Who's Sorry Now?

by Maggie Robinson

  “I’m sure she’ll be home soon,” Lady Adelaide said. “May I fix you a plate?”

  Marbury swallowed the rest of his whisky. “I need to get home. Marian will be wondering what’s become of me.” He pointed to the tray. “Would it be too much trouble to wrap some of this up so I can take it with me? Marian does have a sweet tooth.”

  “Of course not! I’ll have Beckett do it right now.” She bent forward but Dev stopped her.

  “Here, I’ll carry it in to the kitchen.” It was the only way he could guarantee himself a few more sandwiches and a piece of cake.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Well. What do you think? I wouldn’t want to trade places with Lucy.”

  “I wouldn’t want to trade places with the earl,” Inspector Hunter said. He was on his second cup of tea and had eaten every bit of what Beckett hadn’t bagged up for Lord Marbury. Dark outside now, he really should go home, but Addie was grateful for his company.

  She found she was not hungry at all. Lucy was missing.

  Was it possible she was dead too?

  He put his cup down. “You said when you had lunch with her last week that she was on edge. Did she seem worried or troubled over something specific?”

  “I wish I knew. She was…brittle, you know? Arch. But underneath, oh, the poor thing. What a life she’s been leading. I had no idea, and I don’t think anyone else did either.”

  He pulled out the index card the earl had given him from his notebook and passed it to her. “You know all these young women on the list, don’t you?”

  There were only five names. Millicent Avery, Nadia Sanborn, Philippa Dean, Lady Cecilia Merrill, and Clover Crosby. The last three names had a circle around them. “I know Clover is in New York, so she’d be of no help. I can’t see Lucy booking a transatlantic passage if she has no funds.”

  “Would Dunford loan her money?”

  “Gosh! That would be so very inappropriate. Compromising. I can’t imagine Lucy asking or accepting. She has so much pride.”

  “If she’s anxious to get away, and he’s anxious to prove his affection, it wouldn’t be completely out of the question.”

  Addie frowned. “I just can’t see it. But…”

  “But?”

  “Maybe they ran away together. Eloped. Even though her father thinks she wouldn’t. Lucy knows her parents are in no position to give her a proper wedding. She might have thought she was doing them a kindness.”

  Was Lucy a married woman already? They were both of age, and Bunny was definitely smitten, poor fellow. Or perhaps—

  “Oh! I’ve just thought of something else. Maybe she went to visit my sister. I invited her down to keep Cee company when we were at Claridge’s. She refused—I know why now—but maybe she changed her mind.”

  “Why don’t you call Compton Chase?”

  Addie did so. Both her mother and her sister got on the line together, and Addie could barely get a word in. After what seemed like forever, she asked about Lucy.

  She was not there. Cee hadn’t heard a word from her since she’d gotten out of the hospital. Addie asked them both to call her if Lucy tried to get in touch. And not to gossip all over Gloucestershire that Lucy had done a bunk.

  She gave them a lame excuse to get off the phone as quickly as possible before their curiosity totally overtook them. Lady Grimes to the rescue again. Addie really needed to get dressed. A dinner party. What was she wearing? The blush chiffon she’d bought in New York. Was she going to wear the pink diamond ring Rupert had given her for their fifth anniversary? Yes.

  More questions. “Who is this Lady Grimes? I don’t think we’ve met.” Lady Broughton believed she knew everyone worth knowing.

  “She’s American, Mama. Her late husband was Irish.” Addie would have to remember these details, for her mother would. She glanced over at Mr. Hunter, who was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed.

  “Grimes. Grimes. The name is not ringing any bells.”

  “It is a very recent title. A knighthood, actually.” Which might explain his missing Debrett’s page.

  “I thought you said her husband is dead.”

  “He was knighted. Then he died almost immediately afterward. It was very sudden.”

  “But she’s out of mourning and entertaining already? I hope she waited a decent interval. Not like you last year with that awful house party. If you’d waited another six months, no one would have died.”

