Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
Avisit from her brother-in-law the next morning was inevitable, Audrey knew, and sure enough, as soon as the hands of the clock reached the noon hour, Lord Herrick showed up on the doorstep to Violet House.
The chatter about her attendance at the opera the night before, and then the commotion in the refreshments room during intermission had fired through the households of London’s ton, among servants, and even into the morning’s scandal sheets.
Her own home, however, felt like a tomb.
Greer was more reserved than usual; her eyes avoided Audrey’s.
Barton, too, kept a solemn expression, though it might have just been residual annoyance for her unsuitable visitor late last night.
While poring over everything that had been said between them, on reflection, Audrey had to admit Hugh Marsden had pushed boundaries.
Inquiring about her relationship with Philip had been overstepping, but even more disturbing was how willingly she’d replied.
Had welcomed the chance to speak about it, even.
Audrey was in her study, standing at the window with her arms crossed, gazing out onto the side lawn when Barton announced her visitor.
“Lord Herrick to see you, Your Grace. I’ve placed him in the front sitting room.”
Better there than in the study. She’d made a mistake bringing the officer in last night; it was her sanctuary, and his presence within it had likely been the reason she’d let down her guard.
Had she greeted him in the sitting room or morning room, like the rest of her callers, she would have kept the conversation direct and aloof.
As she entered the front sitting room now, Michael stood like a marble statue behind the sofa, his hat placed on a cushion.
He clasped his hands behind his back, his chin held high.
Audrey read his irritation instantly, and almost chose not to dismiss Barton; Michael wouldn’t explode in anger with the butler watching.
But knowing it was cowardly, she nodded to Barton, and he took his leave.
As soon as the door closed, Audrey spoke. So did Michael, and their voices overlapped.
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
“What in Hades were you doing at the opera last night?”
Audrey sighed. Even though she’d been expecting this, it was still frustrating that she had to form a lie. At least with Mr. Marsden, she didn’t need to pretend.
“I needed to get out,” she said lamely. Michael gave her a withering look.
“You’ve been out, Audrey. Numerous times, I’m told.” He came around the sofa, his hands resting on his hips. She hated the flutter of unease in her chest. “You’ve been seen in the presence of that Bow Street officer too many times for my liking. Tell me what is going on.”
Admitting that she had been conducting her own investigation into the murder would only lead to more of Michael’s condemnation; she’d kept quiet about it for this very reason.
However, now, instead of fearing Michael’s reaction, she was aggravated by it.
Didn’t he believe in his brother’s innocence?
What had he been doing these last many days to help Philip?
Other than looking into placement at an asylum.
Audrey squared her shoulders, no longer content to back down. “I won’t apologize for refusing to hide away here while Philip faces a trial.”
“How is your reckless behavior going to change anything?” Michael ran a hand through his thick black hair. Philip had received his mother’s fair complexion, and Michael their father’s darker one. He’d also inherited the former Duke of Fournier’s angry pulsing vein down the center of his forehead.
She wished to blurt out everything: that she and Mr. Marsden were working together to find the real murderer. However, Michael would surely expire right there on the carpet if she admitted the unvarnished truth.
“Audrey, the gossip is rampant. Officer Marsden was at the opera last night and the two of you were seen in conversation. I’ve also had word from a friend that you joined him at a tavern on Bow Street; the two of you, alone.”
Mr. Marsden had mentioned he’d been fielding questions since they met at the Brown Bear.
She wished to know how he’d responded, if only so she could have some idea what to say to Michael now.
Her mind turned up nothing but blank space.
It did look terrible from an outsider’s point of view.
To be meeting with the man who’d arrested her husband was certainly suspicious.
She should have been more cautious. Then again, if she’d been cautious, she never would have learned the things she now knew about the murder. Still not enough, she admitted.
“I have my reasons, Michael. I ask that you trust me. Everything is for Philip.”
He looked ready to throttle her. “I have already ordered you to leave the legal proceedings to myself and Potridge, or do you imagine you have a better grip on the law than the barrister we have engaged?”
Fire leaped to her tongue. “And what has come of that? Philip is still being held and his case is going to trial.”
