Hetta regarded her quizzically, but Eva didn’t bother to explain. Her attention had been caught by the youngest Renshaw, just now coming in from the terrace. Had he been outside previously, when Eva went looking for his sister? If so, she had not noticed him. She wondered why he hadn’t joined them, why he was appearing only now. She studied his young face and thought she detected a similar wariness to Amelia’s, except that where she seemed overwhelmed and distraught, Fox seemed to be . . . well . . . skulking. Had he been following Lady Phoebe? Spying?
She regarded her mistress as she joined the rest of the family. The policemen who had brought Lady Julia stood at attention at a respectable distance. The family murmured quietly to each other, and Eva caught snippets that confirmed her suspicions about this morning’s events. From the hallway that led to the rear of the building, Miss Blair came striding toward them. She spoke to Lady Julia, who nodded and turned back to her family.
“Well, it’s time. I’ll tell you what happens after.” She nodded to the two bobbies, who came forward. “We’ll go in now,” she told them, then hesitated. “When it’s done, might I have a few moments with my grandparents before we . . . we go?”
“Inspector Lewis said we were to return you immediately after, my lady,” one said in a harsh official tone. He had a sharp nose and a jutting brow that spoke of an obstinate nature.
The other, whose portly physique strained the brass buttons of his uniform coat, made a face and rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Spence. A few minutes won’t matter to anyone.”
His mate scowled at him, but Lady Julia cast him a grateful expression. “Thank you.” She glanced around her, and spotted Eva. She raised a beckoning hand. “I’d like Miss Huntford to accompany me.”
A jolt of surprise went through Eva. Lady Phoebe, her mouth gaping, looked stricken, but only for an instant. She quickly gathered her composure and smoothed her features, and offered a nod of encouragement to Eva. For herself, Eva felt almost beholden to offer apologies to the rest of the Renshaws and wished Lady Julia had chosen her grandfather to accompany her.
Miss Blair was frowning and looked as though she wished to protest, though why the matter should concern her one way or the other eluded Eva. At any rate, she didn’t have a chance to voice a complaint, for the stern policeman spoke up again.
“That’s highly irregular. I . . . I don’t think it should be allowed.”
“Irregular? Why should it be, and why should you object if I desire my maid to attend me at this meeting?” Lady Julia’s eyebrows went up in her haughtiest expression.
The man’s brow jutted more heavily as he narrowed his eyes. “Is she your maid? Or is this one?” He pointed at Hetta, who stood uncomprehending yet still realizing she was somehow being singled out. The poor woman, with her Germanic complexion, blushed to the roots of her hair. The policeman continued, “She claimed she was your maid when she showed up to see you yesterday.”
This was news to Eva. A suspicion began to grow in her mind, but she stored it away as Lady Julia spoke again.
“That’s true, but Miss Huntford was my maid until recently, and Hetta doesn’t understand English. I want someone there to help me remember what is said.”
The man echoed Eva’s own thoughts. “Wouldn’t your grandfather serve better in that capacity?”
Lady Julia raised her chin. “I hardly see why that should be of any concern to you.” Then she turned to her grandparents. “Darling Grampapa, you’ll understand why I want Eva, won’t you? You needn’t be upset by all of this. I merely want Eva there because she’s so frightfully clever when it comes to remembering things.”
He patted her cheek. “Whatever you wish, my dear.” He looked up at Eva. “You know you have our trust.” Eva nodded, bowing her head slightly. And to the policemen, he said, “I insist Miss Huntford attend the meeting with my granddaughter.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.” Lady Julia walked briskly past the two policemen. “Eva, do come along.”
* * *
“Where have you been this morning, Fox?” Grams asked in an offhand way as she perused the menu in front of her. Clearly, her mind was on other matters, namely, Julia. They had all decided to take tea in the dining room while they waited for the meeting with the solicitor to end. If they were the discreet and not so discreet center of attention among the other diners, so be it. Grampapa had declared himself unwilling to hide away any longer, especially when he felt quite certain no one in the Renshaw family had done anything wrong.
