Chapter Eighteen
They left Miss Nye’s room via the connecting door to her brother’s chamber. After locking it behind them, they walked from there to the mercifully empty passage and parted on the first-floor landing of the east staircase.
“All clear?” Rupert asked, unusually serious.
“Yes,” Kate said crossly, then softened her ill humor with a smile.
There was no point in arousing his suspicions that she would do anything other than follow his instructions to the letter.
So far as she could remember, she never had, but she was certainly not going to remind him of the fact.
“If I learn anything from Sir Colin that means we’re wrong, I’ll get Grissy to tell you. ”
“And then you’ll stay in your own chamber with the door locked.”
“I remember. Rupert?” she added as he turned away toward the east staircase. He glanced back. “Be careful.”
He grinned, almost her old playmate again, and something inside her ached for those uncomplicated days.
She would not lock the door behind him, for after he’d spoken to Sergeant Salter, who was apparently lurking on watch outside, he would need to get back in again. She would have to make sure that Kemp didn’t lock the door as he had last night.
But first, she hurried along the landing toward the drawing room. She could hear voices from farther along in that direction. It sounded as if the party was breaking up. Though she had told Rupert she would speak to Nye there in the company of others, it seemed she was too late.
It didn’t matter. The library was lit by several lamps and branches of candles, but there were, as yet, no other occupants.
She hoped she was right and that Nye would come here as usual.
As long as his sister did not accompany him, she would be able to lead him easily away from anyone else into a cozy corner where they would not be overheard.
In fact, she was fortunate, for Nye ambled in on his own, yawning.
He didn’t notice her at first, merely made directly for the brandy decanter and poured himself a large one before he settled with it in the chair by the fire.
He opened the book that lay there, though he clearly had no intention of reading it, for with a contented sigh, he rested his head against the back of his chair and raised the glass to his lips.
Over its rim, his eyes met hers and he sprang to his feet rather more spryly than she might have expected, the brandy sloshing precariously in its glass, while the book slid to the floor. His eyes were wide with surprise—and then narrowed with naked, growing lust.
For the first time, she wondered if she could actually deal with him. If Rupert was right, then even Dinah, wise in the ways of men and rougher streets than Kate had ever frequented, had needed a sharp dagger to fend him off.
“Feeling better, my dear?” he said gloatingly. “Tired of waiting for me this evening?”
“Oh, no, but I do need to speak to you. Do sit down and enjoy your brandy, Sir Colin. There is something I want to ask you. About your sister.”
Sir Colin blinked and sat back down. “Sophie? Why the deuce would you want to talk about her?”
“Well, I believe there is a connection between her and the maid Dinah who collapsed on Tuesday evening.”
“Connection?” Nye said in astonishment. “Between my sister and a housemaid?”
“And you, sir. Did Dinah not unpack your bags for you when you first arrived at Chadbon Court?”
“How the deuce should I know?”
“You know,” Kate said dryly. “She was a very beautiful young woman.”
Nye glared at her, as certain men did to intimidate the weak. There was scorn and threat and utter superiority in that look. He was the political giant, she the young, inexperienced wife of a rising but powerless opposition politician.
However, she had grown up among men with large personalities, not least her own father and brothers and Lord Winster himself. She knew better than to let herself be intimidated. There were other weapons.
She smiled without lowering her eyes. “Sir Colin, it is hardly my place to accuse or to judge. I am concerned that some interaction between you and Dinah was witnessed by Miss Nye—some threat of Dinah’s, perhaps? Based, I’m sure, on misunderstanding.”
On the contrary, she was pretty sure Dinah had understood perfectly, but it gave Sir Colin a way out.
“Barely touched the girl,” he blustered. “Merely a friendly pat for dealing with the baggage for Sophie as well as for me. She reacted like a mad thing, if you must know. Swung on me wielding a dagger!”
Kate’s heart was thundering. She felt slightly sick. “Did you tell anyone about this incident?”
“No,” he said reluctantly. His eyes dropped. “In the end, I did not. Sophie said she would deal with it quietly. Seemed best.”
“What did Miss Nye do?”
