“Indeed,” Joan agreed. “What about other mages at Lotus Hall?”
“May I infer from your questions that this murder was not the hanging it appeared?”
She’d like to trust him. But not yet. “All is not as it appears to be, but I can say no more until I have solid facts.”
“Now, that sounds like your investigative partner,” Milverton noted. “But to answer your question, the mages I’ve sensed are the Sherringford brothers, the Lady Anne Sherringford, Phyllis Dale—which surprised me—her father, Mr. Edward Dale—which made sense, given his daughter’s gift—and the dowager duchess. I cannot speak for everyone in service at Lotus Hall but none I’ve encountered thus far show signs of a mage gift. That rules out Mr. Niles, most of the footmen, the duchess’s maid, your Agnes, and Henry, the chauffeur. Does that help?”
“It does.” Damn. That meant it more likely the killer was family. “Sir August, answer me one last question: how did you come to be at Lotus Hall? Did His Grace invite you along with Cooper and Moriarty?”
“No, I was invited by Her Grace, the dowager duchess.”
“What? Why?” Joan’s voice rose too high, earning her a pointed glance from the duke.
“It is confidential. I can say she hoped to use my information network. I’m not sure if what I told her helped. And, no, I don’t believe it relates to the murder, but I suppose that’s not my determination to make. Still,” he said, “you’d best get your answers from the dowager duchess.”
Yes, she would. “Thank you, Sir August.” Vai had invited Milverton. Could Milverton be courting her? That would explain why he would say nothing more but…Vai had not seemed overly interested in Milverton at dinner. Instead, she’d kept close watch on Edward Dale, even to the point of silently communicating with him. But, then, if she were trying to hide her interest in Milverton, she would avoid him publicly.
Perhaps Milverton spoke the truth. His information network in London was not as comprehensive as Gregor’s, certainly, but Milverton had unearthed enough secrets to give him leverage to spring her from Moran’s clutches last year.
“You neglected to ask me about them, but I’ll bring your attention to one other matter that you may find of interest, Miss Krieger.”
Oh, dear. “Yes?”
“The paintings of the mountains.” Milverton pointed to the Himalayas on the walls. “They glow with a tremendous amount of mage energy. I’ve never seen their like.”
“I’ve noticed. It is because of the mage gifts of the residents of the house?”
“Weaving their gifts in and around the paint? Perhaps,” Milverton said. “But I have experience with creative products produced by the mage gift, such as your clothing. I’ve not seen anything on this scale before. And I was once at Lotus Hall during the late duke’s time. The mountains were here then. They did not glow.”
“That is…suggestive.” Given their killer was a mage. “Do you believe it has anything to do with the murder?”
“I’m telling you that it makes me curious and I’d like an answer.” He leaned closer to her ear. “Miss Krieger, my late brother could imbue bullets with magic so they never missed a target. There was a magical signature in his bullets, and there’s one in these paintings that wasn’t there before, for some reason. Be wary of this place, please.”
She schooled her face into blankness. These mountains had been painted by Edward Dale.
“Thank you for the warning too, sir. Be careful yourself. The hanging was more than it appeared. Our killer is a mage. Take precautions.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, aye, thank you, I will.”
Gregor waved her over to his group.
“Good luck, Miss Krieger. I fear you’ll need it.”
Milverton doffed his hat to her before making his exit.
Joan crossed the foyer, aware that many pairs of eyes watched her, though her mind was on Milverton’s words. That Lotus Hall and everything in it was unusual, even for a family of mages, was evident. Whether it was dangerous to her was another question. But, as Gregor said, there were many different kinds of dangers.
Gregor introduced her to the men she’d guessed were constables, and so they were. He called her “his investigative partner” and they accepted her without further explanation. It surprised her. The power of the Sherringfords, she supposed.
“You’ll ask if there has been anyone suspicious in the town, Constable?” the duke asked.