  Addie really should know better not to lie to her mother. It never went well.

  Somehow she managed to get off the phone, and tiptoed to the seating area. Mr. Hunter appeared to be asleep. Addie sat down on the couch, and took the opportunity to stare at him shamelessly.

  Shiny dark hair, not from pomade, in need of a cut. Unconscionably long eyelashes. Sharp cheekbones. A formidable nose that he once said was like his grandfather’s. A truly beautiful mouth. He’d loosened his tie, and the column of his throat was—

  “Delicious, isn’t he? Even I can see his appeal.” Rupert was next to her on the couch, staring along.

  “Shh!”

  “You’ll be the one waking him up with your shushing. He’s overworked, you know. Much too dedicated. I confess I admire him. He has not let his background impede his ambition. If anything, he works twice as hard. Maybe even thrice.”

  Addie was in no mood for Rupert, even if he was praising the police detective. She shook her finger fiercely at him, but that only made him smile. “You can’t get rid of me so easily. I have news.”

  What, she mouthed.

  “All of your Great Eight suspects are dying or disappearing. Guess who’s gone to the south of France? Those madcap young lovers, that’s who.”

  “Lucy and Bunny?” Addie whispered. Mr. Hunter twitched but his eyes remained shut.

  “No, not them. Young Greg and Kit. Kit fancies himself a novelist, you know. Thinks if he rubs shoulders with Hemingway and Fitzgerald, it will do him some good. Doubtful, though, even if his grasp of grammar is passable. I’m sure they will find other diversions to fill the hours.”

  “Does Mr. Hunter know they’ve left England?” Everyone had been warned to inform the police of any travel.

  “He should get their letter in tomorrow’s post. I don’t imagine he’ll be pleased. His case is falling apart.”

  Mr. Hunter was already under so much pressure. Why, look, he’d fallen asleep in her drawing room!

  “You should go to the south of France when this is all over. Stop in Paris to hear Ollie Johnson’s All American Band on the way and check up on Trix.”

  Addie didn’t give a fig about Trix or France. “I just want to go home. Have a quiet summer with no one dropping dead.”

  “That would be delightful. It would also mean that my services were no longer needed, and I could move…on.”

  Nothing sounded better to Addie. No more Rupert! She could move…on…as well.

  He nodded toward the chair. “Are you going to wake him up?”

  It seemed a shame to do so. One didn’t fall asleep in chairs unless one was exhausted. She wondered if Mr. Hunter would get a stiff neck, but he looked fairly comfortable. She shook her head.

  “I think you should. What will the neighbors say?”

  Addie didn’t give a fig for the neighbors, either. The only ones she knew really well were Ernest and Angela Shipman next door, and they had enough skeletons in their own closet to prevent them from being judgmental.

  She stood up, put her fingers to her lips, and waved Rupert on to follow her. She could hear Beckett’s radio, and stopped in to tell the maid she needn’t bother with anything else for the day. If Addie got hungry later, she’d make herself a midnight snack. And also, there was a very handsome man sleeping in the drawing room who shouldn’t be disturbed.

  Fitz was snoozing in the center of Addie’s bed and h
ad rolled over to reveal his tummy for rubbing. She complied, then asked Rupert to sit down.

  “How do you know about Kit and Greg? The usual way—that you can’t tell me?”

  Rupert adjusted his cuff. “I’ve been doing some digging on my own, going out and about. Making myself useful. Can’t be a dewdropper all day, can I? I overheard them talking to their landlady.”

  “You trespassed into their flat?”

  “Don’t sound so horrified. It was the least I could do—you weren’t making progress with them.”

  “So, did they do it?” Addie decided to stay in her silk pajamas, but she did unpin her hair and brush it. It wasn’t close to bedtime, and Fitz still needed his last romp in the back garden, but it felt divine to free her hair. “Tell me they did. I don’t like them much. And not for the reason you’re thinking.”

  “Do what in particular?”

  “Any of it.”