The flare of insult and then anger in her brother-in-law’s eyes stoked a bit of guilt. Lashing out at him wouldn’t help her. He was doing what he thought best for his brother, and so was she…and yet, neither of them had managed to free Philip yet.
Michael paced away from her. “If you believe I am not hunting for something, anything, that can help my brother, then I wonder if you truly know me, Audrey.”
More guilt dragged her stomach low. “I didn’t mean to disparage you, or make it sound as though you don’t care for him.”
Michael nodded, as if accepting her apology.
“How do you plan to prove him innocent?” she asked, truly curious. She’d been so focused on her own methods that she hadn’t stopped to consider what Michael, Mr. Potridge, and their engaged barrister had been doing up until now.
His hesitation, the way he only glanced back at her briefly, did not give her a good feeling.
“You must see, Audrey, that the evidence against him is substantial. If he were to plead to a bout of an unsound mind, a momentary lapse of sanity, he might be spared the noose.”
The air in the sitting room went dry and thin; Audrey could barely take in a breath as she stared at Michael. Her temples pounded, her vision careened.
“You…want him to plead guilty?” she whispered. “You want him to say he lost his mind?”
“It is the best way forward,” he said. “I’ve a lunch today with Lord Westborough, the House leader, to discuss Philip’s immediate release into the custody of Gibbets Sanatorium. A stay there would certainly restore his mind and give the public some sense of peace—"
“Why would you do this?”
He peered at her with narrowed eyes. “Do what?”
“Give up on him! He isn’t the murderer!”
Michael shook his head and reached for her arm. “I understand this is difficult, but the evidence is damning.”
She jerked away. It was clear now. “You think he did it.”
He hardened his jaw and thinned his lips. Her eyes stung and filled with tears. Philip’s own brother believed he’d lost his mind and mutilated his lover.
She spun around, unable to look at him another moment.
“I know you’ve resisted going to Fournier Downs, but I must insist. If Westborough agrees to my terms, you should decamp before Philip is removed.”
She said nothing but felt her heart toll in her chest. His immediate release, Michael had said. They would send him to the sanatorium right away? Today, even?
Michael took his leave when she refused to look at or speak to him again. Her mind spun, her breaths came quickly.
The night before, she’d promised Mr. Marsden she wouldn’t go to Bow Street to ask Philip about St. John.
She’d assented to him questioning Philip instead, and she was in twists wondering what he had learned.
If only he would send a message or perhaps show up at the servant’s entrance again.
But how could she stand by and wait? Especially now that Michael was so close to having Philip released into the custody of a sanatorium.
It was just a nicer word for insane asylum. Just as Shadewell had been.
She couldn’t let it happen. Promise or no promise to Mr. Marsden, she had to find evidence against St. John or Lady Wimbly now. Before they took Philip.
The footman. He told Lady Wimbly the letter was tucked away safe, but surely not amongst his things at Wimbly Manor.
The marchioness would have turned his room over to find it.
Was he even living at the manor? Or perhaps he was back at St. Emmanuel’s.
If she could get a list of the men’s names that the workhouse provided for the luncheon, perhaps she could share it with Mr. Marsden, and together, they could look for the one who had scratches to his face and neck.
The odds were long, but it was all she could think of at the moment.
Audrey checked through the front window; Michael’s carriage had already left.
“Barton,” she called, and a moment later, the butler entered the room.
“Your Grace?”
“I’m going to my room. I don’t want to be disturbed, not even by Greer,” she said, then whisked from the sitting room.
No doubt the staff would believe she was sorely vexed by Lord Herrick’s visit; surely Barton heard their raised voices and would pass along the order for privacy. Going to her room and wallowing there seemed a natural thing for a lady to do after such a distressing conversation.
No one, not even Greer, would know Audrey had left Violet House. It was best they all thought she was abed. Sneaking out to visit a workhouse would even alarm her devoted lady’s maid. There was no other option, though. She had to find that letter, whatever it may contain.
She dressed quickly, choosing her plainest day dress, an olive linen with a puce spencer. The dress was still too fine for her to be mistaken as working class, but perhaps she would not draw too much attention to herself.