“Of course,” the older of the two men replied. His hair was thinning and he’d combed a remainder of it over his head to hide the fact. But, for a man roused so early, he appeared calm and steady. She approved of the stitching along his shoulders and the tight threads of his buttons. Likely someone in his household—his wife—took care of his clothing.
“I’m hoping we find someone. I’d far rather it be a stranger that did this, if you take my meaning, Your Grace.”
The duke nodded. “Yes, that would make the best of a bad situation.”
False hope, Joan knew. All indications were someone inside Lotus Hall had done this, because they’d have to be familiar with Nick’s favorite resting place, familiar with the layout of Lotus Hall, and familiar with the curtain mechanism. But she kept silent. Let the constables occupy themselves out of their way. As Gregor said, they were ill-equipped to handle a rogue mage.
After a last admonition from Gregor about the lack of bloodshot eyes, the coroner excused himself to transport the body to the morgue of the local hospital. Apparently, the corpse was being escorted out via a side entrance.
The duke looked at his brothers. “I need to speak to the staff, tell them there will be full cooperation with the investigation. Then I have to find a way to break this to my wife. You’ll excuse me.” He turned to Niles, the head butler. “Let everyone know there will be no formal breakfast this morning.”
His heels clicked on the polished wood floor as he strode up the main staircase. The organized and careful duke was having a very bad day. But not as bad as Cooper had had.
Gregor pulled Joan aside. “Will you be all right here alone in Lotus Hall for a day?”
He was ditching her. “You’re going to the Isca school to investigate, using the blueprints and map,” she whispered.
“Exactly so, but add Cooper’s own residence into that list. Plus, Milverton will pass along reports from his spies.”
“You’re not going without me. I’ll get my coat.”
He shook his head. “No. There’s much to do here and time is of the essence. Speak to Anne again, find out what she might have heard. See what you can find out about Cooper from Phyllis Dale. You’ll be more sympathetic to her than I would be. And my mother must help you with the names on that list.”
“You have agents in London who can track those leads. As for the blueprints, they seem less pressing than what’s happened here.” She paused, angry but choosing her words with care. “Gregor, are you leaving to avoid investigating your family?”
He stilled, a blank expression on his face.
“You are a mage, Joan, a powerful one. I’m not. You’ll be a better protector for Anne than I will.”
“Your mother can protect Anne.”
He glanced around the foyer. So far, everyone was pointedly ignoring their whispered conversation.
“My mother’s trust may be…misplaced.” His voice was pitched so low that she almost doubted she’d heard him correctly.
Joan gripped his forearm, her hand digging into his woolen coat. She’d been wrong. She had thought Gregor would dismiss or not even consider the idea that his mother and Mr. Dale were intimately involved. But this confession meant he considered that a possibility and, with Mr. Dale a suspect, his mother was compromised.
“I’m counting on you to watch over the Hall when I’m gone,” he added. “You’re the only one I can trust. And the work in London must be done in the…shadows.”
He lied, even to himself. He wanted to work in shadows because he could disappear into the work, r
ather than deal with his family.
She inched into the alcove further, intent on not letting him conceal anything. “Why would your mother know something about Cooper’s list?”
His face darkened again. “Ask her, please. I want to be wrong.” He glanced away. “I’m afraid to be right.”
“What do you suspect her of?”
“No. If I tell you, your conclusions might be biased.”
“If you trusted me, you’d tell me.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “This is an investigation. I trust your conclusions. Trust me to conduct it in the manner most likely to obtain a solution.”
Oh, he’d switched to his formal, arrogant self. “You are backing away from a confrontation with your family because breaking and entering is what you’d rather do instead.”
He said nothing in response. But she knew she’d not be able to change his mind, at least not without an argument in front of everyone. “Fine,” she snapped. “When will you be back?”
“Hopefully, by tomorrow morning.”
“You can do this in a day?”
“Nick is coming. He’ll power the flying carriage.” His face softened. “And I intend to pry whatever he knows of Reg out of him.”
