Chapter Thirty-Five
Brett
The stringed quartet playing at the ball was good, and Brett couldn’t help but hum along.
Lady Mary had given him access to Mr. and Mrs. Hammond’s house as a temporary footman for the event, and his job was to make discreet passes through the ballroom collecting the empty glasses and plates abandoned by the guests.
It wasn’t a bad job. He was able to catch glimpses of Marie, who looked ravishing in her borrowed gown. He could sneak tidbits of good food when he was back in the kitchens. It also allowed him to eavesdrop.
Lady Mary’s friend had agreed to include Mr. Gray in this night’s festivities. Mr. Platt had already been invited. Brett made a point of keeping an eye on the two men’s positions, a task made difficult by the increasing numbers crowding the room.
Lady Mary was chatting with Mrs. Hammond by the punch table.
Brett’s heart stuttered. It did every time he caught sight of the woman next to Lady Mary.
Marie’s gown was green, and made her matching eyes shine.
The bodice was snug against her breasts, and Brett swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
He was torn between wanting to drag her away and rip the bloody thing off of her, or swaddle her in his coat so no one else could appreciate her charms.
Marie gripped her glass like it was threatening to escape.
Brett frowned. She’d told him of her nerves attending a ball as a companion instead of working it as a maid. He knew she felt out of place. He circled the edges of the room until he stood behind his wife. “Are you done with your glass, miss?”
She wasn’t. There were still several swallows of punch remaining, but she handed the glass to him, her shoulders relaxing. He let his fingers caress hers a moment longer than proper. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. “Just like a proper companion.”
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
“Have you—?”
She shook her head. “We haven’t had the chance yet.”
A voice cleared behind him.
Brett turned to find a man with hair that looked as though he had galloped through a windstorm. The guest cleared his throat again, nervously shifting his weight. “Can you show me to the necessary? I’ve looked but have been unsuccessful and now the matter is becoming quite urgent.”
The request would take him out of the ballroom, away from the suspects, away from Marie, but it was hardly one he could refuse. “Of course, sir. Follow me.”
When he returned, Marie and Lady Mary were in a throng of guests near the center of the ballroom. But Mr. Driscoll Gray was close. He stood with two other men. One was the host, Mr. Hammond, the other man an unknown.
Brett prowled to a large, cylindrical support column, one of many throughout the ballroom, and hid himself behind it, close enough to overhear the trio.
“…not just food. Tins for paint, salves, coffee. I think soon everything will be packed in tins.” Gray waved his hand about as he spoke.
“Although, yes, now the bulk of my profit comes from producing tins for canning food. I just signed a contract with a Mr. Bluth to supply his cannery. Do you know him?”
The men nodded. The unknown man apparently imported corn, and discussion soon turned to price speculations and attempts to repeal the Corn Laws.
Brett rubbed his forehead. For his part, he wasn’t accomplishing much with this charade.
He wasn’t overhearing anything incriminating, and he couldn’t imagine Lady Mary or Marie had, either.
All he could report to Lady Mary was that Gray seemed to have a bright future in front of him.
Business was flourishing. The lawsuit against him had disappeared and his path to romancing Mrs. Trent had cleared, information they already knew.
He could only hope Lady Mary’s ploy was more successful.
He cleared two plates from an urn that held a large house plant and scanned the room.
Marie’s striking hair was easy to spot. Brett shifted for a better view.
She and Lady Mary were speaking to Viscount Caldwell and his wife, the parents of Mrs. Annalee Trent and George Platt.
The parents were sure to pass on Lady Mary’s words to their children.
A few more whispered conversations in the right ears, and all of their suspects were certain to hear what Lady Mary wanted them to.
Lady Mary had assured him and Marie that this would spur the killer into revealing him or herself.
Brett wasn’t as optimistic. But as he had no ideas of his own to end this, he’d agreed to Lady Mary’s plan.
Spotting a stray glass, Brett headed for it. He pulled up short when he saw the man standing near.
Ducking behind another column, Brett hoped Platt’s friend, Mr. Randall, hadn’t recognized him.
Lady Mary thought that once Brett was in the matching livery of the Hammonds’ other servants, no one would pay attention to his face.
There was truth to that, but Brett still made a point to not be seen by anyone he’d previously questioned.
“It’s stifling in here.” The woman speaking with Randall flicked open the fan hanging from her wrist and began to cool her face. “Why people insist on a large crush in this weather is beyond me.”
