I jumped at the sound of a key rattling in the lock. Would Gabby have returned to the room? Surely Mr. Berry was not back this early in the evening. Even if he had tried to leave the Londonderrys', Cécile would have found a way to detain him. Desperate, I looked around for somewhere to hide. Using the wardrobe for such a purpose would be too obvious, and if, for some reason, Berry had returned, he would almost certainly open it to change his clothes. Panic filled me, and seeing that I had few options, I clutched the book and ducked behind the heavy velvet curtains. The door opened, and I heard footsteps too heavy to belong to the maid. They circled the sitting room slowly. Drawers opened and shut. Papers shuffled. Eventually, the steps moved to the bedroom. I stood as still as possible, hardly breathing, hoping that I would not be discovered. Whoever it was stopped in front of the wardrobe. More rummaging.
As the footsteps moved back to the sitting room, I could not resist peeking out from behind the curtain. I moved it slowly, just enough to look through the door into the other room, careful not to draw attention to myself. Colin Hargreaves stood not thirty feet away from me, carefully examining a piece of paper before putting it into his pocket.
8
My heart pounded against my chest so loudly that I worried he might hear it. This was foolish, of course, but I couldn't help it. I pressed against the window in an attempt to make myself as flat as possible. He was still in the sitting room but wasn't making any noise. An eternity seemed to pass before I heard his footsteps again. He came back to the bedroom, and it sounded as if he was looking under the bed and the mattress. He wants the book, I thought, wishing I'd had the sense to return it to the wardrobe before hiding. What should I do? Reveal myself?
I never had the opportunity to decide. All at once, the curtain was snapped away from me. With effort, I forced myself to meet Colin's eyes. "I've not before seen you so flustered," I said, hoping to deflect his anger with a smile. He grabbed me roughly by the arms.
"This is no time to joke. What are you doing here?"
"Apparently the same thing you are, although I suppose that had you arrived first you wouldn't have felt it necessary to hide when I entered the room."
"Emily, this is outrageous." His eyes flashed. "Wait for me in the lobby."
"I've already found that which you seek," I said, and handed him the book. "There's a list inside."
"Go downstairs."
"Not without you."
"We don't have time for this."
"Have you found anything useful? What was the paper you put in your pocket?"
"Nothing of consequence." He scrutinized the list of Marie Antoinette objects, then pulled out a small notebook and began scribbling furiously on it. When he finished, he replaced the list in the book and handed it back to me.
"What should I do with it?" I asked.
"Put it back where you found it."
I did as he directed, not liking at all the feeling of his being so displeased with me. The moment I closed the wardrobe door, he steered me firmly into the hallway, locking Mr. Berry's room behind us.
"How did you get a key?"
"Say nothing further, Emily. You've already done more than enough." I wanted to tell Gabby that we'd locked the door, but Colin's tight grip on my arm indicated that he was in no mood to sanction a trip down the back stairs. As we approached the guests' stairway, he released me. "It will not do for us to be seen leaving a hotel together. Return to your house at once and wait for me there."
Nearly an hour passed before he turned up at Berkeley Square, an hour that I spent wondering if I had gone too far in my investigations. Perhaps I was not so capable as I believed. I was filled with melancholy thoughts of self-doubt when Colin closed the door to my library behind him, and though he looked better composed than he had at the Savoy, his calm demeanor did little to hide his aggravation once he began to speak.
"I cannot believe that you would be so foolish as to — "
"Did you go back to Mr. Berry's room?" I interrupted, my confidence returning in the face of his rebuke.
"That is none of your concern."
"It most certainly is!"
"Never in my life would I have thought to find you sequestered in another man's hotel room."
I could not help but smile at this. "Not in another man's room? Should I take that to mean you have entertained the notion of finding me in yours?"
"Don't flirt with me, Emily." His tone was cold, but I detected the slightest beginning of a thaw in his dark eyes.
"But surely you and I wouldn't require hotels for clandestine meetings. After all, we're each in possession of two perfectly good houses — I've got three if you count the villa, though I suppose — "
"Have you any idea of the danger in which you placed yourself tonight?"
"I would never have gone had I not known that Mr. Berry was out for the evening. There was almost no chance that I would be caught."
"What if someone other than me had found you?"
"What gave me away?" I asked.
"No curtain could hide that dress entirely. Your skirts are too full."
I sighed. "And I thought the demise of the bustle had given me such freedom. I suppose I shall have to order a new wardrobe designed specifically to allow me to skulk about hotel rooms in search of clues."
"I'd rather that you leave your wardrobe out of it and abandon the enterprise altogether."
"Spoken like a husband," I said. He ignored this.
"Furthermore, you dropped this." He passed me a handkerchief that bore my monogram.
"It must have been tucked in my sleeve," I said, mortified by my carelessness. "I didn't even know I had it with me."
"What were you doing in Mr. Berry's room?" he asked. I showed him the letter I had found at Mr. Francis's and recounted my conversation with Mr. Berry.