“You’re taking one possible threat with you.”
He nodded. “It should narrow the odds for you.”
“Unless Nick’s an ally and then you have taken yourself and him off the board.” She shook her head. “I hate this, Gregor. You’re shutting me out again.”
His shoulders slumped. “Yes, I know. But if I let anything in, I’ll be of no use in solving this murder.” He sighed. “I now see why you had such a difficult time believing your mother had secrets. It is difficult to look at those you know so well and wonder. Take care, Joan. Evil is afoot.”
That he admitted this was something. She released his arm. “Be careful.”
“Forgive me.” Gregor drew her close and kissed her forehead, a small public demonstration that meant as much to her as an open declaration of love, especially given the surroundings.
And with that, he strode away.
Chapter 13
As the entrance foyer cleared, the ubiquitous Agnes appeared at Joan’s elbow, offering to have breakfast taken to Joan’s room. She waved that off. Her stomach, roiling yet about the revelations surrounding her mother, about the murder, and about Gregor’s fears for his family, rejected food.
“I would like to visit Lady Anne, and make sure of her health.” And the same for Phyllis Dale. “Can you take me to the nursery?”
“Very good, miss.” Agnes led her into the west wing, up the higher levels to the family quarters.
As they walked, Agnes said little, leaving Joan to wonder what the staff knew about the murder and if the duke had ordered their silence. It occurred to Joan that given how Agnes seemed to appear as if by magic, she and her fellow maids must know the layout of Lotus Hall better than anyone.
At the top of the ornate steps, Joan stopped. “Agnes, what do you know about what happened to Samuel Cooper?”
Agnes stared at the carpet. “Nothing, miss.”
Joan took a deep breath to gather patience. “I realize your employer has likely sworn you to not spread rumors, but Lord Gregor and I are investigating to find the truth of what happened, which is in everyone’s best interest, especially the duke’s. Whatever you or someone else in service at Lotus Hall knows, I need to know.”
Agnes finally met her gaze. Joan caught intelligence and a hint of anger behind the maid’s brown eyes. “I was asleep, miss. But I heard from the footman assigned to Mr. Cooper this morning. He was distraught. Said Mr. Cooper was just fine when he left him with a bit of sherry for the night.”
That confirmed Moriarty’s statement. Cooper had been alive after the headmaster left their rooms.
“It’s a bad business, this. I know His Grace is upset, especially with Her Grace so close to her time, but we take this kind of invasion personally too, Miss Krieger.”
“I’ve no doubt you do. And there is something you can do to help now: ask around, quietly, or even listen, to see if anyone has heard anything not routine in the last few days.”
“Like what, miss?”
“Anything unusual might be important. I won’t know until I hear what it is. Can you do that for me?”
“Oh, aye, for certain. I didn’t know Mr. Cooper hardly at all but to think someone would do such a foul thing here, in Lotus Hall. We can’t bear it. Whoever it is had better hope Mr. Niles doesn’t find him first.”
Joan smiled. “Thank you, Agnes. But, be careful, please. As much as I hate to say this, the killer could still be in the house.”
Agnes bobbed her head. “His Grace warned us himself of that this morning, at a staff meeting. We’ll be careful, you can count on it.”
“Good.” Joan hoped all those in service had Agnes’s iron spine.
Joan cracked open the door to the nursery, not certain what she would find. Hopefully, Phyllis would be composed enough to talk.
But instead of Phyllis, Vai greeted Joan at the door.
“I’d thought you’d make your way up here eventually, Joan,” Vai said. “Come in.”
Joan entered. It seemed nothing had shifted in the nursery since the day before, save that it was lacking its whirlwind occupant.
“She’s asleep in her bedroom,” Vai said. “Here, come join Phyllis and me for morning tea.” A pause. “She’s quite upset.”
“She and Cooper were courting,” Joan offered.
