A Murderous Marriage

by Alyssa Maxwell

  She nibbled on a slice of toast from the tray Eva had brought her, and washed it down with a swallow of tea. Amelia was already up and had gone down the corridor to their grandparents’ suite.

  Eva turned away from the armoire. “It’s much warmer out today, my lady. Perhaps spring has finally come to Cowes.”

  She draped a flowing silk frock in deep royal blue with a matching hip-length jacket on the foot of the bed. Phoebe washed and dressed, and Eva helped her on with a pair of stylish but comfortable pumps.

  “I’m off to find Sir Hugh,” Phoebe announced when she was ready. “And you?”

  “I’m heading back to Miss Townsend’s room to see if I can learn anything about her brother’s relationship to Sir Hugh.”

  “Good idea. Perhaps that Mrs. Seward might provide an insight or two. If she’s spent any time as a guest in Gil’s home, she might have overheard things.” She adjusted the cuff of her jacket. “I’m going to check on my grandparents first. Assuming I can track down Sir Hugh this morning, I’d like to visit Julia directly after lunch.”

  “I’ll accompany you.”

  “Good. See you later, then. Good luck!”

  “Good luck to you, my lady.”

  Phoebe had proceeded a few yards down the corridor when the opening of a door stopped her. Her grandfather stood on the threshold, dressed, by the looks of him, for a trip into town. Phoebe glimpsed her grandmother’s worried face over his shoulder.

  “Archibald, please, come back inside. The doctor gave strict orders for you to rest.”

  Grampapa caught Phoebe’s gaze with a grim expression and sighed. “I shall rest, Maude. In the taxicab on the way to the police station.”

  Oh, dear, Phoebe thought. She, too, remembered the doctor’s recommendations. “Grampapa, please, at least wait until tomorrow.”

  “Et tu, Brute?” he murmured. Grams came up behind him.

  “Archibald, you’ll be taking a frightful risk with your health if you go out today. Please listen to reason.”

  Amelia appeared beside Grams. “Yes, Grampapa, you’re not completely well, and you know it. Even I can see how tired you are, no matter how hard you might pretend.” She paused, and Phoebe wondered how much her younger sister knew or had guessed. Their grandparents wished to spare both Amelia and Fox from further worries, but Amelia often proved herself to be much more astute than anyone guessed. She presently continued in a brighter tone. “And it’s been so chilly outside. Do come back in and sit by the fireplace. We’ll see Julia tomorrow.”

  He turned to face them both, his back stiffening with resolve. “I refuse to allow an entire day to go by without seeing my granddaughter. I will not have her think we don’t care or, worse, that we believe her to be guilty.”

  “Grampapa, no! Julia would never think that.” Phoebe placed a hand on his shoulder and attempted to nudge him back into the room. He didn’t budge.

  “Maude, you are welcome to come with me. In fact, I urge you to do so. But either way, I am going. I also wish to be there when our solicitor arrives.”

  “If you and Grams are going, I’ll go, as well.” Amelia sounded resigned.

  Grampapa apparently had other ideas. “You will not, young lady.”

  “But, Grampapa, dearest, Julia is my sister. I wouldn’t want her to think I don’t care what happens to her.”

  “We’ll convey your sentiments and your love, but you are staying here with Fox.” His stance and his tone softened. “Please, my darling girl, for me. Jails are dreadful places, and I cannot abide the notion of you setting foot in one.”

  Amelia couldn’t argue with that, not when remaining behind seemed to soothe their grandfather’s anxiety. She went in search of Fox. Grams, seeing herself out-argued, relented and had her maid, the often dour-faced Miss Shea, bring her coat, hat, and handbag. While she was getting ready, Grampapa took Phoebe aside.

  “Will you come with us? You and Eva?”

  The request took Phoebe aback, but she nodded. “Of course, Grampapa.” She didn’t think it worth mentioning that she had been to the Cowes Police Station just last night, or that she had already intended returning there today.

