Chapter Eleven #2
Kate thought of the beautiful girl she had first noticed in the Chadbons’ London house, and then in the court dining room, standing in a smart line with the other servants, casting that bold glance at Rupert.
It had been mischievous, intimate, almost conspiratorial, but not obviously flirtatious.
Rupert, who had very probably been her lover in the past, was helping her to find a viable way out of her current difficulties, namely by marrying her to Jack Irwin the coachman.
What if Irwin was the man she had feared?
Or had she hidden the dagger in her dormitory as Lewis had expected, and someone else had stolen it from her?
That would mean the killer was more likely to be a house servant than either outside staff or guest. And in truth, the servants milling in and out of the kitchen, clearing up after dinner, had had easier opportunities to follow Dinah outside to the garden and murder her.
Only, why would any servant do that? Was Dinah blackmailing someone? Neither Mrs. Thornfield nor Lewis, nor any other servant, had mentioned Dinah having more money than she should, or anyone quarrelling with her.
Kate sighed and pushed the paper away from her. She was no nearer to knowing who the murderer was, or even who Dinah was, than she had been on the night of the murder.
Grissy came in then. After her long sleep on the sofa, she had shown no signs of illness from their long, wet walk last night.
Still, Kate didn’t have the heart to make her repeat the exercise.
She didn’t particularly want to go out late on her own, either.
But the need to discuss Dinah further with someone who knew her well—in fact, to discuss the whole messy mystery—was strong. It had to be with Rupert.
“What do you think, Miss Kate?” Grissy asked. “The jonquil muslin or the pomona silk?”
Kate turned to face her. “Do you know, I believe I am somewhat fatigued. I shall send my excuses to Her Ladyship and request a tray in my room.”
Grissy eyed her with suspicion. “What are you up to? You’ve never been fatigued in your life.”
“They don’t know that, and you’re not to tell them. In fact, it’s up to you, Grissy, to make sure no one else comes in here all evening.”
“How do I do that?”
“You’ll have to stay in here, of course.”
“What if Lady Chadbon comes to see how you are?”
“Tell her I’m asleep.”
Grissy glowered. “Miss Kate, you are not a child now! You are a married lady, and you cannot go gallivanting across the country alone, and certainly not to visit Lord Rupert Grande! In prison!”
“It’s only Rupert,” Kate muttered, oddly uncomfortable.
“And for goodness’ sake, don’t Lord him in public!
I can slip out while everyone’s at dinner and the servants are all busy and hopefully be back before everyone retires.
It’s obviously perfectly safe around here—why else would the magistrate keep the key to his prison hanging up outside the door? ”
*
Marcus Otteridge was looking forward to dinner, largely because he would see young Kate Ambrose again. She was decidedly pleasurable to look upon among all the frumpy, Friday-faced old women one normally met at such affairs, and her mix of innocence and sharp intelligence intrigued him.
“Ready, my dear?” he said eagerly to his decidedly Friday-faced wife, who glared at him from her refection in the looking glass.
“Ready to watch you make a fool of yourself over a girl who could be your granddaughter? No!”
“I have no idea to what or whom you refer,” Otteridge said in his parliamentary voice.
“I won’t put up with it again, Marcus,” she warned. “You’ve already endangered everything, including your career, your party, and our standing in Society. The next time, you’ll be caught and be made a laughingstock. You’ll ruin everything you ever wanted. Everything you ever promised me.”
“I still have time to be prime minister,” he said with dignity.
“Chadbon has twice your standing. You merely cling to his coattails. And there are others in line before both of you.”
“I am quite happy to let Chadbon do the hard work to make our wing of the party more prominent, and to win the votes that will put us in power. When the time is right, it will be I who is the trusted leader.”
Jane snorted. She had only developed the habit in the last five years or so, and he found it almost unendurably annoying. “Why the devil would they trust a lazy sot like you, who cares more about ogling other men’s wives than promoting their policies?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Otteridge said grandly.
