Chapter Seventeen #2
The thought made her heart beat faster for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She was still thinking about it when she and Mrs. Belver reached the mansion.
More liveried men held the door open as they ducked inside, and Mrs. Belver guided her down a long hallway of rich oak.
Vesper’s eyes wandered as they walked. Every room in this house looked as though it belonged in a museum.
Deep, jewel-toned drapes framed its towering windows, and every room was furnished with stone busts, porcelain vases, and floor-to-ceiling oil paintings.
At last, Mrs. Belver led her to a sitting room with several chaises, bookshelves, and a grand piano.
“This is for your hand.” She offered Vesper a handkerchief. “I’m going to find water and some proper gauze for a bandage. We may even be able to get the bloodstains out of that gorgeous dress, if I can find our laundress. You just stay right there.”
“Thank you,” said Vesper. She found she was surprisingly touched by Mrs. Belver’s care. All her life, she’d only thought of rich people as self-centered and rude. She now wondered if perhaps she’d been wrong to cast such a broad judgment.
Mrs. Belver nodded and squeezed her uninjured hand. “Nothing to thank me for, dear, I’m just glad you’re safe. I’ll be back.”
Mrs. Belver gave her a final pat on the shoulder before heading down a different hall.
The last of the adrenaline was fading, and now the sting in Vesper’s hand was becoming more pronounced.
She let her eyes wander the room to distract herself.
A huge painting of a younger Mr. and Mrs. Belver on their wedding day was mounted on the wall to the right.
Vesper sighed. What was it like for people like the Belvers and Maximilian Kite, who’d never wanted for anything?
She was still studying the painting when the soft pad of footsteps drew her eyes right. Vesper started.
“Oh!” Bess Duxley was standing at the doorway in a day dress. “My apologies, I … I was looking for a powder room.” Her eyes landed on Vesper’s bloodied hand and her mouth popped open in a perfect O. “Goodness. Are you all right?”
“I will be,” said Vesper. “Mrs. Belver’s gone to get a dressing.”
“What happened?”
“In short, I had a much more interactive experience in the aviary than planned.”
A half smile pulled at one corner of Bess’s lips. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
Silence fell between them, and for a few seconds, Vesper wasn’t sure what to say. “Did you come with your parents?”
Bess nodded. “The only time I’m allowed to go out anymore is with my mother.” Her tone was sullen. “I’m twenty, but she treats me like a child.”
Vesper felt a stab of pity for the girl. “I’m sure your mother only does what she thinks is best for you.”
Bess gave a small, humorless laugh. “I’m not. She does what’s best for her, and her reputation.” She sighed, then nodded to Vesper. “I’ll bet your mother is much more reasonable.”
Vesper’s gaze dropped to her hands. “Not exactly. My mother passed away when I was eight.” When she looked back up, Bess looked stricken.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Evans,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”
Vesper shrugged. She was never very good at this, figuring out how to balance comforting someone else for a grief that belonged to her.
“It’s all right,” she said. “My mother passed away before I was old enough to want to do things on my own. If she was alive, I’d probably feel the same way you do. ”
Bess seemed to hesitate a moment, then entered the room and sat on the couch.
“I’m not being fair to Mother,” she murmured.
“The truth is, she has every reason to want to keep an eye on me, after what happened.” She looked up at Vesper.
“You know what I’m talking about,” she said.
“What Sarah alluded to at the polo match. I’m sure you’ve already heard a version of the story, about me and Francis Gladwell. ”
Vesper nodded. “I have.” There was no point in pretending otherwise. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I think your version of that story matters too, if you want to share it.”
Bess’s brows rose. “No one’s ever asked,” she whispered. “No one wanted to know my side.”
Vesper held her gaze. “I do.”
A single tear slid down Bess’s cheek. “I met Francis earlier this year, at the start of spring,” she began.
“Everyone was fawning over him, but he made a point to talk to me at every social gathering. He told me that he’d moved here from the west, and that his family had built their fortune in real estate all over the world.