  “Thank you, my dear. I suspect there is much your sister won’t wish to tell us. I know she confides in Eva, but I fear the police won’t let anyone but a family member or our solicitor in to see her. Perhaps if you and Eva go in together, the police will allow it.”

  On the way to the police station, Phoebe clung to the hope that Grampapa’s solicitor would find enough holes in the inspector’s case that the charges would have to be dropped. But so many details worked against Julia: her own words about her marriage, her argument with Gil, the cut on her hand, her leaving the Georgiana to come into Cowes. . . .

  As they were getting into the taxicab, Phoebe noticed how pale Grams looked and how she stooped beneath her light spring coat. Grams, as a rule, never slouched, never stood any other way but straight and tall, despite her height often placing her an inch or two above most men. And dear Grampapa . . . As Amelia had said, he looked tired—tired and defeated. They both were showing their age, and a lump that could not be swallowed pressed against Phoebe’s throat.

  Despite being told yesterday that Julia could have only one visitor at a time, her grandparents were taken together down the corridor to the visiting room. Phoebe and Eva waited in the lobby for what seemed an eternity, but in reality was only about half an hour. When they returned, real fear clutched at Phoebe. Grams’s eyes were puffy and red, and she walked more bent over than previously. And Grampapa—he looked as though he could hardly place one foot in front of the other, as if taking one more step would deplete his energy.

  She exchanged alarmed glances with Eva, and they both came to their feet.

  “It’s dreadful, just so utterly ghastly, seeing our beautiful girl in this deplorable place.” Tears trickled down Grams’s papery white cheeks. Phoebe embraced her, and for a long, heartbreaking moment, Grams allowed herself to be held and supported before gently pushing away and attempting to square her slender shoulders.

  Then Phoebe turned to Grampapa and realized he might indeed stumble and fall without someone to lean on. His breathing had become shallow, and he barely lifted his feet, as if he no longer had the strength to do so.

  “Eva, I’m taking them back to the hotel,” Phoebe said quietly. “See if you can get in to see Julia, please. Ask her . . .” She left off. Eva knew to ask Julia about the letter opener that should have been on Gil’s desk. But would Julia give the matter any thought? Yesterday, she had practically blamed herself for Gil’s death, if not directly, then indirectly, by marrying him for his money. Julia had to help herself—had to. Or what would happen to this family? “Tell her,” she amended, “that she must believe in her own innocence and must fight to prove it—if not for her own sake, then for our grandparents. Remind her how much they love her, and how much they need her to come home.”

  Eva nodded a silent promise, and Phoebe walked her grandparents outside to their waiting taxicab.

  CHAPTER 14

  The taxicab stopped outside the hotel, and Eva paid the fare. Her talk with Lady Julia had not gone well, and she felt loath to report back to Lady Phoebe. As the motor pulled away, she took a moment to gaze out over the Solent, whose waves lapped the narrow beach on the other side of Queen’s Road. The mainland was visible today, a strip of darker blue between the undulating water and the sky. When she turned back to enter the hotel lobby, the couple she saw exiting the building prompted her to make another sharp turn and pretend to head east along the pavement.

  A glance over her shoulder revealed the pair, Ernest Shelton and Mildred Blair, had gone west, toward the Egypt Esplanade. Miss Blair had taken his arm and walked close at his side, lending them the look of a pair of young lovers. They seemed deep in discussion. Odd. Eva had never seen them together before, not in any capacity. Had not even seen them exchange so much as a word. Of course, they were acquainted, having both worked for the visco
unt, but being Lord Annondale’s cousin and heir placed Mr. Shelton rather above Miss Blair’s station. Eva’s nape tingled with interest. She allowed them to proceed a dozen or so yards before following them. She tugged the light scarf she wore high beneath her chin and pulled the brim of her hat lower.

  The shoreline changed, with the beach replaced by a seawall that held the Solent in check. To her left, a low stone wall bordered the grassy precincts of the Esplanade, where gypsies had camped long ago. The couple turned in at an entrance between two pillars, well before the land rose and became covered in tangles of ferns and grasses and creeping vines, dotted here and there with violets bursting from their buds.

