Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Sunday Morning
Gnawing stomach cramps plagued Audrey the morning after the murder.
Considering Philip and Cassie were in their rooms, each of them suffering from the same symptoms, she deduced the chemical haze released into the ballroom the evening before was the cause.
Either that, or the minted mackerel hors d’oeuvres Lady Reed had served had been spoiled.
Either way, the ill feeling had capped off a wretched evening.
The hot bath that Greer had drawn for her had eased some of the cramping, and the slippery elm tea their cook, Mrs. Comstock had insisted they all sip had done much to soothe their raw throats.
If only there was something that could be done to take away the images Miss Eloisa Neatham’s ring had funneled into Audrey’s mind.
Late last night, she, Philip, and Cassie had returned to Violet House after spending more than an hour trapped at Lord and Lady Reed’s home, going over the events with Bow Street officials.
None of the constables or officers had been Hugh, just as Philip had advised.
Calling him in to investigate his own sister’s death would have been unprofessional, and what with the old scandal, how could he remain impartial?
Audrey had told herself that she was grateful he didn’t come; if she’d seen him, all the work she had done building up the walls around herself to keep out thoughts and feelings for Hugh Marsden would have likely come tumbling down.
All he’d have to do would be to walk through the doors, meet her eyes, and say hello.
Instead, she’d given her statement to a man named Officer Tyne.
The officer had snapped his eyes to hers in recognition when Lord Reed had introduced her and Philip.
Hugh had told her back in the autumn that there were some at Bow Street who called Audrey “his duchess” due to the notorious case in April, when she’d run her own investigation contrary to Hugh’s into Miss Lovejoy’s murder, and again in August, when she’d sent an official request for him to come to Hertfordshire for another murder investigation.
Last November, they had worked together again, which had probably not gone unnoticed by his colleagues.
Officer Tyne had graciously said nothing and sketched down their account of hearing the scream, running into the chemical smoke, and finding the body.
Of course, she didn’t reveal that she had Eloisa’s ring in her ballgown’s pocket.
Always having despised the feeling of having a reticule’s strings tied around her wrist, Audrey opted to have pockets sewn into all her gowns and dresses.
It also proved far easier to slip something into the folds of her skirts than into a reticule.
In her own room at Violet House, she’d transferred the ring to the drawer of her bedside table. After her bath, Greer left her for the night, and Audrey had gathered her courage before holding the ring and opening her mind to what it would show her.
Pushing past the most recent images of herself taking the ring, she dove backward; it was almost like stretching out her arms and parting a thick mist. Only, this time, it was the gray haze of the ballroom.
Eloisa had been running through it, turning to glance over her shoulder time and again, as if someone was pursuing her. But in the smoke, Audrey saw no one.
Further back, before the smoky haze filled Eloisa’s vision, the air was clear and dark, lit only by the flame of a single taper. Lady Reed’s tense, lined face had filled her vision. The marchioness looked straight into Eloisa’s eyes and shook her head resolutely. “No. I’m sorry, but no.”
The lady wasn’t angry; she appeared nervous.
“You must leave. You cannot be here,” she added, the muted, underwater sound of her voice ebbing from the vision.
The strength of the memories weakened, and the vision went dark. Setting the ring upon the bedside table, she made a promise to get the piece back to Eloisa one way or another.
At the soiree, Audrey had noted Lady Reed’s distraction. By that point, she had already seen and spoken to Eloisa. Why then, had she insisted to Officer Tyne that she’d had no idea Eloisa was in her home?
Audrey still pondered that thought as morning wore toward afternoon. Her stomachache had not abated, but she decided to go down for a late breakfast.
“Cassie is still quite upset,” Philip announced as she entered the breakfast room, favoring her right foot.
The sole throbbed a little from where the gold leaf charm had pierced her slipper the previous night.
But she would not complain. It was inconsequential compared to the mortal injury Miss Neatham had suffered.
