A Murderous Marriage

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “Oh, Julia, that’s beastly,” Phoebe blurted, aghast at how much forethought had gone into Mr. Mowbry’s plans. “He’s utterly insane.”

  “Insane, perhaps, but shrewd,” Mr. Lewis commented. “Lady Annondale, how did he come to be the photographer at your wedding?”

  “I can answer that,” Mildred Blair said, speaking up for the first time. Wearing a smart outfit and with her hair back in place, she had regained her usual confidence and cool demeanor. “He answered the ad I placed on behalf of Lord and Lady Annondale and came highly recommended. Though, in retrospect, one suspects those references were forged.”

  “And how did you come to be on the launch?” Mr. Lewis asked her.

  “Quite by accident, I assure you. I had gotten a message from the Royal Yacht Squadron asking me to attend to some of my . . . some of Lord Annondale’s affairs connected with the club. On my way there, I saw Curtis Mowbry at the pier, at the leasing office. I thought that rather odd, so when he exited the building, I followed him down the pier to the launch. He boarded and poked about, as one would do when preparing for a voyage. Why should a photographer need to lease a boat? It occurred to me, of course, that he wished to leave Cowes in the most efficient way possible. I asked him bluntly what he was doing. Before I could resist, he grabbed me, dragged me into the cabin, and forced me below, where he knocked me out, tied me up, and gagged me.” Her eyes glittered with outrage.

  Julia’s eyes glittered, too, but with an altogether different sentiment. Phoebe had heard it, too, a tiny slip when Miss Blair had started to say my, but quickly amended it to Lord Annondale. What had she been about to say? My what? My employer? Then why not simply say it, rather than breaking off short and changing it?

  My lover? Miss Blair certainly wouldn’t wish to say that in mixed company.

  But perhaps it was time she did.

  “Miss Blair, just what was the nature of your—”

  “No, Phoebe,” Julia said briskly. “It’s for me to ask, and it’s high time I did. Miss Blair.” She turned in her chair to face the other woman fully. “What were you to my husband? Were you his mistress?”

  Miss Blair allowed the moment to stretch to the breaking point, before she blinked, seemed to grow taller, and calmly said, “I am his daughter.”

  “What?” Phoebe and Julia spoke at once.

  The others in the room looked dumbfounded. Phoebe wanted to confront Miss Blair with a host of questions, but she stayed silent. As Julia had said, it was for her to ask.

  But Julia, tight-lipped, her teeth clenched, merely said, “Explain.”

  Miss Blair drew a breath and expelled it slowly. “I am Gilbert Townsend’s daughter. His illegitimate daughter, I should clarify. My mother was a housemaid on his estate, and he . . . well, he did as many men of his class will do. But he did at least have the decency to set her up comfortably for the rest of her life, and then he took an interest in me once I’d reached adulthood. I believe he even felt an affection for me, as far as Gil Townsend was capable of feeling affection—as you yourself will understand, Lady Annondale.” She pronounced Julia’s title with no small amount of sarcasm.

  Phoebe expected Julia to bristle and was surprised when she instead let out a small laugh. “Indeed I do. But why the secrecy? Why pose as his secretary all this time?”

  “I wasn’t posing. I was his secretary, just as Ernest was his veterinarian. I might be his daughter, but he still expected me to be useful, to fulfill some function in this world. As I expected of myself, for that matter. For a woman such as me, it is either marriage or employment. I have no desire to be some merchant’s or clerk’s wife, which is the best someone like me could hope for. And as for why I didn’t reveal my parentage earlier . . . well, I certainly don’t have to tell you how people of your class look down upon people like me. Why should I wish to endure that kind of judgment?”

  Again, Phoebe was surprised when Julia replied with a nod and a simple “I do see your point.”

  “All right, then,” Detective Inspector Lewis said, so abruptly that everyone seemed startled out of their thoughts. “Anyone have anything more to add?”

  None of them had anything to say, except for Julia, who had a question. “May we go home now, Inspector?”

  He gave his wholehearted permission. They were not to leave until morning, however, as the last ferry of the night had already departed.

  Phoebe enjoyed the first good night’s sleep in days, as she suspected Julia did, as well. In the morning, she stood with Eva on the deck of the ferry, watching Cowes and the Isle of Wight recede into the distance behind them, while Portsmouth grew in size before them.

  “I’ll never be so glad to see Little Barlow,” Phoebe said.

  “Nor I,” Eva agreed. “Please tell me there won’t be any venturing away from home in the near future.”

  Phoebe knew better than to make any promises. “Why does trouble seem to find us no matter where we are?”

  Eva turned to face her. “I think, my lady, because you don’t hide from trouble. And where you are, I am, as well. There to help you face it.”

  “Poor Eva. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather look for a new position in more predictable circumstances? Something safer? I don’t know, lion tamer? Snake charmer? Perhaps something to do with dynamite? Any of those would be less dangerous than looking after me, I should think.”

  Eva laughed. “No, my lady, I’m afraid you can’t be rid of me that easily. Now then, I see a certain gentleman who looks as though he’d like to have a word with you.” She gestured, and Phoebe turned to see Owen standing just outside the deckhouse.

  Their gazes connected, and she was struck with conflicting impulses. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “Then I’ll make it easy for you. I’m going inside to check on the rest of the family.” With a parting smile, Eva walked toward Owen. He opened the door for her, and she ducked inside. Then he came to stand beside Phoebe at the railing.

  “How is Hetta doing?” Phoebe asked him. Julia and her maid had been reunited after Detective Inspector Lewis dismissed them last night, and poor Hetta had been pleading ever since, in her very broken English, for Julia to forgive her. No one was really quite sure what she felt guilty about, other than keeping her knowledge of English to herself these past months, but if anything, Julia thought it rather clever of her.

  “Calming down. I believe your sister has finally convinced her she won’t be sacked.” He drew up closer beside her until their shoulders touched. In daylight, in a public place, it was the most he could offer without starting tongues wagging. Word of the Renshaw family boarding the ferry had spread with remarkable speed earlier, and it wouldn’t do to court gossip. “And how are you?”

  “You needn’t worry about me. I’ve grown used to this sort of thing.” They shared a wry chuckle before Phoebe turned serious. “I’m worried about Julia, though. About when it suddenly occurs to her what might have happened on that boat with Curtis Mowbry. And when it hits her—truly hits her—that she’s a widow. I don’t know what her feelings for Gil were, but I do know she didn’t take their marriage lightly. There’s bound to be remorse and grieving.”

  “Yes. But you’ll be there for her when she needs you.”

  Phoebe sighed, the only reply she could make to this observation. She didn’t know if Julia would ever need her, or admit to needing her. “And then there’s the matter of the future. Whether Julia is . . .”

  “With child,” he murmured. “Poor Julia.”

  “Yes, for her this won’t be over for weeks yet. And really, depending on how things turn out, it might never be over.” She sighed. “I should go back inside. My family needs me.”

  As they turned away from the railing, Owen raised her hand to his lips, a proper gesture, should anyone be watching. No one but Phoebe would detect the prolonged contact of his kiss, or the lingering warmth that filled her as they made their way back inside to her family, or the sure message he’d conveyed to her that he, to
o, needed her.