  Eva passed the entrance but peeked behind her to see where Miss Blair and Mr. Shelton had gone. They had seated themselves on a bench beneath the twisted, craggy branches of a windswept oak. They were not alone in the park. A father and three children took turns tossing a stick to a spotted, long-legged setter, who leapt and bounded in pursuit. Two women in nannies’ uniforms occupied another bench, absently rocking prams as they chatted. Several others slowly strolled in pairs, threesomes, or alone, appearing to enjoy today’s pleasant weather. A man with binoculars gazed up into the trees.

  Eva turned into the park and took a circuitous route to a shady spot behind Miss Blair and Mr. Shelton’s bench, where she pretended to be studying the roses surrounded by a carefully shaped boxwood border. Beyond them, purple alliums and blazing foxtail lilies waved gracefully in the breezes. Eva’s quarry continued their close proximity, their heads nearly touching as they spoke. She strained her ears to listen, as she had done on the Georgiana when she’d come upon Sir Hugh and Lord Annondale arguing in the service pantry. Often in the past, she had good-naturedly chided Lady Phoebe for eavesdropping, but it seemed she had acquired the same habit.

  “Julia . . .”

  Eva’s eyes widened. What about Lady Julia? It had been Mr. Shelton who spoke the name, and now she caught a few more words.

  “Nearly ruined everything.”

  “Well, she hasn’t.” Miss Blair sounded impatient, waspish. “I do wish you’d stop whining about her. I’m so very weary of it.”

  Perhaps not lovers, then. Or, on second thought, perhaps so. Lady Julia believed Mildred Blair to have been Lord Annondale’s mistress. Had she transferred her affections to the new heir? If so, it wouldn’t be for his handsome looks or his sterling personality. Eva could hardly envision the two of them having a thing in common or Miss Blair enduring Mr. Shelton’s insecurities with anything approaching patience. Yet, becoming his paramour would certainly be to her advantage. Considering his temperament, he’d be much easier to handle than Lord Annondale had been.

  “How dare you accuse me of whining, with everything I’ve had to put up with all these years?” Mr. Shelton drew away from her, sitting angrily upright. “As if you’re one to talk—”

  “All right. Enough. Our worries will be over in the morning.”

  “You sound sure of yourself.”

  “I am. Darling Ernie, you mustn’t worry so.” Miss Blair adjusted the brim of her hat and sat back. “Everything will be resolved by luncheon tomorrow.” Her head turned as she followed the setter’s racing path across the grass. She continued watching him as he snuffled about the base of a tree, searching for his stick.

  Miss Blair’s profile was visible to Eva: the short, upturned length of her nose, the resolute angle of her chin. Her ebony bangs stirred softly against her brow, and she gave her head a little shake, as if to keep them free of her eyes. Miss Blair seemed to her a study in confidence and poise, so much so Eva almost envied her. What she didn’t envy, however, was the woman’s coldness, and her apparent ability to switch her affections or allegiance or whatever it was from person to person with little or no to-do.

  Miss Blair possessed a ruthless streak, make no mistake, and Eva didn’t consider this an exaggeration. As the pair fell silent, Eva considered whether her opinion of Miss Blair was colored by the fact of her being female, whether she found Miss Blair altogether too assertive for a woman. Many people would, and they would judge a woman harshly for breaking with the conventions of femininity. But wasn’t the behavior exhibited by Miss Blair—at least when it came to her intelligence and her proficiency at her job—similar to what Lady Phoebe aspired to? And didn’t Eva encourage her lady in her aspirations?

  Yes, but she also saw in Phoebe Renshaw a compassionate nature and an unwillingness to hurt others to achieve her goals. She didn’t believe Miss Blair could make the same claims.

  But what about Ernest Shelton? According to Phoebe and Amelia, he seemed a kindly man who devoted his life to animals. For that alone, he could be forgiven his timidity. Yet he had just accused Lady Julia of nearly ruining everything, and what else could he have been referring to but his chances of inheriting the Annondale title and fortune?

  Perhaps the man didn’t love working with animals as much as he professed, and was eager to leave his profession behind and live the life of a leisurely nobleman.

