated into any number of accents, fit to any number of different landscapes.
Something akin to jealousy rose up in Fred.
What might it be like to be able to stand in a room without drawing notice or being the object of commentary? Comforting, he thought.
“Thank you for coming, Inspector,” was what he said aloud.
“Happy to oblige,” Mr. Hughes replied. “Anything for Esmee’s people.”
“Who is Esmee?” Julianna asked.
“This is my wife,” Fred said, introducing her. “Lady Julianna Sedgewick, Countess of Chester.”
Julianna held out her hand. “A pleasure, Inspector. And do forgive my ignorance. We are newly married and I have not yet had an occasion to meet all of Fred’s relations.”
“Esmee Callendar is sister to His Grace, the Duke of Barclay,” Inspector Hughes supplied. “And Her Grace, the Duchess, is your husband’s cousin.”
“Ah, the famous Catherine, is it? I would like to meet her,” Julianna said and turned to Fred. “Shall I call for tea?”
Her words were polite enough but Fred still felt the anger simmering beneath the surface of them. He imagined the Inspector noticed too.
“Please,” he said. And to the Inspector, “Take a seat, sir. We have much to discuss with you.”
Inspector Hughes sat, as he’d been invited to do, but not before Fred noticed his assessing glance around the room, as if taking its temperature. He felt certain his had already been taken as well, or the man would not be sitting in their parlor.
“Where should we begin?” Fred asked.
“Tell me everything,” Inspector Hughes said.
“Yes, do,” Julianna agreed, her tone still so sharp.
Fred glanced at her but said nothing because Gilbert had come with the tea service. The man must have started it before they’d even rung down. The butler truly was practically omniscient.
It was only after Gilbert had left that Fred cleared his throat to say, “You’ve read the papers, I imagine.”
“I have done.” Hughes reached into the brown leather satchel he had discreetly stowed by his feet and pulled out copies of The Poisoned Quill. “I’ve taken the liberty of gathering every one that mentioned you since I received your letter.”
Julianna turned to stare at him. He should probably have told her that he’d hired an enquiry man before the Inspector showed up at their door. But he hadn’t expected him to just arrive unannounced at Chester House so quickly.
“I asked the Inspector to find out who is spilling the details of our lives to this scandal rag,” he said.
“Why now, Fred?”
“Shall I give you a moment?” Hughes asked.
“No,” Julianna said to him. “You may as well stay.” To Fred she asked again, “Why now?”
“Because I won’t have them attacking you, Jules! They may say whatever they like about me but not you. You are…sacrosanct.”
Her face did something then—it gave a little twitch of pleasure and relaxed in a way that made him think that perhaps all was not lost between them. That maybe—if he reached for her hand—
He did and she took it. He heard himself exhale.
“Thank you,” she said. “Now go on, Inspector.”
“Actually, my lady.” Hughes turned a smile toward his wife that Fred didn’t particularly appreciate.
“I’d like you both to give me the outline of your marriage.
Begin your story if you would when the coverage of you picked up in earnest. And we’ll line up who may reasonably have known what and when. ”
Fred forced himself to say it all plainly—the accident, the lie, Thomas’s letter and his return to Dorset.
He left out certain details of course: that he’d never intended to marry Julianna.
That he thought Thomas had been joking or lying or exaggerating from the start.
That he’d vowed never to touch her. But everything else was laid out on the table while the Inspector took notes.
Hughes’s face remained unreadable as Fred spoke, but Fred saw his hand pause every now and again as he scratched away in his notebook. His eyes occasionally traveled to some line or other in the paper as if to double check its version against Fred’s.
“You moved the entire staff down from London?” Hughes asked.
“Yes,” Fred said. “There weren’t so many. I do not need an entire retinue of servants. Gilbert preceded us, along with a few others.”
“I’ll need the names and histories of every person currently employed by you, starting with those you moved to Dorset. I’d like to interview each of them.”
“Certainly,” Fred agreed and Julianna nodded her assent.
“And you, my lady—if you don’t mind my asking—is there anyone who might wish to do you harm in Dorsetshire?”
Julianna glanced at Fred and then back again. “No,” she said. “When my brother Tom and I were younger we knew a great many people but since he returned from the war we’ve been isolated. I have few relationships with anyone in Dorset.”
“Good, thank you,” Hughes said before returning his attention to Fred. He handed over one of The Poisoned Quill editions that had been so cruel to Julianna. “This entry was the one that was the tipping point for you, my Lord?”
“Yes.”
“Inspector, can you help us?” Julianna asked.
“I do believe that I can. I’ll begin with the staff here and then travel on with you to Dorset if needed.” Hughes picked up the papers and scanned through them again. He did the same with his notes and then he nodded briskly. “Yes. It won’t take long.”
“There is something you see that we don’t, isn’t there?” Fred asked.
Hughes placed several of the earlier Poisoned Quill editions in a pile and held one up. “Take a look at this one, called Wedding Night Divided.” He tapped another. “And this earlier one from before your marriage. Do you notice the difference?”
Julianna leaned in. “No. What difference?”
“The earlier pieces are general cruelty,” Hughes said.
“They could have been written by any viper with a pen and an imagination. The later ones know a great deal more. They know when you travel, where you dine, which rooms you occupy, what you say in private. What your brother has eaten for dinner.”
“He eats broth,” Fred said. “As does every ill person in Dorsetshire.”
“Perhaps,” Hughes replied, mild as ever. “But there are many kinds of broths in the world and this one specifies bone broth. Which is, I imagine, true?”
“It is,” Julianna confirmed, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s what Thomas ate before he left for the sanatorium.”
“This is all evidence of an informant’s access to your daily lives. All we must do now is ascertain how the information is traveling from the corridors of Sedgewick Manor to the printing press of The Poisoned Quill and we’ll have your man.”
Fred exhaled slowly. “Alright, Inspector. What more might you need from us to accomplish your task?”
Hughes made more notes in his book. “I just have a few more questions for you before I speak with your staff. Who handles your post?”
“Gilbert,” Fred said.
“Who sorts it physically?”
“Gilbert again. Occasionally the footman, if he’s occupied, but it goes through Gilbert.”
“And who knew about London before you left?”
Julianna answered that one. “Only those who packed for us or attended us here. Gilbert. The chef and the maid. The coachman. And the stable hands, I suppose, because the carriage was made ready.”
Hughes nodded. “Who knew you went to Madame Tremaux’s? Today’s edition has an entry about seeing you there.”
“Oh, I—” Julianna paused and looked at Fred. “The coachman. Gilbert, perhaps? The chef would have known we’d dined out.”
Fred nodded.
“Thank you.” Hughes rose. “With your permission, I’ll begin with the staff now. Might I use the study?”
Fred stood as well. “Of course.”
Julianna looked at the Inspector and then back at Fred. “And what should we do?”
“Something unexpected. And don’t inform anyone about it first.”
“What will that tell us?”
“Perhaps nothing. But if it lands in the papers, we might be able to learn something. It’s all a matter of flushing them out now.”