“That is why there is copious champagne, pet, to cool us down.” Randall clinked his glass against hers.
“It’s too hot to even dance,” she complained.
“Perhaps it is because you are wearing too much.” Randall artfully tugged off one of the lady’s gloves.
He lifted her hand and blew on her wrist. “I know your late husband never left a party early, but we don’t have to stay.
” Randall angled his body closer. He folded her glove and slid it inside his coat pocket, his gauzy tippet billowing with the motion.
His coat was a bright blue with a large velvet collar, making him stand out like a peacock.
Brett pressed his lips together. The man had altogether too many flourishes to his wardrobe.
Randall moved even closer to the woman. “I know a place where we could cool down. A midnight dip. The gatekeeper knows me. He’ll let us in.”
Brett didn’t wait to hear whether the widow accepted the proposal. His next target was far more interesting. He was in a heated discussion with his father by the open doors to the terrace.
Brett ducked out one set of casement doors, picked up a napkin from the terrace floor, and paused by the next set of doors.
“Do you want to manage it?” It wasn’t Platt’s voice so Brett assumed it was that of Viscount Caldwell.
“I could,” Platt said.
There was a snort. “You’d run it into disaster. Your sister wants to sell. Besides, with this latest news, Annalee will have too much on her mind to even think about managing the factory.”
“But I can manage it for her.” Platt’s voice held the tone of a child demanding an extra serving of pudding. “Wait. What news?”
“Haven’t you heard? Lady Mary says she spoke with Sir Kelsey. He’s on the verge of making an arrest.” Caldwell lowered his voice. “And, he told Lady Mary we would all be much surprised at whom it was he arrested.”
Brett grinned. Lady Mary’s bait had hooked at least one fish. And with the way people loved to gossip, it would take no time at all for the rumor to spread.
He retraced his steps back to the first set of doors and strode inside, his back to Platt and Caldwell. He caught Lady Mary’s eye, and she nodded to him.
He hurried to the kitchens and took off his borrowed jacket. Slipping out the back door, he ignored one of the other servants calling after him and made his way to the street.
Lady Mary’s carriage was about a quarter of a mile down the road. He nodded to Ernest and hopped in the back. Even with the windows down, there was still a slight smell from Southey’s accident. He wrinkled his nose, glad at least of the new cotton covers that blanketed the seats.
Ernest clicked to the horses and slowly started toward the front of the Hammonds’ house. Lady Mary and Marie were waiting when they rolled up.
Brett hopped down, lowered the steps, then followed them back inside.
Lady Mary settled on one of the benches. “Well, that went well, I think.”
“Do you really think it will work?” Marie rested her hand on Brett’s knee for a moment before snatching it away. She cleared her throat. “And how will we know?”
Lady Mary rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, and they started moving. “We wait. And watch.”
Thirty minutes later, Brett’s rear end was going numb.
“When you said wait and watch, did you mean all night?” They were parked down the street again.
Lady Mary had insisted that once her rumor reached the right ears, the killer would come racing out of the Hammond house to flee before the magistrate could arrest him or her.
No one had left the house except one elderly couple.
Lady Mary sniffed. “Repeat everything you heard at the ball,” she told Brett.
He went over the conversations again. Lady Mary nodded, as though what he relayed was of great import, sounding an occasional hmm at certain points in his narrative. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
Marie looked at him, and he shrugged. He hadn’t found much of import in his recitation, either.
The Hammond door opened, and they all crowded about the window.
Two couples emerged, neither of them containing one of their suspects.
They all sat back.
“He should have torn out of there,” Lady Mary muttered.
“Perhaps the killer is Mrs. Trent,” Marie said. “She won’t have heard the rumor yet.”
“Gray would go running to her to tell her the news, I would think.” A man in love would do most anything to protect his woman, a fact Brett was only now coming to fully appreciate. “If he’s not directly involved, he must know she is.”
“I think there’s a problem with your logic but I’m too tired to work through it.” Lady Mary grimaced. “Oh, all right. Maybe they won’t leap into action tonight.” She knocked on the ceiling again. “Home, Ernest,” she called.
Brett’s body felt immediately lighter. Home. He let his pinkie finger brush against Marie’s skirts. That was the best idea of Lady Mary’s yet.
He was imagining all that he’d do to his wife when they reached their bed when Lady Mary tossed a bucket of cold water on his fancies with her next words.
“Besides,” she said, “I think I already know who the killer is. All that remains is to catch him.”