  Rupert rolled his eyes heavenward. “I only wish I knew. You know how it is.”

  Unfortunately, Addie did. “Give me an educated guess.”

  “All right. I don’t think so. They might be snobs, but that’s not a crime. Remember, that cocktail was intended for Kit at the Savoy.”

  “A perfect way for him to throw us off the scent! And not as dangerous as the other ones. If he had to drink it, it would only have made him sick.”

  “Frankly, my dear, he’s not all that clever, even if he thinks he is. And he’s much too squeamish to strangle anyone.”

  Addie was tempted to toss her hairbrush in frustration. “How is this going to end?”

  Rupert was prevented from answering by a knock on the bedroom door.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  She was talking to herself again; she must be under some stress too. The apologetic words on Dev’s lips vanished when she opened the door. Lady Adelaide had let her hair down, and it was as if temptation itself stood before him. Her hair skimmed her silk-encased shoulders and fell to the middle of her back in golden and bronze waves. The tiny strands above her forehead were curled into little corkscrews.

  Dev knew it was just hair. Hell, he had hair of his own, some of which was probably sticking up every which way after his unplanned nap. His hand went to his head to assure he didn’t look like a hedgehog.

  Lady Adelaide looked like a Siren, ready to cast sailors adrift in the nicest way.

  She was a very nice woman.

  When he woke up, he should have just let himself out of the flat and gone straight home.

  “Um…”

  “Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty!” she teased, smiling up at him. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually fall unconscious in a lady’s flat.” Damn. That sounded all wrong.

  “Let me fix you tea or coffee before you go. It won’t be any trouble.”

  Dev should leave. He should leave now. “All right. That’s very kind. Coffee would be wonderful. I could fall asleep again on the Tube and miss my stop.”

  “Have you been getting any rest at all?” Lady Adelaide asked, as he followed her down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Not much. What did you find out when you called home?” Dev really couldn’t believe he’d slept through the conversation.

  “No one’s heard from Lucy. They’ll call if they do.” He watched as she measured coffee grounds into the pot, her hair shimmering in the harsh overhead light.

  This was all so…unprofessional. Maybe he should turn in his warrant card. Quit the Yard and take up…what exactly? He’d been careful with his savings, and had a tidy sum put away for a rainy day.

  Dev felt like he was in the middle of a deluge.

  He’d enjoyed the country, what little of it he’d seen last year when he stayed in Compton-Under-Wood. Of course, that might have had something to do with his favorite resident. Maybe he could buy a small shop somewhere. Become a fixture in the village, doling out sweets to the kiddies and drinking a pint or two at the local pub.

  Who was he kidding? He’d never be accepted. He’d felt the suspicious stares last summer when he’d left the city. He received nearly as many of them in London, where there was a healthy-sized Anglo-Indian community.

  His mouth twisted. A great many young Indian princes had chosen to study at Cambridge and Oxford. Perhaps he could pass himself off as one of them.

  Lady Adelaide set the coffee things in front of him. “Just milk, yes?”

  She remembered. Well, she was a bright woman. An experienced hostess. He shouldn’t make anything of it.

  Back to business to make up for his unforgivable lapse. “So, have we decided? An elopement or a trip of some kind. I agree with her father—I don’t think the entire police force should be involved.”

  Unless she was his murderer, which was looking more and more likely.

  “You warned everyone not to continue to go out. Maybe that was too much for her. She needed the escape.”

  “It’s possible.”

  You also told her not to go anywhere without notifying you.”

  “I did.”

  “And yet she has.”

  “I admit, I don’t like it.” He didn’t like anything about this case.

  “Do you think she left Sunday or Monday?”

  “Sunday seems more likely, if her mother wasn’t taken care of on Monday. It does seem out of character after listening to the earl sing her praises, though. If Lady Lucy was the sole caregiver—”

  “Perhaps she forgot her father would be out of town.” The coffee pot had finished percolating, and Lady Adelaide poured a stream of steaming liquid into his cup. He added his milk and stirred.

