“Lady Katherine!”
Tarnation! Why couldn’t everyone leave her alone?
Lady Dalhousie, dressed in a peacock-bright gown that shimmered in the light with silver embroidery, laid her hand on her prized necklace as she stepped between the pair of matchmakers and their respective clients. The gossip smiled coyly. “Was that the Marquess of Bath I saw you sitting with?”
“Along with his grandmother and Miss Verne, yes.” The last thing she wanted circulating were rumors that would feed Grandma Bath’s delusion that Katherine should marry her grandson.
“How brave of you,” Lady Dalhousie said, drawing out the statement. She stepped closer to them as others jostled their way to the perimeter of the room to mingle while the hostess called order.
Katherine felt a headache begin in her right temple, but she asked nonetheless, “Why is it brave of me to sit with a friend of my father’s?”
“Why, because of the theft, of course!”
Theft?
Mrs. Fairchild asked, “What theft?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Lady Dalhousie’s eyes gleamed with perverse pleasure as she leaned in to share the latest on-dit. “Lady Rochford was missing a ring—a family heirloom—when her body was found. Do you think the theft had something to do with her death?”
Katherine’s mind reeled with the news of the allegedly missing ring. Images of Lady Rochford’s scraped finger and bloody knuckle surfaced. The killer had taken the ring. But why?
However, before she could puzzle that out, she urgently needed to stop Lady Dalhousie from spreading rumors about the Burglar of Bath or that Lady Rochford’s death was not an accident. If the killer learned there was an investigation, they might take more care to cover their tracks.
She gazed into the crowd, searching for an ally. Pru and Annandale’s backs were turned, but at that moment, Wayland, standing with them, glanced sideways. Their gazes locked. Katherine pressed her lips together, silently pleading for his help. He had come to her aid in Bath, after all.
Despite the desperation sure to be in her gaze, he turned away.
“How do you know the ring was missing?” Mrs. Fairchild asked.
“I heard Lord Rochford demanded his wife’s belongings from the police. He claims she always wore the ring, but it was missing. I’m not sure why they were holding her belongings.” Lady Dalhousie leaned in and lowered her voice. “Perhaps they had suspicions about the circumstances around her death.”
“I thought Lady Rochford’s death was ruled a terrible accident.”
“Exactly so,” Katherine said, reinforcing Mrs. Fairchild’s words even if they were wrong. At all costs, she had to find a way to stop Lady Dalhousie from repeating her fanciful tales before she created a panic and caused the murderer to flee. Especially since—
“Do you think it might be the Burglar of Bath?” Lady Dalhousie asked, her voice not quite pitched at as low a whisper as Katherine would have preferred.
She swallowed a groan.
Lady Dalhousie, unfortunately, took the matter one step further and glanced toward the chairs. Thankfully, she lowered her voice further before she added, “You know, the name of the burglar was never announced. You don’t think it might be Lord Bath, do you? He was in both places, and I saw him following Lady Rochford upstairs mere minutes before she—”
“Och now, Lady Dalhousie,” boomed a Scottish burr. Lord Annandale insinuated himself into the conversation with more confidence than tact. He gave both Lady Dalhousie and Mrs. Fairchild a dazzling grin.
Katherine had thought he hadn’t seen her plight from his position, but he must have been wrong. Her knees weakened. At least Pru had chosen her future husband well. He knew when to come to a lady’s rescue, for instance.
Loudly, Lord Annandale proclaimed, “What’s that story yer telling? Might it be how ye found those pretty wee gems around yer throat, back in Bath?”
Lady Dalhousie flushed with color. She clasped her hand to her throat, as if to cover the necklace she never let out of her sight. “I— no, I was merely discussing the evening’s entertainments.”
Lord Annandale scoffed. Judging by the crinkle in the corners of his eyes, a sign of mirth, he didn’t believe her. “Och now, there’s little to talk about. I hear there’s a fine tale about the origin of that wee pendant. Something about the war?”
Although hot color continued to drench Lady Dalhousie’s cheeks, she welcomed the topic and offered a tentative smile. “Why yes, my lord. Haven’t you heard? This necklace once belonged to Josephine when she was empress…”
Relieved to find Lady Dalhousie so occupied, even if she couldn’t stand to hear the embellished and ever-changing tale even one more time, Katherine mouthed her gratitude at Lord Annandale. He nodded once, indicating his acceptance, and pretended to pay rapt attention to Lady Dalhousie, even though he must have heard the story as many times as she. In Bath a couple months ago, the old biddy hadn’t been shy about letting everyone know the highly unlikely tale of her distinctive necklace.
Taking the opportunity to break away from the group, Katherine checked over her shoulder to ensure that Elizabeth was still well situated with Lord Bath and his grandmother. Sometime soon, she would have to find a private moment with Mrs. Fairchild in order to explain her motives, but for now, she satisfied herself in the conversation that appeared from this distance to be flowing freely.
Then, walking along the perimeter of the room in search of Pru, Katherine mulled over Lady Dalhousie’s latest fixation. She thought Lord Bath was the murderer, a possibility that Katherine had already disproven upon discovering the reason why Lord Bath had been absent from the ballroom preceding Lady Rochford’s murder.