“Bah,” Jane said. “Just don’t make a fool of yourself. Recall, if you please, that she is married to Gilbert Ambrose, who, as well as being young and charming, is considered quite the up-and-coming man. He could hurt you, Marcus, and you know it. And you know she’ll never look at you.”
That was unnecessarily unkind. Otteridge knew no such thing and neither did Jane. “Don’t be waspish,” he snapped. “It ill becomes a woman of your years and standing to display jealousy of a woman young enough to be your granddaughter.”
At this turning of her own words against her, her grumpy face mottled with rage. She jumped up from the dressing table stool and strode toward him like some ancient Fury.
“Who is waspish? You should be afraid of her, you silly old fool! She’s asking questions all over the house about the maid who collapsed and disappeared. Yes, that maid! And you can bet Lord Chadbon put her up to it. If anything gets out, Marcus—”
“Hold your tongue, you old harridan,” he growled. “Or you might find you walk into a door. Again. Now get out of my way. I’m going down to dinner.”
*
Lady Chadbon did indeed look in on Kate before the evening meal.
Doing her best to wilt on the sofa, Kate made to rise as Her Ladyship swept in.
“No, no, don’t get up,” Lady Chadbon exclaimed, pressing her back onto the sofa. “I just came to see how you are?”
“Oh, please don’t worry. I am not ill, just so tired suddenly that I will be poor company and less use.”
“Poor child. We have put too much upon you with this business over the maid. But to be frank, my dear, no one expected you to be this thorough.”
“Oh well,” Kate murmured. “If a task is worth doing… What is the news of the floods?”
“Oh, they were receding, but the rain this afternoon won’t have helped. We must hope for a dry night.”
Kate did, though not for the same reasons as Lady Chadbon, who departed shortly afterward, promising her dinner on a tray.
Kate continued to wilt, much to Grissy’s amusement, until the tray was delivered. As soon as the door closed behind the servant, she leapt to her feet and seized a few ravenous mouthfuls.
“Mmm, that duck is exquisite. You had better eat it while I’m gone. Try to hide a few morsels that I can guzzle cold when I come back.” She reached for the small wine decanter on the tray. “Gilbert’s flask! The one you found in the bottom of the trunk when you unpacked—where is it?”
Grissy rummaged in the dressing table drawer and came back with the flask. She watched as Kate carefully poured the wine into the flask and pushed in the stopper.
“I wish you weren’t doing this, miss.”
“So do I,” said Kate, shoving her feet into her boots.
Even as she fastened them and flung her old traveling cloak around her shoulders, she knew the words for a lie. Which surprised her. But it seemed she had missed the fun and adventure of childhood. She had missed Rupert.
Accordingly, she smiled at Grissy, who had nobly offered to accompany her and been denied for reasons Kate had no time to examine, and slipped away in high excitement.
She had no trouble at all leaving the house unseen, and the lantern was still where she and Grissy had left it last night, the candle inside replaced.
Since it wasn’t yet dark, she didn’t light it, just set off briskly along the now-familiar path to the magistrate’s house. The rain had gone off again.
Despite the ground being so wet underfoot, she made better time in the daylight, and it was only just dusk when she approached the house.
She had to be more careful, of course, for there were lights in the house and at the stables.
People were moving around in and out of the kitchen, and she obviously had no idea where Remington or his wife were.
She didn’t even know who else lived in the house, and it was perfectly possible they had guests.
So she crept around to the side of the house and hid behind a dripping bush, watching the door to the gaol.
No one went in or came out, and she was sure she could see the key hanging in the same place as last night.
Still, she didn’t want to blunder into a constable, let alone the magistrate himself, so she tried to be careful.
Only when she felt the first spot of renewed rain did she emerge from the bush and dart across to the door.
As she reached up for the key, she paused, frowning. Was that singing?
It was, and it came from beyond the door. More worryingly, she heard two distinct voices.
Oh, the devil, is he drinking with the constables? It was just the sort of thing Rupert would do, making friends and allies in his own careless way. Which would not help him, she thought crossly. Or me!