“I gathered that from her distress, but I must say, they were discreet about it.”
“Vai, was there anything that disturbs you in her reaction?” Joan asked in a lower voice.
“She’s a suspect?”
Vai certainly picked up the implications of the question fast. “Everyone’s a suspect, and most murders are committed by those closest to the victims.”
Vai deflated, showing her age for a moment in the lines about her face, and the faint hint of darkness under her eyes. “Indeed. But there was nothing in her mood but grief, at least to my senses. Please tread carefully with the girl.”
“Of course.”
The dowager duchess led Joan to a small room off to the right of the nursery, which Joan guessed was a sitting room for Phyllis, whose bedroom must be through the opposite door.
Phyllis remained seated, hardly acknowledging them. Tears stained her cheeks and bloodshot eyes hinted at the depth of her grief. She stared at the floor, listless.
Joan sat and poured tea for all three of them.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Dale.”
At that, Phyllis raised her head. “How did you know?” she whispered.
“I spoke to Mr. Cooper last night, in the gardens. He wanted to know if he should ask the duke’s permission to court you.” Should Joan admit she’d seen Phyllis rushing to meet her lover? No, wait until she was composed again.
“We were supposed to get married. Oh God, Sam!”
Phyllis dissolved into another round of tears. Vai slid an arm around her, offering comfort. Joan waited, heartsick but determined. There were questions that needed to be asked. Cooper’s killer must be found.
Joan studied the paintings on the walls of this room for the first time while Phyllis cried herself out. Instead of the wildflowers as in the nursery proper, these paintings were of sunrises and sunsets. Like the paintings of the mountains, these practically pulsed with energy. Like father, like daughter. Still, Milverton had been insistent on how unique this energy was. Dangerous?
Phyllis calmed enough for a sip of tea.
“Your work, as with the wildflowers?” Joan asked as an opening. “Your talent is undeniable.”
“Yes.” Phyllis flexed her hands. “I only wish…but…never mind.”
“Wish what?” That was a statement that demanded explanation.
“My father used to sketch for me. Like me, he could hardly stop. He once told me he did the Himalayas i
n the foyer in something like a fever dream, hardly sleeping at all. I’d hoped to interest him in picking up his pencil again, hoped that would help him, but so far he seems uninterested.” A long pause. “Sam liked my work a great deal. He was proud of me.”
An opening for the real discussion.
“The duke told you what happened?” Joan asked. A nice, simple question to start.
“Yes.” Phyllis bobbed her head. “I woke when the duke came back with Lady Anne. She wanted me to help her with the account you asked her to write, Miss Krieger.” Phyllis shook her head. “I tried, I tried to remain composed for her. Thank God, you arrived, Your Grace, I couldn’t—”
“Of course you couldn’t.” Vai patted her hand. “You’ve every right to be so upset.”
Phyllis straightened her shoulders. She cleared her throat. “Do you know who did this to my Sam?” Her eyes narrowed, angry. For a second, she looked like Gregor.
“Not yet,” Joan said. “Did Mr. Cooper say anything that might be relevant to you last night, Miss Dale?”
“Last…night?” Phyllis ventured.
Her reputation was at stake, Joan remembered. Most women still cared about such things. “It won’t leave this room. But an accounting of your Sam’s last hours is essential to finding out what happened to him.”
“I see.” Phyllis sipped her tea.
Quite a stalling tactic from one who’d just dissolved into tears.
“Was Mr. Cooper aware of any threats against his person?”
A head shake. “No! But I don’t think he’d have told me, anyway. He was protective of me.” She blushed.
“In what way?”
The blush deepened. “I wanted our marriage to happen quickly. Sam was more careful. He wanted it all to be done properly. He said it was best to start off in the right way.”
Reading between the lines, Joan guessed that Phyllis’s assignation with Cooper last night had been chaste or, well, chaste enough to preserve the girl’s virginity.
A Hanging at Lotus Hall Page 16