Phoebe glanced at the menu without registering any of its selections and set it aside. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Julia had chosen Eva to attend the meeting. She shouldn’t have been let down. But it hurt all the same, albeit she could not help admitting that, under similar circumstances, she likely would have chosen Eva, as well. She trusted Eva implicitly, as did Julia, apparently. Phoebe could not pretend she and her sister trusted each other in the same wholehearted manner. And while, again, this should not have surprised her given their history—and, if she were honest, it didn’t really—the truth of it left her nonetheless dispirited.
And then there were matters with Sir Hugh Fitzallen. She hadn’t been able to break through his reticence, but what he had been willing to reveal assured her he would not lift his smallest finger to help clear Julia’s name. He feared endangering himself. He and Gil had become involved in some treachery, gotten mixed up with unsavory individuals. He believed those individuals had taken their revenge against Gil, and now he apparently hoped that by remaining silent, he would save his own life.
But no, there must be more to it than that. If it were only a matter of being pursued by criminals, why not go to the police and tell all? The answer struck her almost physically: Hugh couldn’t go to the police, because then he, too, would find himself in prison.
Grams repeated her question to Fox, this time more testily, and Phoebe snapped out of her ponderings to realize he had never answered. In fact, he appeared not to have heard her, but Phoebe didn’t believe that for a moment. Not when the tips of his ears were glowing red, always a telling sign. She caught the waiter’s eye and signaled him over. At the same time, with false brightness she said, “Yes, Fox, tell us what you’ve been up to.”
“Answer your grandmother when she speaks to you, Fox,” Grampapa put in, not unkindly, but in a tone that insisted in no uncertain terms.
“Sorry, sir. Sorry, Grams. Er . . . nothing, really. Just hanging about.” He caught Phoebe watching him and dismissed her with a terse turn of his head in their grandfather’s direction. “So, they’re reading the will now? But Gil hasn’t been buried yet.”
Grams flinched at the observation, but Grampapa remained calm. “Yes, it’s not usual, that’s for certain. I can only assume the solicitor came at Veronica’s request. Or Ernest’s perhaps, but I rather think it would have been Veronica being the impatient one.”
“Why, Grampapa?” Amelia was playing with the edge of the table linen, until Grams reached over and stilled her hands. “What difference does a day or so make?”
Their grandfather appeared to consider. The waiter came, and Grams ordered a pot of tea and a tray of sandwiches.
When the man walked away, Grampapa leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It might be days yet before Gil is laid to rest.” He had hesitated the tiniest bit before choosing those words, obviously searching for the most delicate means of expressing this. Dear Grampapa was always solicitous of his granddaughters’ feelings, especially gentle Amelia’s. It sometimes frustrated Phoebe to be treated as a child, but then she’d look into his earnest eyes and see the love he bore them, and she’d forgive him anything. “I suppose Veronica is feeling terribly at loose ends just now, without her brother to provide for her. One can’t blame her for wanting matters settled, if at all possible.”
That last, small addition to his statement caught Fox’s attention. “Do you mean matters might not be settled with the reading of the will, sir?”
Grampapa
frowned slightly, and Phoebe perceived his inner debate over whether to address that question. He and Grams exchanged glances. “We’ll soon see, won’t we?”
Were they wondering the same thing Phoebe was? Whether Julia might be expecting? It would barely seem possible to the casual observer—there had hardly been time for Julia and Gil to be intimate. Yet Phoebe knew otherwise. She wondered if Julia would reveal the possibility to the solicitor, Veronica, and Ernest, then shook her head at the thought. She couldn’t imagine her refined sister speaking such words to a group of people who were little more than strangers to her.
“What’s on your mind, Phoebe?” Amelia reached out and touched her hand, and Phoebe glanced up with a start.
“I was just thinking about Julia.” The truth, but with an omission. It wasn’t her secret to tell. Besides, there might be nothing to reveal, and Ernest would inherit the title and estate, and Veronica would receive whatever her brother had left her, under the assumption that he had produced no heir of his body.