  Could the girl be guilty? She had reason to be resentful of all those whose lives she thought were easier than hers.

  And was she capable of strangling someone? Dev had initially thought the marks left on Mary Frances Harmon’s throat had been made by a man, but Lady Lucy was built along Valkyrie lines. And if she’d been a skilled horsewoman, she’d be strong enough.

  “How long have you known the family?”

  Lady Adelaide sipped her own coffee. “Really, forever. Their country house is—or was—midway between Compton Chase and Broughton Park. Our parents were friendly, as one is amongst the big houses. Hunts and balls and such. Cee is a couple of years older, but she and Lucy played together as children. I knew her brothers quite well.”

  “Do you think she’s capable of killing?”

  Lady Adelaide briefly shut her beautiful hazel eyes. “I wouldn’t have thought so. She’s not an easy person to like nowadays, but she was a very normal little girl.”

  Dev finished his coffee. “I think I’ll drop by the Thieves’ Den on my way home. Perhaps Dunford is there and knows something. At any rate, it won’t hurt to have a look in. See how Freddy is coping with the loss of his band.”

  “I know Nadia and the Prince have sworn off the place, so you won’t see them. I saw them earlier today, and love is in the air.”

  “Good, although that doesn’t mean they’re not still suspects. What about Trenton-Douglass and Wheeler?”

  Lady Adelaide’s cheeks turned pink. “Um. Th-there’s a rumor that they’ve gone to France. I meant to tell you when you woke up, but it slipped my mind.”

  “France!” Dev bit back another “f” word. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Someone called when you were asleep. My old friend Lady Grimes. She knows the boys, and someone told her.”

  “I told them not to leave without notifying me!” That village shop was looking more likely by the minute. He’d never experienced this level of frustration in the dozen years he’d been at the Yard. More names to send off to his counterpart in Paris.

  “I am sorry,” Lady Adelaide said in a small voice.

  “It’s not your fault,” Dev said, reinin
g in his temper. “You’ve been more than helpful. A brick. I apologize for being dismissive of your help the other day. It’s just that—”

  He wanted to protect her. Because he—

  “—we discourage members of the public from getting involved in police business. After last summer, you already know the risks, and I do too. Deputy Commissioner Olive would have my head on a platter if anything happened to you.”

  Lady Adelaide smiled at him. “I like your head where it is.”

  “Me, too, though it doesn’t seem to be working very efficiently.” He pushed himself away from the table. “It’s late. I’d better go. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

  “Any time.”

  “You will call me if you hear anything? Or think of anything? I admit I need all the help I can get at this point.”

  Lady Adelaide nodded. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  It wasn’t very far. He followed, her silk pajamas fluttering with each step. He was so very weary, that all the coffee in the world would not help.

  He looked down on her, wishing he could think of something witty to say. Wishing that he wasn’t thinking about bending to kiss her soft, smiling mouth. This hadn’t been a social call, and Lady Adelaide was not a woman to be trifled with.

  “Good night,” he said, and listened on the other side in the hallway as she turned locks and slid bolts. She was safe. For tonight.

  From him, at least.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Wednesday

  Lucy’s disappearance had plagued Addie all night. Was it a sign of her guilt? Did she simply decide she’d had enough misery and sought to end it all? Or did she have a secret admirer who had whisked her away to France?

  She wondered how Inspector Hunter’s visit to the Thieves’ Den had gone. If she never stepped inside its dark recesses again, that would be fine with her.

  She’d forgotten to ring up Lucas yesterday to tell him about Roy’s funeral. She should thank him for the flowers, too, not breathing a word of the mistake. Addie knew he was used to rising early; he was very involved with the farming side of his estate. No absentee ownership for him. When his father had unexpectedly inherited Waring Hall and the viscountcy, the man didn’t have the first clue how to manage his acreage. Addie’s father had taken Lucas’ father under his wing, and little Lucas had trotted behind, picking up as much information as the Marquess of Broughton could provide.