  She waited until they exited the park, and then followed, but at a greater distance than previously, and she let them enter the hotel several minutes before she did. On the way in, she removed her scarf and hat lest they notice her and remember seeing the patterns and colors of the fabric. About her black worsted coat, she need not worry, since it blended with countless others to be seen on any public street. She saw no sign of them in the lobby, however, and rode the lift up to her floor.

  She and Lady Phoebe found time to talk before dinner. First, Eva inquired after the earl and countess.

  “They’re resting and will take their dinner in their rooms again,” Lady Phoebe told her. “I’m very worried about them. How I wish this were over and we could all go home.”

  While Eva helped her mistress into evening attire and did her hair, she told her what she had seen and overheard at the Esplanade. She hurried into the tale, putting off discussing her earlier visit with Lady Julia.

  “I don’t trust that woman, but Ernest . . .” Lady Phoebe plucked a hairpin from the dressing table and handed it to Eva, who pinned a curl in place. “Ernest has been lovely, or so he seems.” She frowned at her reflection. “I can say this much. Fox doesn’t trust him.”

  “He bears watching, as does Miss Blair. Something is going to happen tomorrow morning.” Eva slid another hairpin into Lady Phoebe’s coif, this one studded with glittering gemstones. “Miss Blair said their worries will be over in the morning. Tonight I’d like to go back to Miss Townsend’s room and see if she might be anticipating the morning, as well. If it has anything to do with Lord Annondale’s money, it will affect her, too.”

  Lady Phoebe nodded. “Now, tell me about Julia. Were you able to see her?”

  Eva could postpone the inevitable no longer. With a sigh, she opened Lady Phoebe’s jewelry cask and handed her a pair of ruby droplet earrings. “I was. Inspector Lewis hesitated at first but then relented. He decided it couldn’t do any harm.”

  Lady Phoebe clipped on one of the earrings and turned on the bench seat to face her. “And?”

  “She’s not of a mind to cooperate, I’m afraid. She still blames herself for her husband’s death. Even more so than previously, it seems, for she has little else to do but sit and ruminate. She’s entirely guilt ridden.”

  “Oh, Eva, I’d hoped more time in that horrid place would cure her of that and make her see that she’s no criminal. She didn’t kill her husband any more than you or I did, and the notion of her doing penance in a jail cell is ludicrous. Why is she being so stubborn?”

  “It’s a Renshaw trait, I’m afraid.”

  Had she gone too far in voicing the observation? With any other member of the family, perhaps, but not so with Lady Phoebe, who nodded in rueful agreement.

  “In all honesty, it’s not stubbornness,” Eva went on. “She’s . . . defeated is the term for it. I’ve never seen her like this. Not since . . .” She compressed her lips, having been about to divulge
a confidence, one she swore she would never speak of.

  “Not since Papa died,” Lady Phoebe guessed correctly. Their gazes met, and Eva looked quickly away before she silently confirmed what Lady Julia had never revealed to anyone else but her. Lady Phoebe was not to be fooled. “I know she’s never been the same since Papa’s death. For years I’d believed it hardened her. Made her stop caring about . . .” She sighed. “About so many things. I never saw her shed more than a few perfunctory tears over it, but you did, didn’t you, Eva?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t deny it but merely cast her gaze at the floor while visions of that dreadful day flashed in her mind and Lady Julia’s sobs echoed in her heart. Lady Julia had insisted upon a vow of secrecy, and Eva would never break that vow. Not even for her dearest Phoebe, who stared down at the ruby earring in her palm, which for an instant seemed to transform itself into a drop of blood.

  “Did you at least ask her about the letter opener?”

  Eva nodded, grateful for the change of subject. “I did. She insisted she didn’t remember one in Lord Annondale’s office.”

  Lady Phoebe continued studying the earring, then closed her fist around it. “I don’t believe her. If only we could find it . . . But if it played a part in Gil’s death, chances are it went overboard in the struggle and is at the bottom of the Solent. And all our hopes of freeing Julia along with it.”