Her grandparents appeared to accept her reply without question. Fox, on the other hand, was studying her closely, until she met his gaze. Then he quickly looked away.
Their repast came, and they embarked upon a course of small talk that effectively skirted the only issue any of them truly cared about. They were just finishing when the waiter once more approached the table, this time with a message.
“Lady Annondale is waiting for you all in the hotel meeting room, my lord. I can direct you there, if you desire, sir.”
The two policemen stood outside the meeting room, one on either side of the door. Julia waited for the family inside, sitting at a rectangular mahogany table. Eva sat beside her, and the two of them conversed in whispers. When Eva noticed the others, she hurriedly vacated her seat and found another at the far end of the table.
Grampapa replaced Eva at Julia’s side faster than Phoebe had seen him do anything of late. Fox, in a rare moment of selfless consideration, followed him and held the chair for him. Grampapa sank heavily into it and covered Julia’s hand with his own.
“You look troubled, my dear. Tell us what happened.”
Phoebe and the rest of the family took seats around the table, all eyes on Julia.
“There was no reading. They brought me here for nothing.”
“No reading?” Grams sounded outraged. “What sort of game are they playing?”
“I don’t think it was meant to be a game.” Julia fidgeted with the ends of her silk scarf. “There was meant to be a reading, but the solicitor, Mr. Walker, said Gil made a last-minute change, along with giving explicit instructions about when to reveal the contents of the will.”
The answer didn’t seem to satisfy Grams. “What on earth are they waiting for?”
“To see if I am . . .” Julia lowered her chin, then raised it with a gleam of defiance, though directed at whom, Phoebe couldn’t say. “To see if I am expecting.”
After a momentary silence, Grams raised a finger and pointed toward the door. “Fox, Amelia, go.”
Neither made a move, not so much as the tiniest muscle. Grams seemed not to notice.
“Didn’t you tell them it was impossible?” she asked.
“I did not. Because it isn’t. And so now we’ll see, first of all, if I’m let off, and, secondly, if I happen to produce a son. Gil’s heir.”
Phoebe flicked glances at her younger siblings, who were both wide-eyed with fascination.
Julia spoke again. “But that isn’t all. We were told the general terms of the will. We learned that if I should produce an heir, the bulk of the estate will go to the child. Gil named me the child’s trustee and guardian—”
“Thus putting the fortune at your disposal during the child’s minority,” Grampapa said, finishing for her.
“That can’t have made Ernest happy,” Phoebe murmured. She didn’t think anyone heard her, but Julia turned in her direction.
“Not at all happy. He’s to have no part in raising the child, not legally, anyway. Of course, if there is no child, Ernie inherits the title and the estate, as expected. Veronica will have an annuity and a certain property in Wiltshire with no entailment, and I’ll have a modest stipend for the rest of my life or until I remarry.”
“That all seems rather straightforward.” Despite the observation, Grams wrung her hands, and Phoebe suspected she couldn’t quite recover from the possibility of Julia carrying Gil’s child.
“There was something else,” Julia said. “Mildred Blair was here.”
“For the meeting?” Grampapa gestured to Eva. “Do you mean in like capacity?”
“No. I mean as a beneficiary.”
Grams pulled a face. “Of part of Gil’s fortune?”
“Of course, Grams. What else?” Julia sat back. “She’s to receive a lump sum. The amount depends on whether or not I produce an heir.”
“That’s the oddest thing I’ve ever heard,” Grams declared. “Who determines the amount of a bequest to a servant based on who the heir is?” She looked to Grampapa for consensus, and it was then her gaze landed upon first Fox and then Amelia. “Are you two still here? Did I not tell you to go?”
“Oh, er . . . sorry, Grams.” Amelia came slowly to her feet.
Fox hesitated another moment, then pushed to his. But they had already heard the pertinent details.
Or so Phoebe thought, until Julia pulled her aside a few minutes later while the others filed out of the room. “I had the distinct feeling it was Mildred who called this meeting,” she said. “And she seemed most annoyed with the results.”
