Chapter Six
The moment Pru breezed through the door of Dorchester House the next morning, her eyes gleamed. “What did Mr. Murphy have to say?” Without looking, she doffed her muff and cloak and handed both to the butler.
Katherine raised an eyebrow. “Hello to you too.” She’d been expecting Pru to stop by. When Katherine had left the monthly Society meeting the prior evening, Pru had been deep in conversation with Lady Brackley and reluctant to leave. Philomena had promised to take her home later in the evening.
After stamping her feet on the runner, thereby clearing her boots of snow, Pru followed Katherine upstairs to the library, where Katherine had been making notes on the case. A silver tea service and two overturned teacups had been placed on the round oak table that sat between two chairs. “Tea?” Katherine asked.
“Only if you’ll answer my question while you pour. I saw you speaking with him at length last night over the parchment I’d provided him.”
Katherine perched on the edge of one of the velvety maroon armchairs and indicated for Pru to take the other. As she leaned back, a yelp prompted her to jump up again. Emma peeked her head out from behind the cushion, where she’d been resting. She glared at Katherine, her nose twitching at the interruption.
“Sorry, girl. What were you doing behind there? Are you hiding from Harriet again?”
The moment Katherine patted her head, the dog’s disapproving demeanor disappeared. Her lips parted, and her pink tongue fell out one side as she raised her face, happy for the attention. Katherine plucked her out from behind the cushion and settled the dog on her lap as she met Pru’s gaze once more.
“Do tell. Did Mr. Murphy conclude the matter to be murder?” Pru’s eyes sparkled with the promise of a new case to investigate.
Katherine leaned forward and carefully overturned the teacups. Pru was so eager for information that Katherine couldn’t help but tease her by delaying the answer. “You can call him Lyle. We are all friends.”
“The only man I need to refer to by his given name is my future husband.”
“Then why do you still refer to him as Annandale?”
“Katherine.” Pru batted away a strand of her dark hair.
She refused to relent. Her lips quirked at the corners as she slowly poured the tea.
“What has you so agitated?”
“Nothing.” Pru fidgeted in her chair.
Katherine took pity. “Lyle confirmed it was murder. We’ll have an investigation to conduct, just as you’d hoped.”
Pru winced. Her teacup rattled in its saucer as she drew it onto her lap. “I didn’t mean for someone to die for my entertainment.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
Emma lifted her head upon hearing the conviction in Katherine’s voice.
Stroking her pet absently, Katherine added, “What made you think I’d believe something so heinous about you? Did someone at the meeting last night imply as much?”
“Pardon?” Pru raised her gaze from the liquid in her teacup and blinked rapidly. “No. Of course not. It was a delightful event.”
Something was clearly on Pru’s mind, but Katherine knew the other woman would tell her when the time was right.
Pru pursed her lips as she lifted her teacup halfway to her mouth. She didn’t drink. “Have you heard anything about Lord Rochford?”
As Katherine reached for her tea, she tried not to frown. “I don’t know him well. He’s of an age with Papa and doesn’t run in my social circles. Why?”
“I meant, have you heard anything about him since the death of his wife.”
Until Lyle had confirmed it was murder, Katherine hadn’t wanted to devote too much time and resources into the investigation. The upset seamstress they’d encountered yesterday was only one example of the kind of upset they would spread if they started asking questions unduly.
Given Lyle’s calculation about where her body had landed, the police were starting to look into the death as more than an accident, but still the general public was unaware of that. Once Katherine started asking uncomfortable questions, there would undoubtedly be some resistance.
“I haven’t looked into Lord Rochford yet.”
“Shouldn’t you?” Pru asked. “I heard at the meeting last night that the culprit is almost always the husband.”
Katherine frowned. “Were you discussing Lady Rochford’s investigation?”
“Of course not. Lady Brackley was discussing the research she had done. Did you know she’s writing a book?”
“She’s written one. Several, I believe, though I’ve only read the first.”
