An Invitation To Murder

by Leighann Dobbs

  “Ah, yes, I recall now. Would you like to come back later? I’m due down in the parlor with the other guests, but I’d love to entertain you afterward.”

  Katherine made a face but held her tongue as she continued to eavesdrop.

  “This will only take a moment, Your Grace. I know it is bold of me, but I must speak with you while my mistress is occupied. I… You see…” She brushed her cheeks. Was she crying? “If you’ll forgive my crassness, I missed my courses this month. I’ve only ever lain with you. I was curious, you see, and you have so much experience on the matter that I…” She bit her lower lip. “When my mistress discovers I’m with child, she’ll turn me out without a reference. Please, Your Grace, I beg you for a position in one of your households. I’m a hard worker…”

  Lord Somerset stepped out of his room to lay his left arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “I suppose I have a moment or two to spare. Come in, my dear, and we’ll have a word about your future. If you are carrying my child, I assure you, you will both be well taken care of.”

  As he guided the maid into the room, Katherine stared at his sleeve, which was emerald green, the color that Mr. Greaves had described. Her heart trumpeted in her ears as she forced herself to breathe evenly. This was it, the answer for which she searched.

  Somerset had motive—albeit a weak one—to exact revenge on the beautiful young debutantes who spurned the suit of a duke.

  Apparently Mrs. Burwick had been telling the truth about the ribbons. He’d had them in his room and had rid himself of them at precisely the right moment.

  He’d injured his arm between the first and second murders, which might account for the reduction of violence in the subsequent crimes. Most importantly, he matched the description given of the man who had tried to murder Miss Young only that morning.

  The latch to the door clicked, shutting Somerset in with the hapless young maid. Katherine couldn’t confront him about any of this. She needed to find Lyle and present the evidence to force Somerset’s confession. But first, she needed to check in with Annie to ask why she wasn’t down with the other guests.

  As Katherine passed Lord Somerset’s door on the way to hers, doubts wiggled into her mind. She faltered and stared at the door.

  Was he the murderer? He wouldn’t dare harm a maid in the very room the host had allotted him—it would be far too brazen, even for a duke. And he’d acted most kindly to her and seemed dutiful toward his child. Could he be the same man that would callously murder Miss Rosehill and Miss Smythe, who was presumably also bearing his child?

  Although he might have managed to overpower Miss Rosehill and Miss Young despite his injured arm, how had he managed to jump from a second-story window without injuring himself further? The man was in his seventies! She doubted he’d be able to shimmy down the trellis with that injured arm.

  He’d told Mrs. Burwick the ribbons had been left in his room, but Katherine only had Mrs. Burwick’s say-so on that. Might someone be attempting to frame him for the murders? Mrs. Burwick herself, perhaps, or even her daughter could be to blame. Katherine had never gotten a chance to search their rooms for fans that might be missing the chip of ivory. And why had Pru taken Miss Smythe’s diary?

  Something didn’t add up. Katherine bit her lip and carried on. She entered her room, which Harriet was busy straightening. The adjoining door was ajar, so after greeting her maid, Katherine peered into Annie’s room. She wasn’t there.

  Frowning, Katherine bent to greet Emma, who shamelessly begged for a rub. “Have you seen Annie?” she asked her friend.

  “Not since I sent her down to supper,” Harriet answered. “Why? Has she messed her hair again?”

  “No. She isn’t down with the guests.” As Katherine straightened, she breathed deeply and evenly.

  Don’t panic. Annie must be somewhere on the grounds.

  So must the Pink-Ribbon Killer, who had just been denied a victim earlier that day… and even though Annie wasn’t blond, perhaps the killer was getting desperate. That was, if the killer was killing simply to satisfy his urges rather than having a purpose. No matter the reason, she wasn’t about to risk Annie’s life.

  Harriet seemed to share Katherine’s alarm. She straightened from her task on the vanity, clutching a small box in her hand. “You don’t think…”

  “I’ll search the premises.”

  “I’ll help.” She moved to set down the box then frowned at it. “Where did you get this, Lady Katherine?”