“Mildred called the meeting?” Phoebe repeated somewhat inanely. “Why would she? Who is she to—”
“Exactly. Who is she?”
CHAPTER 16
Eva helped Lady Julia on with her coat, making a slow job of it to postpone for as long as possible her being returned to that hideous jailhouse. She didn’t know what use she had actually served during the meeting, but at least Lady Julia hadn’t had to face the others without an ally.
She had kept a close watch on everyone during the proceedings. Miss Blair, with her carefully applied cosmetics, had nevertheless betrayed her thoughts more than once. All three of them—Miss Blair, Miss Townsend, and Mr. Shelton—had displayed their frustrations, but Miss Blair in particular had revealed her resentment toward Lady Julia in her sour looks and pouting lips, especially when she had been made to sit off to the side.
Why should Miss Blair begrudge the family members their rightful places at the table? Why should she, an employee, think herself deserving of an equal seat beside them?
“It’s time to go,” one of the policemen said.
Eva didn’t bother looking up to see which one had spoken. Her heart ached, and her throat grew pinched. After coming around to face Lady Julia, she made minor adjustments to her hat, her scarf, the placket of her coat.
Lady Julia stilled her ministrations with a hand on her wrist. “It’s all right, Eva.”
She nodded, unable to make eye contact, and stepped aside to let Lady Julia pass. But she followed, equally unable to allow her emotions to overcome her sense of duty. In the corridor, the family said their good-byes—briefly, briskly, for Lady Julia declared she would not linger and allow dignity to be lost. With the policemen trailing behind her, she set off with her chin high. Once again, Eva followed, not daring to look at the earl or countess for fear of seeing their tears and being unable to master her own.
In the corridor, she remembered to pose a question. Lady Julia had already given an answer once, but that answer hadn’t satisfied Eva. “My lady, have you remembered anything about a letter opener in Lord Annondale’s office?”
“Why do you keep asking me that?”
Eva trotted to keep up. “Because it could be important. What desk doesn’t have a letter opener? Yet Lord Annondale’s didn’t when your sister and I were there.”
“I asked my sister to keep out of this.”
“She’s not going to, my la
dy, and neither am I.” Eva nearly tripped over the floor runner. “Please, if you could only . . .”
As they reached the lobby, Lady Julia’s pace slowed, and she came to a sudden halt.
Eva moved to her side. “What is it? Have you forgotten something?”
“No . . . it isn’t that.” Her face tightened in concentration.
Eva tried to follow her line of sight, and her gaze landed on the photographer, Curtis Mowbry, coming in through the street door. He’d obviously had an errand in town, for he wore a topcoat and held his tan bowler. He also carried a leather portfolio under one arm.
“The photographer . . . I wish I could remember where I’ve seen him before. It’s almost on the tip of my tongue . . .”
“Was he at an event you attended?”
“I don’t know . . .” Lady Julia watched him turn into the conservatory. Then she pivoted to face Eva. “It’s probably nothing. Never mind.”
“Perhaps you should heed your instincts, my lady. It could be important. Give it more thought. If the answer comes to you, let someone know immediately.” She sensed a presence at her shoulder.
“Whatever the pair of you are going on about, you can continue it later down at the station. We need to get our prisoner back.”
Reluctantly, Eva let Lady Julia go. And then she cut a direct line to the conservatory.
* * *
Her grandparents having already gone upstairs, Phoebe caught up with Fox before he entered the lift. She stopped him with a grip on his shoulder. “You were out on the terrace earlier.”
He flinched and turned. His face held all the indignation a fifteen-year-old could muster—which was considerable. “What of it?”
“I saw you at the top of the stairs leading down to the road. Were you following me?”
“Could you be any more swollen-headed? No, I wasn’t following you.”
“Then what were you doing on the stairs?”
“Enjoying the view.”
“Which you can do perfectly well from the terrace. What you cannot see without going to the stairs is the beach, where Sir Hugh and I were talking.”
A Murderous Marriage Page 20