“Perhaps I’ll borrow it, if you have it handy.”
Katherine set her teacup and the saucer on the table and placed Emma on the floor. “Of course. I believe it’s right over here.”
Katherine scanned the leather spines lined up in one of the tall oak bookcases.
“Don’t you think Lord Rochford ought to be the first person we investigate?” Pru asked.
“Did you find him disingenuous in his grief the other night?” Katherine asked over her shoulder as she moved to the next case.
“He seemed inconsolable… but that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. He was at the ball, and he didn’t appear outside right away. He would have had plenty of time to throw her off then run back down to the ballroom. What if he threw her off the balcony in a fit of rage and later regretted it?”
Katherine paused, turning to look her friend in the eye. “The thought crossed my mind the other night, but that was before I knew she was pregnant. If she was carrying his heir, what possible motive could he have for killing her before the baby was born? Lord Rochford has waited a long time for an heir, so I doubt he’d take that gamble even if they did have a spat.”
“It would account for how devastated he was,” Pru countered. “Didn’t you mention she had some kind of wounds? Perhaps there was a fight.”
“A scrape on her finger. It really wasn’t much and could have happened in any number of ways. Maybe the police will find more evidence of a fight.”
A slim smirk ghosting across her face, Pru said, “What if the child wasn’t Lord Rochford’s?”
Katherine shook her head. “Let’s not accuse Lady Rochford of infidelity without proof. She was a friend of my stepmother’s. They were both trying to conceive, I’ll have you know.”
Katherine bent down to scan the lower shelves. Where had she put that darn book?
“Are we certain that Lord Rochford knew his wife was pregnant?”
That was a question Katherine hadn’t considered. Papa knew that Susanna was pregnant. Why wouldn’t Lady Rochford have told her husband? It was a moment of joy and hope that an heir was on the way. Although if Lady Rochford had as long a history of miscarriage, as Katherine’s stepmother did…
“If you were pregnant, would you tell Annandale?”
Pru’s mouth dropped open as she straightened. “Don’t be crass! Annandale and I haven’t”—she paused to swallow audibly, her cheeks coloring—“anticipated our vows.”
“I didn’t mean to offend. After the wedding, wouldn’t you want to tell your husband straight away?”
“I’d rather not answer that question,” Pru answered, but dimples formed in her chin as she frowned.
Katherine abandoned her search for the book and turned to her friend. “Is something wrong?” She held Pru’s gaze until the other woman’s shoulders bowed in defeat.
“Annandale is due to arrive back in town this evening.”
Katherine smiled. “That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“What if he’s forgotten me?”
“He’s sent you letters every week.”
Pru shrugged, not meeting Katherine’s gaze. “Perhaps he has, but what if he’s romanticized our connection and forgotten the reality?”
“What do you mean?”
“He might remember me prettier and be disappointed when he sees me again.”
Katherine nearly laughed, bu
t the look on Pru’s face told her that her friend was serious in her fear.
“Do you remember him handsomer than he is? Will you be disappointed when he comes back from Scotland with ice crystals in his beard?”
Lord Annandale, not one to follow the fashions of High Society and a bit wild at heart, as he’d confessed once to Katherine, wore a beard that he kept meticulously groomed, along with his auburn hair. If that hadn’t repelled Pru, Katherine didn’t know why her friend would assume that an unflattering dress or the way she styled her hair would move her fiancé to reconsider.
Aha! Katherine spotted the book on the bottom shelf, pulled it out, and returned to her chair.
“Of course not.” Pru accepted the book from Katherine with a nod. “But he’s devastatingly handsome, and you know it. Women would line up for miles for the chance to marry him.”
“Because of his title and wealth,” Katherine reminded her. “You are the woman he’s shown his heart to. That makes you far more dear to him than some diamond of the first water.”
Pru’s mouth curved in a wry expression. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me I’m a diamond of the first water?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
Pru chuckled. “No.” After a beat, she added, “With your taste in dresses, I have to wonder that you aren’t blind.”