"I am convinced there is a connection between the two men," I said.
"You may be right. I promise that I shall do everything in my power to find out."
"I've made the same promise to Mrs. Francis." I continued without letting him reply. "Why are you so interested in Mr. Berry? Is this something to do with your work for Buckingham Palace?"
"Yes, it is. I'm not at liberty to divulge details, so you will have to content yourself with the knowledge that Berry's political position may be more important to Britain than anyone would suspect."
"Because there's a plan in place to restore the French monarchy?" I asked.
"You are a very smart girl," he said, all the warmth back in his voice. An unexpected feeling of relief rushed over me, and I realized that his approval meant more to me than I thought it did. He picked up my hand and kissed my palm.
"Have you lifted the embargo on kissing?"
"This doesn't really count. It's just your hand." So pleasant was the feeling of his lips on my skin that I completely forgot Mr. Berry. "I don't suppose you'd let this investigation to me?"
"Ah, is this display of affection designed to trick me into agreeing to that?"
"Not entirely." He turned his attention to my other hand. "I don't imagine you'd be so easily manipulated."
"I wouldn't." I slipped a hand into his pocket and removed the paper he had taken from the Savoy. "You're as readily distracted as I am," I said, holding it up before him.
"Probably more so. Were you ever to use all your feminine wiles on me, I wouldn't stand a chance."
"What do you take this to mean?" I asked, then read the letter aloud. "'Sir: As you did not respond to my first letter, I am forced to write again to beg you to reconsider your public actions. I should like to speak with you. Would you come to me Tuesday in Richmond?' It's signed D. Francis."
"I shall ask Berry about it."
"You're quite the friend of his these days."
"It's all official business, Emily. His idea of an entertaining evening could not be more different from mine."
"I've heard that you're spending inordinate amounts of time with the Marlborough Set. Dare I ask if the Prince
of Wales and the would-be heir to the Bourbon throne are becoming close?"
"They have many similar" — he cleared his throat — "interests."
"Hmph." I knew all the rumors about Bertie and his interests, particularly those of the female persuasion. I did not much like the idea of Colin running with the Marlborough Set.
"You can imagine the delicate situations that might arise should Berry make any bad political moves."
"How lucky that he's got you to look after him." I looked at the letter again. "This makes me wonder if he had reason to want Mr. Francis eliminated."
"Don't let your imagination run wild, Emily. This situation is more precarious than you know. Investigate if you wish, but do not" — with a finger, he lifted my chin so that I was looking directly at him — "do not make accusations you cannot back up with irrefutable facts."
"The police seem perfectly willing to lock up Jane Stilleman without solid evidence."
"She had motive, she had opportunity. I know you dislike Berry. He is...not the gentleman he ought to be. But if you want to help Mrs. Francis, letting your dislike of him cloud your judgment will be an enormous mistake. Murder is not a crime limited to the obviously contemptible."
"I shall keep that in mind." I straightened his lapels. "I am most pleased that you are not trying to dissuade me from helping my friend."
"I wouldn't dream of it. First of all, you'd ignore me if I did, and you know how I deplore futile endeavors. Second, anything that distracts you from uncovering the identity of your admirer brings me closer to having you as my wife."
"You underestimate me. I'm perfectly capable of solving both puzzles and look forward to spending the fall with you in Greece. Shall we keep to Santorini? Or would you like to visit the mainland, too?"
"A question I shall not have to answer. Better that you, Emily, ponder options for our wedding trip. I thought Ephesus, and then Egypt."
"Someday, perhaps." I smiled, thinking that giving Colin permission to court me had been a very, very good idea.
I returned to Richmond the next morning and immediately told Beatrice about the list I had found at the Savoy as well as the letter Colin had discovered. While she searched for anything that could be considered "personal correspondence" of Marie Antoinette, I set about conducting interviews with the servants, hoping that I might discover something the police had missed. I started with Thomkins, whom I found working in the garden. He was less than forthcoming and clearly did not appreciate having to answer to a woman.
"How long have you been involved with Mrs. Stilleman?"
"Two years."
"If the affair began before she wed, why didn't she marry you?"
"I never asked," he said. "I always knew she'd do better with Stilleman. Marrying a gardener would have been a step down for her." Truly, servants were worse about class distinction than their masters.
"But you loved her?"
"I suppose."
Faint praise, I thought. "When did Mr. Francis discover the two of you?"
"About two months ago."
"That long? Did he put you on notice?"
"He made it clear that he wouldn't tolerate that sort of thing in his household but said he would keep me on."
"And Jane?"
"I never talked to her after it happened."
"Not at all?"
"I need this work, milady."
"Do you think that Jane committed these crimes?"
"No." His voice was unsure.
"Why would Mr. Francis have threatened Jane's position but not yours?"
"I'm sure he wouldn't have told me. You'd have to ask Jane."
I returned to the house and sought out the housekeeper, an efficient sort of woman who confirmed what Thomkins had said and assured me that Jane would have been let go immediately if it were not for her husband.