  With all the excitement, she’d forgotten to return Mowbry’s snuffbox. She accepted it from her maid. “It isn’t mine. I don’t have time to return it now, not until I discover where Annie has run off to. Will you search the house? I’ll start in the garden.”

  “Of course.”

  “If you happen to see Lyle, please ask him to search as well. Perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions, but I must find Annie first.”

  They parted ways, Katherine leaving her dog with Harriet as she hurried down the main steps to the ground floor. She dashed for the nearest exit.

  Gathering her skirts, Katherine stepped outside and swiftly made her way to the garden path. If Annie was innocently outdoors, she would likely be searching for another moth. Katherine began her search at the same area of the garden where Annie had found the yellow-bellied moth—or whatever it was called—the first time around.

  As she approached the area, she heard voices. Slowing, she peeked around the nearest corner to espy the speakers. That had certainly been Annie’s voice, and she didn’t seem in the best of spirits. Was Annie in danger?

  When Katherine peeked around the corner to assess the situation, she was glad for her forethought in looking before she leaped. Lord Northbrook took a step nearer to Annie, closing the distance between them. He cupped her chin and tipped it up to meet his gaze. “Don’t be disappointed, Miss Pickering.”

  “How can I not be? That violet-banded elephant moth was such a rare find! It would have been the perfect addition to my collection. I’ve never seen one like it outside a book before.”

  A slow smile spread across Northbrook’s lips as he bent to kiss her. Annie gasped a second before his lips made contact, then she melted into his embrace.

  When he lifted his head, he said, “I know a way you can add that moth to your collection.”

  Annie seemed disoriented as she blinked up at him. “How?”

  His smile grew. “By becoming my wife.”

  Grinning to herself, Katherine bit her lip and retreated to leave them in their private moment. Somehow, her matchmaking job had worked itself aright, after all. Now, if only she could find the Pink-Ribbon Killer, all would be perfect.

  Since Annie was under Northbrook’s watchful eye, Katherine had no qualms about leaving her in the garden. The earl would ensure her safety. As Katherine strolled back to the manor to alert Harriet and Lyle that she had been successful in finding Annie, her mind was free of concerns regarding her charge. Her thoughts turned to the murders.

  Did the Duke of Somerset truly find the ribbons in his room, or had Mrs. Burwick made that up? Since he wasn’t a woman and therefore didn’t wear them, they were bound to be out of place. The only reason someone might put the ribbons where they were certain to be found would be to ensure that Somerset was arrested for the murders.

  However, Mrs. Burwick might have lied about the origin of the ribbons. She had ample motive to want to further her daughter’s marriage prospects, which was not to mention Pru continually turning up in odd locations. She searched for something in Lord Northbrook’s chambers, and she’d even stolen Miss Smythe’s diary.

  What possible motive could she have for doing so, unless she’d known that she might in some way have been mentioned in the pages? When Katherine had skimmed the diary, having precious little time with it, she had only searched for mentions of the men in Miss Smythe’s life as she attempted to discern who might have been the father of her child.

  Miss Young had said a man tried to strangle her.
Pru was no dainty flower. Could she have disguised herself as a man?

  Perhaps the ivory chip that had been found at Miss Rosehill’s murder had been dislodged from Pru’s fan as she strangled Miss Rosehill. After all, the victim was especially close with Pru, and in fact had grown distant from her for some unknown reason.

  As she turned the corner, the manor door in view, a fly separated from the shuttered lamp at the entrance to the garden. Katherine swatted at it as it buzzed around her head. Her reticule thumped against her wrist painfully. She tried to remember what she had put in there.

  Oh, yes. The snuffbox. Lest she manage to bruise herself, Katherine removed the box from her reticule. As she did, her fingertips grazed the rough edges of the lid.

  The ivory lid. She lifted it to examine it more closely. Although many of the chips were yellowed with age, one particular triangular corner showed white, bright ivory. If Katherine checked Lyle’s notebook for the shape he’d traced, she was willing to wager that it would match the box. The chip hadn’t come from a woman’s fan at all. It had been from this snuffbox.

  Her heart skipped. Mowbry was the killer, just as she’d originally suspected.

  Perhaps his claim that he didn’t care about Miss Smythe becoming pregnant with another man’s baby was not true. He would have known Katherine had read about the pregnancy in the diary and would have been compelled to make it seem like it didn’t matter lest it make her suspicious of him. Had he killed Miss Smythe when he found out? Miss Smythe and Miss Rosehill had been friends, so it was possible that Rosehill had suspected Mowbry was the killer and confronted him, at which point he killed her so she couldn’t tell anyone.

  But that didn’t explain the attempt on Miss Young.

  Maybe Mowbry decided that killing suited him. His boots matched the footprint, and Greaves mentioned that he’d been worried or looking for Mowbry that night. She wasn’t sure if Mowbry had a green jacket, but he was young and could easily jump out the window and shimmy down the trellis of Miss Young’s room.

  At the society meeting, Phil had said to get the proof and use it to cause the killer to confess, and this snuffbox was the proof.

  She clutched the box in her hand and ran back to the house. She needed to corner Mowbry and make sure he didn’t escape. He must be getting nervous, now that Lyle was on the case. And she needed to get Lyle’s notebook, to compare the chip and use that proof to gain a confession.

  Rushing inside, she ignored the narrow-eyed glances of Mrs. Fairchild and Mrs. Burwick. Lord Mowbry wasn’t in the parlor. Should she seek Lyle out first?

  She was heading toward the stairs when she spotted Mr. Greaves.

  “Lady Katherine, is something amiss?” Greaves glanced down at the snuffbox and frowned.

  Katherine tightened her fist over the box, the rough chip digging into her palm. If anyone, Mr. Greaves would know where Lord Mowbry was. “Have you seen Lord Mowbry?”

  “You seem flustered. Is there something I can help with?” Mr. Greaves crossed his arms over his chest. Was he covering for his friend?

  “It’s vital I find him at once.”

  Mr. Greaves stared at her for a few seconds then nodded. “Very well, I believe he is in the grotto.” Greaves leaned closer to her, a slight smile on his lips. “Possibly entertaining Miss Reardon.”

  Katherine’s heart jerked in her chest. Mowbry was going to kill again!

  She didn’t have time to look for Lyle. Miss Reardon could be in danger, and she was not about to let another young woman get harmed because she wasn’t there to help. She turned on her heel and ran out to the garden.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The grotto was empty. Where has Lord Mowbry taken Miss Reardon?

  She hurried along, looking in the various alcoves where she knew there were benches. Nothing.

  Had he taken her off the premises to kill her?

  The snuffbox grew heavy in her hand. She looked down at it. Why hadn’t she been convinced of Mowbry’s guilt sooner? She might have prevented this. But his pain about Miss Smythe’s death had seemed so sincere, and in her diary she’d sounded so sure that he had accepted her even in her delicate condition.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the conversation she’d had with Mowbry when she’d found him drinking, as if that might hold a clue as to where he would have taken Miss Reardon. She could have sworn the man was genuinely distraught.

  Then Mr. Greaves had come in that night. What had Mowbry called him? Monty, a nickname for the old family name of Montrose. She looked down at the snuffbox with the monogrammed “M” on it again, and everything clicked into place.

  Greaves had been in Miss Young’s room when someone had tried to suffocate her. Greaves had injured his thumb when he’d been admiring the roses in the garden. The imprint of his finger had been on the ribbon. And it had been on Miss Young’s windowsill because he had touched it as he looked out. He’d not seen another man jumping out of the window—he’d been cleverly covering for his own presence in the room.

  And, come to think of it, Greaves had fingered Lord Somerset at every turn. And confound it, he even had the same size foot as Lord Mowbry—he’d asked Mowbry if he could borrow his riding boots!

  She’d been wrong… oh so wrong. She needed to get back to the house quickly.