“You’re worried for nothing,” Katherine assured her friend. “Lord Annandale will be delighted to be reunited with his bride-to-be. It is long overdue.”
Pru looked down again at Emma, who panted happily at her feet. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I know I am,” Katherine answered with conviction. They exchanged a smile.
A sharp, relieved exhalation echoed from the doorway, making both women jump. Katherine turned to find Harriet there, her cheeks flushed, looking out of breath. She pointed a finger at Katherine.
Emma squeaked and dove beneath the table. She had been hiding from Harriet, after all. Katherine had wondered why Emma hadn’t been wearing the ribbon Harriet liked to tie around her collar in a bow.
“You’ve returned,” Katherine announced.
“Was Harriet away?” Pru asked.
Katherine nodded. “I sent her to Dalhousie Manor now that we know for certain Lady Rochford’s death was murder. What did you discover?”
Harriet, braced against the doorframe as she caught her breath, held up her hand. “You said you would wait for me in the parlor. I ran all over the house, looking for you.”
“My apologies. I was distracted. Your findings? Did any of the Dalhousie servants happen to see something?”
Harriet nodded. She took another gulp of air before answering, “They did. Knowing you, you’ll want to speak with them yourself. I’d advise changing your dress.”
Pru smirked. “That’s good advice for Katherine on any day.”
Ignoring her, Harriet waved her hand. “You too, Miss Burwick. You’ll both want to wear something plainer, less conspicuous, or the servants will know you for high women in an instant.”
“Me?” Pru pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t even have a lady’s maid.”
“You are going to be a marchioness,” Katherine reminded her. “You’re as lofty as I am in the eyes of the working class now.” She winked. “Very well, Harriet, but we may have to borrow something.”
Harriet looked at the pair and sighed. “I don’t have anything nearly long enough to fit the two of you. Come, let’s see what you have, Lady Katherine. Perhaps you have something that will do.”
Katherine’s ankles were cold. Her thin stockings were no barrier against the winter chill even with the scuffed ankle-high boots Harriet had lobbied one of the maids to allow Katherine to borrow. The dress Harriet had found for her was tight across the hips and loose across the bosom, the opposite of how these placket-front dresses were supposed to fit.
A dowdy brown, the sort of color she should consider investing in, for it would certainly ward away male attention, the dress ended at mid-calf. Coupled with a borrowed shift that reached no further, the outfit was as warm as the Arctic. Even though she’d insisted on a long cloak to cover her exposed legs, the walk from Dorchester House to Dalhousie Manor, ten minutes away, had chilled her to the bone. Harriet had insisted that, posing as they were as servants, they could not take the Dorchester carriage.
Pru looked no more pleased, clad in a threadbare black cloak and a dress that might once have been green but had yellowed with far too many washes. Hers, at least, fell properly from the empire waist just beneath her breasts, though it, too, fell short of the tops of her boots.
“I don’t see why this is necessary,” Pru grumbled as they stamped their feet while waiting for someone to answer Harriet’s knock on the servants’ door. The servants’ entrance was located around the side of the house where, if Katherine squinted, she could see the vague shapes of the ice sculptures still standing in the garden out back. The gravel walk was covered in a fresh layer of ice. Unlike with the front steps, this walk hadn’t been freely salted to discourage falling. Katherine clung to Pru for balance.
“I already told you,” Harriet answered over her shoulder. “The women would find speaking to an earl’s daughter too intimidating. They’d never think she would believe their tale over that of a peer. Even if one of the servants would recognize your faces, they will never make the connection to who you really are in these clothes.”
“We could have left Katherine at home.”
Katherine straightened and tugged her arm away. “This is my investigation too, or had you forgotten?”
Pru merely shrugged, unconcerned and clearly uncomfortable.
