The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4)

by Grace Callaway

  It took visible effort for the banker to rein himself in. Clearly, money was the one topic that could rile his emotions.

  “Yes, we must be discreet in the search for the thief. Men from the stews,”—Billings straightened his lapels—“they take offense at the slightest provocation.”

  “If you think cutthroats are touchy, try accusing a dowager of theft,” Mrs. Kent said.

  “You must not offend anyone,” Billings said with finality. “You must find the necklace while maintaining an appearance of decorum.”

  “Assuming the jewelry is still here,” Violet pointed out.

  “My gut says that it is.” Kent drummed his fingers against the desk. “Working on the assumption that whoever came upon Monique saw a crime of opportunity, he or she was not prepared to take possession of a priceless piece of jewelry. No one has left the estate since we discovered Monique’s murder, and the necklace is too valuable to simply send off somewhere—the killer wouldn't risk letting it out of his or her hands. So that leaves the possibility that the necklace is hidden somewhere in the house... or on the estate.”

  Richard considered the vastness of Traverstoke. “Performing a search will be no small task.”

  “Indeed,” Kent said. “We’ll have to start with the most obvious place—the guest chambers—and fan out from there.”

  “And how do you plan to do this without the guests knowing? Because they must not suspect a thing,” Billings insisted.

  “We need a diversion,” Strathaven said.

  “Something that will get everyone off the estate.” The duchess tapped a finger against her chin. “A trip to the village, perhaps? An organized activity to draw everyone out.”

  “How about a fair?” Billings said.

  “That would work splendidly,” Her Grace said.

  The banker gave a curt nod. “Leave that to me. I’ll set it up for tomorrow.”

  “You can set up a fair in one day?” Violet said.

  “Money can move mountains, Miss Kent,” Billings said crisply. “What’s a country fair?”

  “A fair’s not a bad idea,” Strathaven acknowledged, “but we will need someone to accompany the guests and keep an eye on them. The last thing we want is for the culprit to get wind of things and slip away.”

  “I’ll speak to Jones. He can set up a perimeter around the village—yes, discreetly.” Kent forestalled their host’s predictable refrain. “Having a few constables present at the fair, on the pretense of securing goods and preventing pickpockets, will seem like nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Then I’d best go make arrangements,” the banker said.

  When the door closed behind him, Kent raked a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell, I wish I could just search the place and the people and be done with it, discretion be damned.”

  “Much as I hate to defend Billings, he might have a point. Best to act with stealth when it comes to cutthroats,” the duke drawled.

  “Aye. Although it will be no small feat to do a thorough search of this place,” Kent muttered.

  “Could the magistrate lend you some men, darling?” his wife asked.

  “Whoever he can spare. Don’t forget, he needs to surveil the village.”

  “The Blackwoods could help,” Richard said.

  “I’ll speak to them. God knows I’ll need all the help I can get.” Lines deepened around Kent’s mouth. “Moreover, we can’t all stay here tomorrow; that would rouse suspicion. We’ll need to split up, send a few of our team to the village to keep an eye on things.” He gave a sigh. “Not to mention on Polly and Primrose.”

  “I’ll go,” Violet volunteered. “They’ll be plenty of chaperones present, so the rest of you could stay here and help in the search.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Richard offered.

  Kent narrowed his eyes. The investigator might be weighed down with numerous duties, but evidently he wasn’t about to relinquish those of a protective older brother. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of you to go together,” he said stiffly.

  “Come, darling, they’re practically engaged,” his wife murmured. “And there’ll be so many others present. I’ll ask Lady Ainsworthy to chaperone; she’s a stickler for proprieties.”

  After a moment, Kent relented. “All right. But no more escapades, Violet, do you understand? You must stay with the group and Lady Ainsworthy.”

  “Of course.” Violet’s expression was as innocent as an angel’s.

  The gazes directed toward the ceiling conveyed that she fooled no one.

  A knock sounded.

  “Must be the maid. Time to get her to disclose her mistress’ true motives.” In a louder voice, Kent called, “Come in.”