  But before she could turn and run, a hand crushed over her mouth and nose, stopping her in her tracks and jerking her back into the grotto.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Katherine couldn’t breathe. Her mouth tasted salty and metallic. With the man’s pinky holding her chin closed and her nose pinched closed beneath his thumb and palm, she couldn’t draw even a tendril of air. She thrashed, but his arm around her middle pinned her arms to her side. Her heels dragged along the path as he pulled her away from the lantern and deeper into the grotto.

  She refused to go quietly. Katherine struggled to kick her heels. However, they were matched in height, which didn’t leave her with a lot of room. When she stomped on his foot with all of her weight, he cursed but faltered for no more than a moment. Continuing to fight made her head swim. Her lungs ached. She needed a breath.

  If he thought her dead or unconscious, he might remove his hand. Katherine fell limp against him, fighting all her instincts, given the burning in her lungs and throat from lack of air. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Please, let this not be a mistake. Her attacker stilled a moment, wavering beneath her weight. Then, blessed be, his hand shifted as he continued to drag her.

  It took every iota of Katherine’s willpower not to gulp in air like a starving man devouring a meal. As she breathed in through her nose in shallow pants that only marginally appeased the ache in her chest, her head continued to spin. She didn’t have to pretend to fall limp; in fact, it would have been more of a challenge to hold her own weight. Her ears rang as her attacker dragged her away.

  Distantly, she heard another sound. When she opened her eyes the barest sliver, her blurred vision picked out the bob of a lantern. As the ringing started to subside, she could hear voices laughing and intimate. She recognized Annie’s tone at once.

  Find me. Help.

  The man dragged her behind the corner of the manse, out of sight, a mere heartbeat before the light would have reached them. He dropped her onto the soggy ground, moist from recent rain. As she hit, what meager breath she’d managed to draw gushed from between her lips in a grunt and an audible whoosh. No doubt he knew her to be awake after that. She opened her eyes in time for the light to illuminate her attacker’s profile.

  Mr. Greaves.

  Shakily, Katherine drew herself into a sitting position and guzzled in air. The spinning in her head lessened with every breath, allowing her to think. Unfortunately, none of her thoughts were optimistic. Her knees were as weak as watered-down wine. If she tried to run, he would be on her in an instant. She had to buy herself time to recover.

  She had to keep him talking. What better way to do that than by having him confess? What was it Phil
had advised? Katherine breathed deeply as she searched her foggy mind.

  Catch him in the act.

  Well, there was no better time than now, when he’d attacked her. After this, he wouldn’t emerge unscathed. She had him caught, to be sure, if she managed to emerge from this alive.

  To encourage him to talk, she asked, “Why? Why do this?”

  A sneer painting his mouth, he bent to pick up something she’d dropped—the snuffbox. He rubbed his thumb across it as if checking for new chips before he stuffed the box into his pocket. In its place, he pulled out a ribbon.

  Remain calm. So long as she remained calm and encouraged him to talk, she could regain enough strength to run. Lyle and Harriet searched the manor, and when they found Annie, they would search next for her. Katherine had to remain calm and buy herself more time. If it came down to a struggle, would Katherine prevail over Mr. Greaves’s strength? Perhaps at her full strength, when she didn’t shake so much. She focused on her breathing and calming her hammering heart.

  Mr. Greaves stepped forward into the shadows of the manor, out of the reach of the lantern at the entrance to the garden. His tone betrayed his disdain.

  “I hadn’t expected Miss Young to rouse, let alone scream. A seventy-year-old man hopping out a second-story window? I knew you’d see through that claim sooner or later. If you hadn’t been attached to that sodding Bow Street Runner all day, you would have gotten what you deserve that much sooner.”

  He started to crouch while he advanced, and Katherine scurried back. Her elbows and knees threatened to collapse under the strain of motion. She didn’t have the strength for a fight. She could scream now, but then she’d never get her confession, nor was she sure anyone would reach her before Greaves finished her off and ran.

  “Not that,” she bit off quickly. “I expected that. But why Miss Young? She’s barely spoken to you.”

  He must have expected a different reaction, for he rocked back on his heels. Perhaps he waited for her to beg for her life. She wouldn’t. She had more pride and fight than that.