Philip was already seated at the table, his plate nearly cleared. “I cannot blame her,” he added. “It seems every time we turn around, there is a dead body in our path.”
Audrey sat down, the footman, Harris, pushing the seat in for her. She smiled a thank you to the servant and spread her napkin onto her lap. “Surely not every time we turn around.”
Philip merely speared her with a look that needed no words.
“Very well, I admit it is highly unusual. However, what are we to do about it?” Audrey was in earnest with the question.
It wasn’t as if she elected to find recently murdered people.
Although, she couldn’t deny the odd longing she’d felt over the last few months to put her mind to work investigating some criminal case.
She missed the excitement and challenge.
Philip turned toward Harris and told him that would be all for now. The footman gave a short bow and left the breakfast room.
“Cassie has already been through so much this year,” Philip said, lowering his voice. The footman would be just outside, awaiting a summons.
Audrey sipped her tea, considering an idea that had come to her when Cassie had shown apathy after arriving home. “Do you think Cassie would like to visit your Aunt Hestia in Scotland—in truth this time? She seems so unhappy. Perhaps she needs a little more time before rejoining society.”
Even as she said it, she knew it would be impossible.
Cassie had already been away too long. Lady Dutton’s prying questions at the soiree had proved as much.
To send her away again would only inspire more gossip, more questions.
It would only draw more attention to the Fournier name as well—something they had been trying to avoid. In vain, it seemed.
As Philip mentioned these same reasons against a visit to Scotland, Audrey speared a sausage with her fork, then laid the fork down.
She wasn’t hungry. Her stomach felt like a churning abyss, though not solely because of the smoke from last night.
Cassie’s predicament concerned her. Would the poor girl ever recover from giving her child up to another couple?
Or would thoughts of the infant forever haunt her, lingering in the back of her mind, even when she did find a man to marry and build a family with?
Philip had at first suggested that he and Audrey adopt the child.
Audrey could have spent several months away, ostensibly in confinement, before returning with the child, acting as if she had born it herself.
But Audrey had refused. She would never feel like the child’s mother, not with Cassie always there, knowing the truth and pretending she didn’t feel an unbreakable attachment.
Now, however, Cassie would never see her child again, and Audrey felt slightly guilty that she had turned down Philip’s proposal.
“Are you listening to me?”
Audrey blinked and looked up from her still full plate. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
He gave her a flat look. Then, with a shake of his head and a deep breath, he reached for the newssheet, folded on the table next to his cup of tea.
“I said, there is something I need to show you.” Philip tapped his fingers on the folded morning edition of the Times, but then hesitated.
“What is it?” Audrey eyed the paper under his hand.
Every paper in London would have gone to press with the news of Miss Eloisa Neatham’s murder. No doubt, each one would mention the old scandal involving Hugh. Audrey had prepared herself for it, though so far that morning, she had yet to see a newssheet.
“Promise me you will not do anything rash.” Philip’s dark green eyes bore into hers, awaiting an answer. He was entirely serious. Dread pooled in her stomach.
“You have me worried, Philip.”
“Promise me,” he repeated.
Audrey hitched her chin. “I promise to think before I act.”
It was the most he was going to get from her. He relented and handed over the newssheet. She smoothed it out and took in the headline. Her body went cold, and her lungs ceased working.
Ruined Daughter of Viscount Slain
Accused Bow Street Runner Missing
She couldn’t read the first few inches of the article fast enough.
Her eyes scraped over the print, then she forced herself to go back to the start and begin again, this time slower.
Her heart knocked against her ribs as she read, her eyes skimming over the expected reminders of Hugh’s accused role in Eloisa’s ruination, as well as the duel in which Bartholomew, Viscount Neatham, had been shot in the arm.
Though dueling was now against the law, it hadn’t been six years ago.
Duels had been a matter of honor, of revenge and justice.
The article certainly made the viscount out to be the wronged party, and Hugh, the villain.
However, her eyes clung to the type that discussed the events of the previous evening: