Chapter Four
Marie
“We don’t need ’im.” Marie fiddled with the lace edge to the gloves Lady Mary had given her.
The new clothing she wore was more in keeping with lady’s companion than maid, but Marie didn’t feel any different than she had when she’d helped scrub the blood off the front steps yesterday.
She adored Lady Mary for thinking she could improve her station but wasn’t sure her mistress had the right of it.
“You never know when a strong, handsome man will come in useful.” Lady Mary pressed her palm against the door to steady herself as the carriage lurched through a ditch in the road. “It’s as though young women don’t know how to enjoy nature’s gifts any longer,” she muttered.
Marie pressed her lips together. She didn’t know about all that.
She’d found handsome men tended to be more trouble than they were worth.
Especially when they knew they were handsome.
Mr. Burton seemed to be constantly underfoot, his tall frame looming over hers when she passed him in the hallways, his large, tanned hands always there to help her with a chandelier or framed picture.
She shoved images of the man from her mind.
“Don’t you think it’s too soon for a condolence call?
It’s only been a day since her husband died.
” The carriage slowed to a stop, and Marie looked out the window at the three-story townhouse before them.
“And did we need the carriage? We could have walked.” After all, Mr. Trent had made the journey while bleeding to death.
“There is something more formal about arriving in a carriage. People will take you more seriously than if you arrive on foot.” Lady Mary waited for Ernest to open the door and lower the steps before clambering out.
“And when it comes to murder, there is no time to lose. Her husband died on my doorstep. Mrs. Trent will understand.”
Marie had her doubts, but she followed Lady Mary up the steps and waited behind her for her knock to be answered. Unfortunately, the servant who opened the door didn’t allow them admittance. “Mrs. Trent has been staying with her sister, off Russell Square.”
Lady Mary peered over the young man’s shoulder, leaning on her walking stick. “I see. And were you here the other night when Mr. Trent was attacked?”
Marie peered around the servant’s other side. There was no telltale blood path. Trent’s servants were as good as Lady Mary’s at cleaning stains.
“I was asleep, milady.” He clasped his hands behind his back.
“And the other servants…?”
“We were all asleep.” A frown crossed the man’s face. “It was very late and we weren’t expecting the master. Now if you will excuse me, I must attend to my duties.” And without even a by your leave, the door was unceremoniously shut in their faces.
“Well.” Lady Mary adjusted her hat. “Aren’t you glad we took the carriage now?
” They climbed back into it, and Lady Mary instructed Ernest to drive to Bloomsbury.
“You might have to ask around a bit to find Mrs. Trent’s sister, but I’ll wager Mr. Trent’s murder will be the talk of the neighborhood.
It shouldn’t take long for someone to point us in the right direction. ”
She was right. It only took the second person Ernest asked to point them to the correct house. A bit more modest than her sister’s, this house at least boasted friendlier servants.
“Right this way, milady.” The butler swept his arm in front of them. “Mrs. Trent is seeing callers in the Rose Room.”
A woman was just leaving as we arrived. “Take care of yourself, Annalee.”
Mrs. Trent dabbed a handkerchief beneath her eye and nodded.
The caller gave Lady Mary and Marie a curious look as she left.
Lady Mary was quick to take the vacated seat beside Mrs. Trent. “I wanted to offer you my condolences. I’m so sorry about the loss of your husband.”
“Thank you, Mrs….?”
“Lady Mary Cavindish.” Lady Mary nodded to Marie. “This is my companion, Miss Murphy. I knew your husband’s father, but more importantly—”
“My husband died at your door.” Mrs. Trent sat back, leaning away from Lady Mary. She was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties with shiny, chestnut hair and a dainty button nose.
“Indeed.” Lady Mary cocked her head. “And I would like to know why. Do you know why he wanted to see me?”
Mrs. Trent drew her eyebrows together. “See you? I thought your house was just where he happened to collapse. The magistrate told me how surprising it was that Edwin managed to make it that far, bleeding as profusely as he was.”
Marie whistled under her breath. She could only hope to be as composed as Mrs. Trent after suffering such a loss.
“Do you know where he was stabbed?” Lady Mary asked.
“Sir Kelsey said it was in his study at home.” Mrs. Trent frowned. “There’s a lovely Turkish rug in there that must be ruined.” She caught Lady Mary’s look and dabbed her handkerchief under her eyes. “Just tragic. My poor Edwin.”
“Of course.” Lady Mary smoothed her hand over her skirts. “And you didn’t find it odd that your husband didn’t call for help from the servants but went outside to walk to my house?”
“His mind was most likely muddled,” Mrs. Trent said. “And I don’t know that he was intending to reach your house.”
“He had a letter in his hand addressed to me.” Lady Mary looked at the woman over her spectacles. “Unfortunately, the body of it was unreadable.”
“To you?” Mrs. Trent looked genuinely baffled.
“Well, to L. M. The deduction wasn’t difficult to make.” Lady Mary rubbed her ear. “So you truly don’t know why he came to me?”
“I didn’t even realize he knew your name.” Mrs. Trent’s cheeks pinkened. “No insult intended.”
Lady Mary’s lips twisted. “It takes more than that to insult me.”
“That is good to hear.” Two men swept into the room.
The shorter of the two strode to Mrs. Trent and bent to kiss her cheek.
He had the same chestnut hair as Mrs. Trent and a body that looked like it indulged a bit too much in food and drink.
He would have been handsome if it hadn’t been for his weak chin.
“Because my friend Randall here excels at creating the most inventive insults. It would be a shame to make it too easy for him.”
The aforementioned Randall swept a magnificent leg. A long, gauzy tippet hung around his neck, the ends of the narrow scarf fluttering from under his jacket. He had nearly black hair and a softly curved nose that made Marie think of a bird of prey.
“Lady Mary, this is my brother, the Honorable George Platt, and his friend Pierce Randall. George, this is Lady Mary Cavindish.” She patted her brother’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
Randall answered for him. “We are always ready to comfort the inconsolable, my dear.” He seated himself near Marie and crossed one slender leg over the other. “And who do we have here?”
“Miss Murphy, sir.” Marie pressed her fingers into her thighs at his unblinking examination. She couldn’t decide if he appreciated what he saw or not. “I’m Lady Mary’s companion.”
“Where’s Frances?” Mr. Pratt asked.
“She took the girls to Vauxhall Gardens.” Mrs. Trent said to Lady Mary, “Our sister. Our daughters are about the same age.”
“What age is that?” Lady Mary asked.
“Matilda is almost four.” Mrs. Trent smiled. “Such an inquisitive child.”
“Awfully clean in ’ere to have a couple of four years olds running about.” Marie eyed the uncluttered floors and smudge-free tables. These maids must have their work cut out for them. Marie had only ever worked for childless homes.
Mr. Platt snorted. “I didn’t realize the daughters of earls were recruiting their companions from St. Giles now.”
Heat crept up the sides of Marie’s face. She didn’t know if it was her dropped h or the impertinence of her statement that showed her lack of refinement. She’d told Lady Mary this wouldn’t work. She’d been born to be a maid and she’d probably die a maid.
“All the best companions come from that neighborhood.” Lady Mary smiled, but it was all teeth. “Not only can Miss Murphy keep me company, but she can also give me the odds on my vingt-et-un hand and shoot a button off your waistcoat from twenty yards away. A most useful accomplice.”
Mr. Platt pressed a hand to his waistcoat, his face paling.
“Don’t be so stiff-necked, Georgie.” Mr. Randall examined his fingernails. “Not everyone can be the son of a wealthy viscount.”
Mr. Platt narrowed his eyes, his chin seeming to recede even further into his neck.
His sister patted his hand. “The children play in the rooms up above, of course. They don’t bring their clutter down here.”
“Of course,” Marie repeated. She pressed her lips tight, determined not to say another word.
“I asked your sister, and now I’ll ask you, Mr. Platt.” Lady Mary folded her hands. “Do you know why your brother-in-law would wish to see me? As you can imagine, I am at a loss as to why he came to my house to die.”
“No idea.” Platt sat on the settee’s armrest next to his sister.
“And do any of you know why someone would want to harm Mr. Trent?” Lady Mary included Mr. Randall in her question.
Mrs. Trent stiffened. “No one would want to hurt poor Edwin.”
“I’m sorry, but that is self-evidently untrue.” Lady Mary glanced heavenward.
“Perhaps a thief broke into the house and Edwin surprised him.” The look Mrs. Trent gave Lady Mary was challenging.
“Was anything stolen from your house?” Lady Mary asked.
Mrs. Trent’s shoulders slumped. “It didn’t appear so, no.”
“Why are you asking so many questions?” Platt leveled a glare at Lady Mary. “Can’t you see my sister is upset?”
Lady Mary straightened. “Of course, she’s upset. Her husband has been murdered. His life stolen from him. Everyone should be asking why it happened.”
“Those questions are for the magistrate to ask, not some impertinent old biddy,” Platt rejoined.
“George!” Mrs. Platt’s cheeks flamed red. “Please excuse my brother, Lady Mary. Due to the circumstances, none of us are at our best.”