Still, he decided to play along, because if this was the lie and her innocence was the truth, then he really did not understand her at all, though he was more determined than ever to try. “So then, what made you stop here?”
Her fingers caught the grey wool of the dress she was wearing and toyed with it while she spoke. “As I said, it looked like the sort of place where a woman in need of a respectable job might find one.”
“That doesn’t explain why you chose to walk around to the back of the house and enter from the terrace instead of going to the servant’s entrance at left of the front door.”
“Well, I did try to knock there, but I suspect the thunder must have drowned out the sound.” She took another sip of her drink while he did his best to avoid declaring her a liar.
It was no use. The story she’d woven was too unbelievable, and his pride would not permit him to let her think she’d managed to fool him. “I’m not sure you killed Tatiana, but I know for a fact that your explanation just now regarding how you arrived here is complete fabrication.”
She blinked and had the good grace to look as though he’d just caught her trying to rob him. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Trust me. If I told you the real truth, you would laugh at me and send me off to a home for the insane.”
He considered her closely. The way she spoke did not align with someone who’d lost the use of their mental faculties. In fact, she was perfectly capable of carrying a conversation with astuteness, responding quickly and intelligently.
“Nevertheless, I ask that you try to give me the absolute truth.”
It was her turn to consider him. She crossed her arms and pressed her lips firmly together. “Are you sure you don’t believe that I hitched a ride on a few different carriages from Plymouth to Cloverfield?”
“Quite.” Her dissembling was getting tiresome. He wanted answers, damn it!
“Right.”
She still didn’t look as though she intended to tell him the truth. Which made him want to shake her. Instead he reached for a state of calm that was swiftly leaving his grasp. “Please. Whatever it is, perhaps it can help with the investigation. Because if you did not kill Tatiana, which has yet to be determined, then someone else did, and in order to find that person, I need to know everything that happened last night.”
“My arrival here has nothing to do with the crime.” She stood and started to pace as though she needed to walk a few miles in order to calm her nerves. “Explaining it will not bring you any closer to finding the real killer.”
“I disagree.” Unable to sit still for one more second, he stood as well. “If there is one thing I know, it is that solving crimes requires facts, and you, Miss Edwards, are keeping a very large piece of the puzzle secret.”
She came to a halt, but not because of what he’d said apparently, but because of something she’d seen. Approaching the bookcase, she reached for a slim leather-bound novel and pulled it free from the shelf. “Pride and Prejudice.” She gave her head a wistful shake. “I love to read, and this is definitely one of my favorite novels.” Flipping it open, she raised her gaze to his in utter amazement, her eyes sparkling as though she were a pirate princess who’d just discovered a chest full of diamonds. “And it is signed by the author, with a dedication addressed to you!”
“Indeed. It is one of my most prized possessions, which is why I keep it here instead of in the library.”
“So you have read it?” Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality that sounded rather alluring.
“Of course. Miss Austen is a friend so it goes without saying that I would read one her books if she gifted it to me.”
Miss Edwards stared at James in amazement. Staring straight back, he forced his body to remain calm even as blood rushed through his veins. Her interest, the admiration with which she spoke, was dangerous. It reminded him too easily of the celibate state he’d confined himself to since breaking things off with his mistress, and of the fact that he was presently alone with the loveliest woman he’d ever seen.
Schooling his features, he quoted the opening line. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”
Her lips stretched into a wide smile that dimpled her cheeks. “Now you’re just showing off.”
He couldn’t deny it. “It is also a truth universally acknowledged that an eligible gentleman is wise to avail himself of the opportunity to demonstrate his accomplishments.”
A pair of sparkling eyes met his. “Are you flirting with me, Lord Camden?”
“Perhaps.” He hadn’t meant to, but there was something so irresistible about her, he could not seem to help himself. “Just a little.”
“I’m sure your friends would advise against it.” She returned the book to its spot on the shelf. “As would I.”
It felt as though she’d just turned down his suit. Which was monstrously preposterous since he had no intention of letting himself get carried away to such a degree. But the thought that she might not find him as attractive as he found her was bothersome. It niggled at his male pride and put him in a prickly mood.
He crossed his arms. “Very well.” She’d captivated his interest though, which wasn’t something he could ignore. But she was right about the flirting. It wasn’t appropriate by any means. So he decided to try ferreting out more information about her instead. “How old are you, Miss Edwards?”
“Twenty seven.”
Tilting his head, he pondered that answer for a second before asking, “Are you a widow or a spinster?”
She gaped at him for a full five seconds before telling him archly, “I have never been married before.”
“And yet you fled from your fiancé.” He could not make sense of that. “Are you sure that was wise of you?”
“He gave me an ultimatum, and I decided to choose my writing over him.”
It was James’s turn to gape. She truly was addled in the head. “I see.” It was all he could think to say.
“You don’t approve.”
It was a statement, not a question, to which he responded with a shrug. “It is not my position to judge you, but in all honesty, I wonder how a woman of your age can turn down a proposal in favor of pursuing her own interests.”