Nye shrugged. “Spoke to the girl, I suppose—I don’t know. It’s what Sophie does—deals with things.”
“I can imagine… Tell me, sir, for Dinah to react to you in such an extreme way—had you ever encountered this maid before? At Chadbon House in London, perhaps? I know you and His Lordship are old friends.”
“I may have seen her there,” Nye said carelessly, though a certain mottled color was seeping into his face. It was answer enough. No doubt Lady Chadbon had brought Dinah to the country to keep her out of Nye’s way. Another tragedy.
Kate struggled to keep the distaste from her voice, but she needed to know. “Did your sister know about that previous incident?”
“Good God, I don’t subject my sister to such tales!”
But she had guessed, Kate thought grimly.
For a maid to turn on the guest of her employer wielding a dagger, there had to have been a serious reason.
Not that Nye’s original assault would have touched his standing or his career if it had been known.
But the maid fending Sir Colin Nye off with a dagger…
Had that become known, had Dinah blabbed to the wrong people, then the ridicule around Westminster and the gentlemen’s clubs would have been considerable, possible even ruinous.
“Has Miss Nye dealt with such situations before?” Kate asked.
“Never been in such a situation before!” Nye snapped. “What do you take me for?”
A serial lecher. Possibly even a rapist.
As though he heard her thought, he shifted in his chair and gulped his brandy. “Sophie is a loyal sister,” he pronounced. But there was a hint of desperation in his certainty.
She rose to her feet. “Thank you, Sir Colin. Goodnight.”
As she walked across the room, he made no effort to stop her. Her questions had effectively dampened his ardor.
You were right, Rupert. You were right…
*
Sophie Nye entered her bedchamber with some relief. This was the last night she and Colin would have to spend here, and she was very much looking forward to shaking the dust—though more especially the mud—of Chadbon Court from her shoes.
She paused in the darkness, sniffing the air. She could smell brandy.
Colin must have been in here. At least if he wanted her help, he was not chasing Kate Ambrose. She went to the connecting door and found it locked. Whatever he had wanted, he had either found it or decided it was unimportant.
She sighed and lit the lamp and some candles from the one she carried.
So difficult to decide what was important…
Perhaps Lady Ambrose’s questions weren’t as significant as she’d imagined last night.
But the woman had been making a shocking fuss about the dead girl when even their hosts were calling the incident a collapse.
Sophie had overheard Lady Ambrose asking all sorts of questions, of the housekeeper and servants as well as of the guests.
To say nothing about all her questions regarding who had left the drawing room and when.
Sophie had made up some of her answers, for she had been away a long time herself, doing what had to be done.
Shooting Lady Ambrose had seemed most sensible last night.
From the drawing room window, Sophie had watched her come home across the fields and lanes in the rain, when she was supposed to be too ill to come down for dinner. The girl had clearly been up to something. That lane led to the magistrate’s house.
But perhaps it was just as well Sophie had failed in last night’s attempt. Perhaps she had frightened the girl enough to make her stop. Should she make sure Lady Ambrose remained silent? Or take a chance?
Decisions, decisions…
Should she pack tonight? Or wait for Lady Chadbon’s servants to do it for her? She had hidden her muddy shoes in sudden fear, but who would actually care? No one suspected poor old Sophie Nye, who was almost invisible—even to her own brother, who would be utterly lost without her.
She sat down on the bed to think, weighing her options with arguments for and against.
Quite suddenly, she became aware of a sound in the passage, at her very door. She stared at it, but the handle never moved and the noise was quite different from someone trying the lock. And she had locked it. She always did.
No, the sound came from the polished wooden floor! A paper now lay there, pushed under the door.
Sophie sprang up and padded across the rug to pick it up—a folded note with her name on it in a ladylike hand. Hastily, she unlocked the door and peered out.
The passage was empty, though she could hear voices in the distance. No one moved.
She closed and locked the door again, then unfolded the paper.
Miss Nye, I must speak with you. I have found out something terrible that I beg you to help me with. It concerns Sir Colin. Please come to the parlor in the east wing, beside the side door of the house at 11 o’clock tonight. I shall be waiting for you. Tell no one!
Kate Ambrose.