  The door opened to reveal a young footman. He was alone.

  “Where is the maid?” Kent demanded.

  “That’s just it, sir. I couldn’t find her.” The footman lifted his liveried shoulders, his expression perplexed. “She wasn’t in her room, and all her things are gone.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Once again, the team split up, this time to investigate Jeanne’s disappearance. Ambrose and the men went to talk to the guards at the gates, and Violet accompanied Emma and Marianne to the servants’ wing to talk to the staff. Mrs. Hopkins, the housekeeper, had had a tray sent up to Jeanne yesterday morning; the maid who’d delivered it reported that Jeanne had told her to leave it outside the door. That was the last time anyone had heard from the Frenchwoman.

  A search of the garret room yielded no clues as to where Jeanne might have gone. She’d taken all her sparse belongings. Save for the empty tray, she might have never been there at all.

  Looking around the deserted room, Em gnawed on her lip. “Where did Jeanne go? More importantly, why would she leave so precipitously—unless she had something to hide?”

  “Surely you don’t think Jeanne was the one who killed Monique and took the necklace?” To Vi, the notion didn’t seem right. “When I spoke to Jeanne, she seemed devoted to Monique, truly distressed over her mistress’ death. She’s dedicated her life to Monique’s family.”

  “When money is involved, anything is possible,” Marianne said quietly. “And we are talking about ten thousand pounds.”

  “I cannot believe Jeanne would do such a thing,” Vi insisted.

  “All right, let’s focus on where she went for now,” Em said. “What would be the best way to leave the house undetected?”

  Vi thought about what she’d do. “Climb out through the window?”

  “Let me rephrase that: if you were a typical person who didn’t relish death-defying feats, how would you get of here?” Em amended dryly. “And Jeanne is no spring chicken, mind you.”

  “I’d take the path of least resistance and leave through the closest door,” Marianne said. “If someone asked where I was going, I’d simply make up an excuse.”

  “Good point. The closest door is this way.” Emma’s ivory skirts swished as she led the way back down the flights of stairs. Footmen and maids carrying a medley of objects dodged out of their path as they navigated through the narrow hallways into the kitchen, where Emma steered them out a side door.

  Stepping outside, Vi saw that they were at the back of the servants’ wing, out of view of the main house. Here, workers from the village were busily unloading wagons of supplies onto the graveled drive as their sturdy horses waited, ears and tails flicking. Vi’s stomach gave a rumble when one workman yanked the cover off a dairy cart, revealing neat stacks of cloth-wrapped cheese and buckets of fresh milk.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Em said.

  “That we could use some refreshment?” Because Vi was all for a snack.

  Amusement glinted in Marianne’s emerald eyes. “I think Emma is referring to the fact that we’re looking at an easy escape route from the estate.”

  Her meaning struck Violet. “You mean Jeanne hid in one of the carts?”

  “It’s a distinct possibility,” her sister-in
-law replied. “The constables at the gate aren’t looking for stowaways. They’re just keeping track of the guests.”

  “Let’s go ask the cook what deliveries came around yesterday afternoon,” Vi suggested.

  “Good thinking,” Em said.

  Vi thought so—seeing as she was hoping to grow two plants with one seed.

  Her hopes came to fruition when the kindly cook not only had information to give, but also provided her with a dish of bread and butter pudding studded with currants. Sitting on a stool at the work table, Vi dug into the treat with gusto as the cook reviewed yesterday’s schedule.

  “Now let me see,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron, “most o’ the deliveries came before noon. But the butcher was a bit late, maybe an hour or two after that—had a broken axle on the way, he said. And the greengrocer arrived soon after that, with some fine asparagus and leeks.”

  “Could you give me their addresses, please?” After recording the information, Em said, “Thank you, Cook. This will aid my brother in the search for the missing woman.”

  Hopping off the stool, Vi added, “And thank you for the most delicious bread pudding I’ve ever had.”