"That's the tragedy of it, Lady Ashton. Mr. Francis quite depended upon Stilleman. If his wife were to lose her position and couldn't find something nearby, which she wouldn't — the entire county knows of her indiscretion — he might follow her. She was allowed to stay on a probationary basis."
"Then her position was not in jeopardy?" I asked.
"Not until she and Thomkins started carrying on again."
"What happened?"
"Stable boy caught them." So Thomkins had lied about not talking to Jane again.
"Had Jane been given her notice?"
"No. Mr. Francis died the next day."
"And what of Thomkins?"
"I was not privy to Mr. Francis's decision on that matter."
None of this information boded well for Jane, but when I said as much to Beatrice, she insisted that the maid was innocent. "Jane is like family to me. She is a good girl. I am disappointed that Thomkins was able to seduce her, but adultery is a far cry from murder."
"Quite right, Beatrice, but what if Stilleman had threatened her with divorce? That, coupled with the loss of her position, would have ruined her. Even good people can act badly when cornered."
"I am certain she is not guilty."
"I know you are," I said, taking her hand. "This is very difficult. I shall do all I can to uncover the truth, but please remember that it may not be what we hope it is. Did you have any luck with your search?"
"I did." She passed to me a bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon. "They were in a box where he kept theater programs."
I untied the ribbon, then, mindful of the fragile nature of the old paper, slowly unfolded the first sheet before me. It was written in French, a seemingly innocuous note to a friend, and would have meant very little were it not for Marie Antoinette's signature at the bottom of the page. "Oh! This" — I could not help but smile — "this is almost too easy. May I read the rest of them?"
"I wish you'd take them home with you. I'd rather not have anything here that might lure the thief back to my house."
Thinking of what I'd told Colin about there being nothing in my house that could lead to another break-in, I hesitated.
"Please take them, Emily," she said. "I can't stand the thought of them being here."
"All right." I folded the letter I was holding and returned it to the bundle, retying the ribbon. "I wonder why our intrepid thief did not steal them before."
"I've no idea. You will let me know if there is anything of significance in them?"
"Of course," I replied, and as my thoughts began to wander, I decided it was time to return home. Surely Charles Berry was not the thief. He could never pull off such a sophisticated series of crimes. Nor, however, could he afford to hire someone to do it for him. So why did he have the list I'd found in his room? And what had Mr. Francis wanted him to stop doing? Jane may have had reason to want both her husband and her employer dead, but a nagging instinct told me that Mr. Berry may have benefited from at least one of the murders, too. I was still contemplating these questions when, back at Berkeley Square, my driver, rather than one of the footmen, opened the carriage door.
"I thought you should know, Lady Ashton," he said, helping me down from my seat. "A coach followed us all the way from Richmond. It bore no markings and disappeared soon after we entered London. I did not get a good look at the driver. With the house having been broken into, we're all of us a mite worried about you."
9
Jeremy and Margaret dined with Cécile and me the following night. I had hoped Colin might join us, but he was once again playing chaperon to Charles Berry. Cécile missed him as much as I did. "Such a terrible shame that he must waste his time with that man. I like you very well, Bainbridge, but Monsieur Hargreaves..." She sighed.
"Say no more, Madame du Lac. I've yet to meet a lady immune to Hargreaves. He's too bloody handsome."
"I wish he were around more so that the gossips would have less to say about you and my darling Jeremy," Margaret said. "Do you know that Lady Elliott asked me if I minded that she was going to invite you to her ball? She was afraid that if I didn't come, Jeremy's mother might not, and confided that she did
n't want to do anything to draw the dowager duchess's ire."
"Mother adores Emily," Jeremy said. "Lady Elliott is wasting her time if she's trying to stir up controversy between them. Besides — and I know you will take no offense at this, Margaret, darling — she would die before seeing me marry an American. She's never forgiven the colonists for leaving the empire."
"Ah!" Margaret cried. "Perfect! That is what will end our affair. I'm devastated already." She and Cécile stayed only another quarter of an hour before leaving for a ball. The fourth ball, I might point out, to which I had not been invited. Jeremy remained with me, something that did nothing but provide more fodder for London's gossiping matrons. At the time, however, I did not care, my feelings for society and its rigid rules being ambiguous at best.
"I cannot face another dance," Jeremy said, slouching in one of my library's most comfortable chairs. "Ballrooms are always too hot, and there are never enough seats. A chap can only stand so much dancing in a Season. I've already surpassed my limits."
"I shall consider the Season a success only if I can persuade Mr. Bingham to part with his silver phiale."
"Are you still pursuing that?"
"I've offered him an obscene amount of money for it and can't imagine that he'll refuse me this time."
"That depends on the state of his own fortune. If he's flush, he won't need the money and is likely to deny you out of spite."
"I'm afraid you're right," I said. "I should have begun the whole process differently. He's not the sort of man to respond to a willful lady. It would have been better for me to get an invitation to view his collection and then simper stupidly over the bowl. He probably would have given it to me on the spot."
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