“Erm…twenty-seven isn’t really—”
“You are firmly on the shelf, Miss Edwards, even by American standards.”
She returned to her chair and sank onto it in a despondent way that nipped at his heart. “Perhaps, but Geoffrey was the first man who ever proposed to me, and the first I ever considered marrying.”
“Then your decision to break your engagement makes even less sense.” Figuring out Miss Edwards was like rebuilding a shattered vase. There were pieces that didn’t make sense and some that refused to fit. “As a woman, the easiest way to secure a comfortable life is if you have a husband to support you and offer protection.”
“I’m sure that’s what you think, but perhaps—” She broke off the rush of words that formed her response and bit her lip.
Curiosity nagged him. “What were you going to say?”
“Just that…” she hesitated a moment before offering up a defeated sigh “…maybe your opinion on matrimony is somewhat archaic.”
James could feel his forehead knitting tightly together above his eyebrows. “I do not believe they differ much from anyone else’s. Except perhaps yours, it would seem.”
A knock at the door brought Hendricks into the room, saving Miss Edwards from having to comment on that remark. James made a mental note to resume this conversation later as he waited for his butler to state his business.
“My lord.” Hendricks met James’s gaze without blinking. “Betsy has just been found.”
“What wonderful news!” Relief filled James at the prospect of getting additional answers. “You must take me to her at once.”
“My lord—” Hendr
icks darted a wary look at Miss Edwards.
James understood him at once. “Please ask Mrs. Fontaine to see Miss Edwards returned to her chamber.” He turned to his guest. “I hope you can understand the need to confine you until we determine what happened last night.”
To his surprise, she did not argue as he’d expected after her confiding her radical views on the need, or rather lack thereof, for a woman to marry. Instead, she went with the housekeeper without complaint, adding to James’s instinctual conviction of her innocence.
Determined to remain objective, however, he pushed this feeling aside and followed Hendricks from the room, a little surprised when they did not head toward the servant’s quarter or bellow stairs. More so when the butler led the way outside to the stables.
Apprehension slid along James’s veins. His muscles tightened and he quickened his pace. “Why has Betsy not been brought back to the house?”
“I tried to tell you,” Hendricks said. “Betsy is—”
But James wasn’t listening. He already suspected he knew the answer to his question. It was confirmed seconds later when he entered the stable to find his head groomsman standing next to a large pile of hay. “The stable boy was fetching fresh fodder for the horses when his pitchfork struck this.”
James took a step closer and followed the groomsman’s gaze. A face had been uncovered – a familiar face with a vacant stare and a blank expression.
“Betsy.”
James cursed and closed his eyes for a second while anger tore through him. Whatever she might have been able to tell him would now go unheard.
Chapter 4
Standing by her bedroom window, Jane admired the landscape. Fields cast in shades of gold by the summer sun stretched out toward the right. On the left, a thicket of trees marked the edge of the Cloverfield woods. She’d seen it on an online map when she’d researched the area she would be visiting. In between, wildflowers bloomed like bright specks of paint scattered on a canvas.
Registering movement, Jane dropped her gaze to the graveled area leading toward the stable courtyard and saw the earl emerge at a brisk stride. His posture, she noted, was stiff, his fists clenched at either side as if in anger or agitation.
As he drew closer, his pace slowed until he came to a halt almost right beneath her window. Tilting his head sharply, he met her gaze with a grim expression that tempted Jane to turn away. She forced herself not to even as her heart started to race, for there was no denying that she’d been watching him and to pretend otherwise would be both dishonest and cowardly.
The moment passed and the earl resumed walking, disappearing from her view within seconds and leaving Jane to wonder once again what her fate might be. He hadn’t looked pleased, which did not bode well, considering how politely he’d treated her when they’d parted ways half an hour earlier. But whatever trace of joviality he’d allowed had now vanished.
Jane turned away from the view and went to sit on the edge of her bed. Shaking off the feeling of impending doom was becoming increasingly difficult. For a while this morning, she’d sensed the earl believed her innocent, even if he hadn’t believed anything else about her. But being the smart man he was and given all that had happened, she’d been a fool to presume he would not cross analyze everything she said. To tell him the truth, however, had been impossible.
She winced while reality took a firmer hold. As it was, she’d had a heck of a time avoiding modern words and phrases since telling the earl how much her situation sucked or asking him to call the police had been the natural thing to do. In hindsight, she was glad she’d caught herself and refrained. Using twentieth-century speech would only result in additional questions. But this meant making a deliberate effort to talk as though she belonged in the eighteen hundreds, which was really quite exhausting.
Obviously, the logical solution would be to say as little as possible while waiting for another thunderstorm to happen and somehow managing to be in the right place at the right time when it did. She was still pondering the logistics of this when a knock at the door, followed by the sound of a key turning the lock, brought Mrs. Fontaine into the room.
“His lordship wishes to speak with you,” the housekeeper said. Her voice was as dry as desert sand.