  The cook beamed.

  ~~~

  After supper, Richard went to the music room in search of Violet. He spotted her right away, a vibrant bloom in lavender, sitting with Wick and his cronies. Guests as well as professionals were on the program this eve, and at present, Violet’s sister, the Marchioness of Tremont, was spellbinding the audience with her rendition of a sonata by Master Beethoven.

  Despite her delicate looks, the marchioness had full command of the pianoforte. She wrung power, passion, and tenderness from the keys. Standing at the side of the room, Tremont looked on with unmistakable pride.

  When the performance came to an end, the audience erupted into applause. While the marchioness took her well-deserved bow, Richard headed toward Violet.

  Making a leg, he indicated the empty seat next to her. “Is this seat taken?”

  “Now it is. I saved it for you.”

  The warmth in her whiskey eyes gave rise to a sweet ache in his chest. It was strange that a thing as small as that gesture—her reserving a place for him—could affect him thus, but it did. He’d never had someone who looked out for him before. Someone to share madcap adventures with and passion beyond anything he’d imagined possible. A true partner.

  “Good evening, Carlisle,” his brother said from Violet’s other side.

  Wick appeared his usual dapper self, yet Richard saw the lines of tension around the other’s eyes. He wished he could ease Wick’s burdens. “How are you?”

  “As well as I can be, given the situation,” Wick said quietly.

  “Don’t worry,” Violet whispered. “My brother has everything in hand, and Carlisle and I are helping too.”

  She gave Wick’s arm a squeeze. He smiled back at her.

  Richard knew her gesture was meant to comfort his sibling, but he found he didn’t like it or the warmth of the exchange between the two. Looking at the young, fashionable pair, he felt, for an instant, like an outsider again.

  Don’t be a jealous fool, he chided himself. She’s your fiancée. She’s going to marry you.

  “What are you three whispering about?” The drawl came from Parnell, who was sitting behind them with Goggs and some other rakehells. Parnell’s aristocratic features were fixed in a mask of ennui. “If it’s gossip, do share—the juicier the better to relieve this curst dull evening.”

  “The juicier the better,” Goggs said, chortling. “Good one, Parnell.”

  “Does the gossip have to do with Madame Monique?” Parnell said.

  “Why do you ask?” Richard twisted around to face the other fully.

  Parnell’s thin brows lifted. “Because rumors are flying. Everyone knows Monique’s death wasn’t an accident. According to Miss Primrose, her papa is closing in on the murderer as we speak—with your and our own dear Violet’s assistance. So what do you have to say to that?”

  “That I’ll have to have words with Rosie,” Violet muttered.

  “Come, Vi—Miss Kent,” Parnell corrected smoothly after a warning look from Richard. “We’re your cronies, and you can trust us. So do tell: was it a lover who killed her?”

  “It’s always the lover in novels,” Goggs said with emphasis.

  Seeing Violet’s desperate look, Richard cut in. “Stop pestering her. This is murder, not some silly game.”

  “What a killjoy you are, Carlisle.” Parnell sniffed. “It’s a wonder our Violet wants anything to do with you. A case of Beauty and the Beast, to be sure.”

  A loud chord crashed through the room—a good thing because it diverted Richard from his intention to rip the lordling’s head off. As the music began, Violet placed a hand on his arm.

  “Ignore Parnell,” she whispered. “He just likes to bait.”

  With a terse nod, Richard turned to the front where Miss Wrotham was warbling about a lovelorn lass, Miss Turbett accompanying her on the pianoforte. Richard tried not to wince as the former emitted a high trill that scraped like a fork over his eardrums. At the same instant, Miss Turbett hit a discordant chord that threatened to burst said eardrums altogether.

  Even the duet from hell, however, couldn’t distract Richard from his brooding. Parnell’s remark about Beauty and the Beast had resurrected a memory: of overhearing Miss Lucinda Belton talking about him at a ball. Her voice drifted to him now, the way it had from the other side of an Oriental screen…

  “I had to say no, of course,” Lucinda said in her distinctive silvery voice, “but it was terribly awkward. He’d gone down on bended knee and seemed so surprised when I turned him down.”