Thankfully, the door was soon opened by a short, mousy woman who blinked often. “Harriet,” she greeted, her voice as timid as her demeanor. “Are these the friends you spoke of?”
“Yes. Thank you for waiting for me, Peggy. We won’t keep you from your duties long.”
Peggy stepped aside, glancing nervously over her shoulder as she waited for the trio to enter Lady Dalhousie’s manor. Once they did, she shut the door and announced, “Not here. We have too great a chance of being found out. Come upstairs.”
Peggy led them up four flights of stairs and down a narrow corridor past a line of closed doors to a tiny room with a window no wider than Katherine’s forearm. It was set into the slanted wall, gazing out into the sky dappled with clouds. The bed, neatly made, held the maid’s nightgown, neatly folded on the white linen. Aside from the bed, there was little space to sit. In fact, once the door was shut, there was scarcely any place to stand. A short, narrow chest of drawers and a nightstand were the only other furnishings.
Peggy indicated for Harriet to take the bed. When she declined, Peggy perched on the edge herself. She paid no attention to Pru or Katherine.
Harriet stepped closer to the maid. “It’s all right, Peggy. Tell them what you told me. Tell them what you saw the night Lady Rochford died.”
Instead of answering, the maid looked down at her hands. She wrung her skirts and worried her lower lip. “It might have been nothing. Thoroughly unconnected.”
“Peggy.” Harriet put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Please. It might be useful.”
After a few more rapid flutters of her eyelashes, Peggy looked at no one in particular and confessed, “I went up to fetch more candles for the ballroom, as we were running low, and her ladyship wouldn’t much like it if her ballroom was doused in shadows.”
Katherine exchanged a glance with Pru as she chose her words carefully. “Is that unusual?”
“Oh, no.” Peggy shook her head. Strands of her hair clung to the side of her mouth. She didn’t appear to notice.
The fact that she was so consumed by her own thoughts likely played in Katherine’s favor. The housemaid glanced at the floor so often, it was a wonder she hadn’t yet noticed that Katherine and Pru’s dresses didn’t quite fit.
After a moment spent clenching her fists tight in her skirts, Peggy continued, “But on
my way to fetch the candlesticks, I spotted Lady Rochford’s driver on the third floor of the house, in the same wing as she—” The maid shook her head, her cheeks draining of color. “He had no right to be there, but he’s known for chasing the maids, so I gave him a wide berth and let him be. What if I…” Her eyelashes fluttered again, and Katherine saw a glint of what she thought was moisture.
“You did nothing wrong,” she assured the distraught woman. “Even if Lady Rochford’s driver had some hand in the murder—and that is by no means guaranteed—what do you think he would have done to a woman who got in his way? You did right.”
“Even better by telling us,” Pru added.
“How close was this to the time when Lady Rochford went over the balcony?”
Peggy worried her lip again. “I don’t remember. I’m terribly sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Harriet comforted. She patted the woman’s shoulder again. “Take a moment and breathe. It’ll come to you.”
“Try not to think of the fall,” Katherine advised. “You said you were going up to fetch candles. Lady Rochford hadn’t fallen at that point, had she?”
“Dear Heavens, no.” Peggy pressed a hand to her chest. “I remember when she did. I heard the scream.”
“And where were you at that time?”
She blinked hard. “Upstairs, with an armful of candles. I dropped them and came running at the sound.”
“Is that when you encountered Lady Rochford’s driver?”
“No, that was on the way up. I didn’t see anyone when I came down again. Except…”
When she paused, Katherine took a small step forward. She tried her best to look approachable. “Except for who?”
“No one… inside. But as I passed a window, I saw a figure exiting the servants’ entrance, the one by which you entered.”
“Did you recognize the person?”
Peggy shook her head. “I’m afraid not. It was too dark, and they had the hood of their cloak up. I think it was a woman—the cloak looked feminine. Black, but it had an ermine fur trim around the hood and hem. It wasn’t the cloak of a serving girl.”
Murder at the Ice Ball Page 5