Jane stood and followed her to Lord Camden’s study without any further exchange. She stepped inside and remained standing close to the door until the earl dismissed Mrs. Fontaine and invited her to sit on the same chair she’d used that morning and the evening before.
“Do you still want to work here as a maid?” He asked the question while keeping his eyes firmly trained on the ledger before him.
She quickly nodded. “I will take whichever position is available, my lord.”
He raised his gaze slowly and met hers. His mouth was set in a firm line, his expression so hard it threatened to pierce her composure. “I must confess I find your willingness to do what it takes to earn an honest living admirable. Especially since I doubt you have ever done such grueling work before, contrary to what you would have me believe.”
“What evidence do you have?”
The edge of his jaw ticked. “For one thing, you are well read. You said yourself that you are an author and you enjoy Miss Austen’s works. An uneducated woman with a poor background would not have been able to make such claims.”
“My family has fallen on hard times.”
“And yet you refuse to marry your way out of this predicament.”
“You presume my fiancé was wealthy.”
Camden winced. “Of course he was. It’s common sense that he would have been since your match was not based on love.”
Jane sighed. He was wrong about Geoffrey’s financial situation, but only because he was basing his deduction on the time period he was accustomed to. As for love, she’d thought she’d found it, only to realize she’d been wrong.
“Very well. You’ve discovered the truth about me.”
“I hardly think I have even begun to do that, Miss Edwards.” He leaned back and drummed his fingers lazily on the top of his desk. “However, as long as you are not hiding from the law or from an enraged husband, you may commence work immediately.”
“Then…” She had to be clear on one thing. “You no longer suspect me of killing your sister?”
“No. You could not have done so. It would, in fact, have been impossible.”
“Why?” She was now curious to learn more.
Camden knit his brow. “Your interest in this matter is most peculiar.”
“I hardly think so.” When he continued to stare at her, she said, “There is nothing strange about wanting to know why I have been exonerated.”
He shrugged as if acknowledging this as a valid point. “Tatiana’s maid, Betsy, was found in one of the stable stalls. You were under constant watch or locked away in your bedchamber after being found on the terrace, which means you could not have been the one who killed Betsy.”
“You think she saw something and the killer ensured her silence?”
Camden nodded. “Yes. That is precisely what I think. And even if you had somehow managed to sneak out of your bedchamber and commit the act, which would have been impossible, you would not have managed to carry her over to the stables.”
“Perhaps she was killed in the stall itself.” Why she pointed this out was really beyond her since it did not help her own situation at all.
But Camden shook his head. “No. She had no purpose there. And it rained that night. The ground was muddy, yet there was not a speck of dirt on Betsy’s clothing.”
Jane took a moment to try and imagine what might have happened before saying, “So the person who did it carried her to the stall after they killed her?”
Nodding, Camden leaned back in his chair. “Which is not something you would have been able to manage.” He pierced her with a sharp look that made her pulse leap and her stomach flutter. “Unless you are unnaturally strong, that is.”
“I take it she was not petite?”
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br /> Camden’s mouth flattened. “She was slim but quite a bit taller than you. Which means she was killed by a man large enough to move her to the stables without any difficulty.”
Air whooshed from Jane’s lungs on a long exhalation of deep relief. She regarded the earl who seemed to be lost in contemplation. “Do you have any idea who the culprit might be then?”
He blinked. “No. Not yet.”
“Perhaps you should make a list of those who would have been physically capable of accomplishing the crime.”
With a quick nod, he stood and went to ring the bell-pull before returning to his desk. He had just finished retrieving a piece of paper and readying a quill when a maid arrived.
“Please ask Mrs. Fontaine to come and see me,” he said. The maid left and Camden proceeded to write, occasionally pausing to think before continuing, the scratch of the nib filling the silence that had fallen between them until the housekeeper arrived.
Camden set his quill aside and regarded the housekeeper seriously. “It has been determined that Miss Edwards is innocent of any wrongdoing, and that someone else is to blame for Lady Tatiana’s death.”
“My lord?” Mrs. Fontaine’s eyes had widened with surprise.
“You ought to know that the culprit would have had to be a man capable of carrying Betsy from the house to the stables. Until he can be found, we must remain vigilant. If you discover something suspicious or a potential clue, you will bring the information to me immediately. Is that clear?”
Mrs. Fontaine nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“In the meantime, you will take Miss Edwards here under your wing. She is in need of work, so I would like to hire her as a maid. You may give her Betsy’s room as soon as Betsy’s things have been packed away so they can be sent to her parents with our sincerest condolences.”
Mrs. Fontaine’s jaw dropped and for a few seconds all she seemed capable of doing was gaping. But then she composed herself and said, “I know it’s not my place to question you, my lord, but do you really wish to give Betsy’s position to someone else after what has happened? I mean,” she hesitated briefly before asking, “is it not a bit soon to replace her?”
The Girl Who Stepped Into The Past Page 5