  “Did he actually believe that you could love him?” Disdain colored another female voice. “You’re a Diamond of the First Water, Lucy, and he’s… well, he’s more like a lump of coal.”

  Giggling, Lucinda said, “His manners are rather… unpolished, aren’t they?”

  “Not to mention his looks,” her friend added.

  “Luckily, in this instance,” a male voice drawled, “our fair Aphrodite doesn’t have to settle for old Hephaestus…”

  “Penny for your thoughts, Carlisle?”

  Belatedly, Richard realized that the performance had ended, and Violet was asking him a question. He looked at her pretty, glowing face and hated his own self-doubt. But he couldn’t prevent the question from worming into his mind: could Violet love him?

  They’d never spoken of that emotion, and, in truth, it wasn’t one he took much stock in. Ladies, in his experience, fell in and out of love with alarming regularity. As he recalled, Audrey Keane had once professed harboring that sentiment for him. No, love could not be relied upon. The things that he and Violet shared—passion, liking, and mutual interests—those were what truly mattered... weren’t they?

  There was no way in hell he could share these jumbled thoughts with Violet. He felt foolish enough having them in the first place. Exposing his humiliating history was out of the question.

  “I’m just thinking about tomorrow,” he said quietly.

  “Me too.” Looking around the room, she said in an undertone, “Everyone is carrying on as usual. It’s difficult to imagine that somewhere in this room could lurk a murderer.”

  It was an unsettling observation, enough to dispel his other ruminations.

  As Richard surveyed the crowd, he tried to imagine any one of them being responsible for smothering Monique de Brouet and stealing the necklace. His gaze went to Wormleigh standing at the edge of the room, presently flirting with Mrs. Sumner. Nearby, Tobias Price was busy bantering with a matron of his own class. Near the stage, Ashe and Burns were hovering, readying to perform.

  Then there was Garrity in the front row. As usual, the other was dressed to the nines, but it was not the moneylender’s garb that caught Richard’s attention but who he was sitting with.

  “I know. I don’t like the looks of that either,” Vi
olet said, as if reading his mind. “Gabby’s far too nice to be entangled with the likes of him.”

  Miss Billings was staring at Garrity with a rapt expression. Rather like a mouse mesmerized by a snake, Richard thought. The moneylender’s words echoed in his head. Even a man as busy as I am must occasionally make time for diversions.

  He doubted very much that Garrity’s interest in Miss Billings was motivated by pleasure alone… unless one counted the man’s love of profit. But this wasn’t Richard’s problem. Billings was also watching his daughter and Garrity, his expression tight.

  Ashe and Burns finished to rousing applause.

  “I have a hunch that tomorrow is going to bring some surprises,” Violet whispered.

  Richard shared that portentous feeling: a storm was brewing ahead.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The next morning, the guests undertook the journey from Traverstoke to the village in a caravan of horses and carriages. Violet had chosen to ride a spirited dappled grey mare from Billings’ stable. Beside her, Richard was mounted on his magnificent Thoroughbred Aiolos, whose sleek muscles rippled beneath his gleaming chestnut coat.

  Man and mount were much alike, Vi thought admiringly. Both were noble beasts of strength and grace. Richard looked utterly at home in the saddle, his muscular body moving in synchrony with his powerful steed.

  Which reminded her of an idea that had been bobbing around in her head since their last discussion about his stables. With all that had been going on, she’d forgotten to share it with him. Now they had a moment.

  “I’ve been thinking about you and breeding,” she said.

  “Pardon?” Richard’s dark brows shot up.

  Realizing how that sounded, she flushed. “Breeding horses, I mean.”

  “Ah.” Though his craggy features remained polite, a wicked bronze spark lightened his eyes. “Too bad. I was hoping you meant something else.”

  “Stop trying to embarrass me. I’m being serious.”

  “There’s a first. All right, then. What about breeding horses?”

  “Why don’t you rebuild your stud farm and use the profits to support your estate?”