He was a bit older, but he seemed to come from ‘good stock,’ as my mother would say.
Plenty of girls wanted him because he was rich, handsome, and successful.
” She met Vesper’s gaze. “But if you can believe it, I liked him because he was kind. He made me laugh. He was incredibly charismatic. In a roomful of people, Francis could make you feel like you were the only one there.”
Vesper thought about her one and only encounter with the inventor at the exhibition. Even from that brief interaction, she knew exactly what Bess meant.
“One evening, I was on my way home from visiting a friend when I saw him walking on the sidewalk,” Bess continued.
“The weather was especially poor—cold and rainy—but he told me his coach was being repaired. I insisted on giving him a ride to the men’s club.
I was just trying to be kind. Once he got inside, he…
” She looked away. “I know I shouldn’t have let him kiss me, especially when the coach was parked outside the men’s club, but it was only a kiss, nothing more.
He told me he cared for me deeply. Not that any of that mattered.
” She sighed. “I wasn’t upset at first, that people knew.
I assumed Francis would do the right thing and propose to me, to protect my honor.
” She shook her head. “That was when I met the real Francis, I suppose. He’d completely changed, I barely recognized him.
He said I’d misunderstood him, that he wasn’t at all ready for marriage.
When I pushed back and asked him why he was acting so oddly after saying he’d cared for me, he called me emotional and clingy.
I learned later that I probably wasn’t the only woman he was courting.
As I understand it, there’d been several others. ”
Vesper cringed. “Is that why you went into the maze the night Francis died?”
Bess shook her head. “It all sounds silly, now that he’s dead, but I’d hoped…
” She trailed off. “I knew he was going to be at the exhibition. He kept looking at me, and I thought maybe if I could just get him on his own and talk to him, maybe the commitment wouldn’t be so scary to him.
I told myself everything could be salvaged if we married in the end, but…
” She shrugged. “It was all for naught. We kissed a few times, but he was so drunk he could barely hold himself up, let alone hold a proper conversation.”
Vesper sat up. “So he was already drunk when you met him after the exhibition?”
Bess nodded. “He was absolutely tossed. I knew he liked his drink, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that bad.
” She looked away and chewed on her bottom lip.
“Francis did hurt me, it’s true, but I never wanted anything to happen to him.
When I found out he’d been murdered…” She blinked tears away.
“He might’ve been a rake, but he was still a brilliant man, and he didn’t deserve to die. ”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Bess.” Vesper found that she meant it.
Bess withdrew a handkerchief and sniffled.
“Thank you for being the only person who bothered to ask for my side of the story, and for being the only person willing to listen.” She tipped her head, then left.
Vesper stared at the place in the doorframe where Bess had stood for several seconds.
Tom had taught her that fact always superseded speculation, but something more innate told her that what Bess had just shared was the truth.
She thought of the sorrow she’d seen in the young woman’s eyes, the pain in her voice, and she knew.
Bess Duxley hadn’t been the one to kill the inventor.
Vesper rose from the couch and stepped back into the hallway. There was no sign of Bess, and Mrs. Belver hadn’t returned. To the left she noted a set of stairs that led to a second floor lined with several closed doors. She eyed them, considering.
No, some responsible voice in her head said. Don’t be foolish, it’s not worth the risk.
Of course it is, another voice argued. She was annoyed to find that it sounded a lot like Maximilian’s. When are you ever going to be in Charles Belver’s house unattended again? This might be your only chance.
Vesper checked left and right, then darted up the stairs.
The second floor was quiet and blessedly carpeted, which muffled her footfalls.
The first two closed doors she tried led to bedrooms, and the third appeared to be some sort of drawing room.
Vesper reached the door at the end of the hall, and held her breath as she gently turned its knob and stepped inside.
Almost at once, she was hit with a strong burnt-cedar smell.
It took Vesper a few seconds to recognize it as the same smell of cigars she’d noticed on Francis Gladwell the night they’d met.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
She let her gaze pan the entire office to see what she could deduce.