Katherine figured he must have lied to protect his clients. It was likely that Susanna had begged him not to tell anyone lest Katherine’s father learn of the healing waters and become worried about the pregnancy. Probably Lady Rochford felt the same way.
Now that Katherine had a moment to think, she wondered about this new development with Lady Rochford’s ring. If, indeed, that detail wasn’t a concoction of Lady Dalhousie’s penchant for dramatics, it might be another clue.
“You look worried. Has something happened?”
At Pru’s voice, Katherine glanced up. She was less than ten feet from Lord Annandale’s continued conversation, having stopped in her tracks while she thought. She had to get better control over herself, lest all her thoughts show on her face.
Fortunately, Pru was her ally, and she felt free enough to whisper, “Lady Dalhousie mentioned that Lady Rochford had been wearing a ring, but it was absent from her finger when she fell.”
“A ring?” Pru glanced around the room, studying those around them before she stepped closer and lowered her voice. She fiddled with the sleeves of her delicate muslin gown. It looked pretty on her. “Did she say what the ring looked like? Perhaps if we find it…”
Katherine pressed her lips together grimly as she completed the sentence in her head. If they located the ring, they might locate Lady Rochford’s killer. “It was a family ring that she always wore. Should be easy to get a description of. Perhaps, if I find a moment, I’ll ask her in private.”
Although if Katherine did that, she would only encourage the old biddy to continue spreading her gossip.
Pru frowned, tapping her chin. “Could it have been lost during the struggle?”
“We didn’t find it.”
“But we weren’t looking for a ring.” Pru jabbed her finger at Katherine. “Maybe Rayner picked up more than an earring that night.”
“Do you think the killer stole the ring as some sort of keepsake?”
Katherine nibbled on her lower lip as she thought. “If it were her jilted lover, he might have taken it to remember her by.”
Pru nodded. “If Lord Rochford were the killer, he would have no cause to rip it off her finger, as he would get the ring in her belongings anyway, so it seems we’re back to her lover once more.”
“Un
til we find and question Lord Conyers to learn where he was during the time of the murder, I don’t see how we can move past him to another suspect.”
At the front of the room, the hostess once more called for order as her daughters—minus the violinist—prepared to continue the performance. Katherine parted from her friend to return to her seat, but she couldn’t help but scan the room one last time as she went.
If she wanted to solve this murder, she had to find Lord Conyers and the sooner, the better.
Chapter Eighteen
Harriet squarely blocked the front doorway of Dorchester House, her arms splayed to reach from one side of the frame to the other. Upon seeing her determination, the butler muttered under his breath about finding Katherine a warmer pair of mittens and made himself scarce. The servants might be daunted by Harriet’s behavior, but Katherine certainly was not.
“I need to return to Charles Street and question Lord Conyers. If you won’t move and call for the carriage, I’ll trounce through the snow myself and pay a call to the livery. Tarnation, I’ll walk all the way to St. James’s Square if I must!”
Positioned between Katherine and Harriet with some vain hope of being let outdoors, Emma whined. The wrinkles on her face deepened as she glanced from one woman to the other. Katherine and Harriet weren’t often at odds, not the least because Katherine employed the latter.
“You’ve gone mad. First I hear you nearly walk home at night, alone, in the freezing cold—”
“When have you been talking to Wayland?” No one else could possibly have given her that information. Come to think of it, why was Captain Wayland speaking with Katherine’s servants? That couldn’t bode well at all.
As if she hadn’t heard the question, Harriet continued overtop, “And now you want to call upon a gentleman, alone, before half of London has yet arisen!”
Katherine stifled a sigh. “You’re exaggerating. It’s half seven in the morning. Anyone who works for a living will be awake.”
“Not this lord you’re bent on rousing from his bed.”
Hopefully with his mistress, Katherine thought privately. If Lord Conyers so often brought women to his townhouse on Charles Street, it was likely that he slept there as well. Which meant if she rose and called on him early enough, she might be able to confront him before he could avoid her. Again.
Not that he could have known that she would attend a musicale organized by one of his soon-to-be relatives. But he hadn’t been there, which, if Katherine had been affianced to him, she would have found highly irregular. She didn’t have a hope of being let into a gentlemen’s club, and the thought of asking Wayland to check left a sour taste in her mouth, so she had no other recourse. She would call upon him so early that he would have no option but to meet with her.
Then when she questioned him she would be able to progress this investigation, so if nothing else, her stepmother might be able to find some peace. When Katherine had returned home from the musicale last night, she had found her stepmother curled on the settee in her father’s embrace as he rubbed her stomach. At this rate, Katherine, too, feared that her stepmother might lose the baby.
With a fierce look, Harriet added, “You’ll be turned away at the doorstep and told that the lord you seek is not in residence.”
Katherine laughed. “Lord Conyers, turn away a woman? Not judging from his reputation. He’ll let me into the house, I wager.” Not that she intended to step into the house. She would insist that the lord meet her at the door himself.
Given that no one had answered the door yesterday when they’d called, Katherine thought it likely that he didn’t keep a full staff on at that particular residence. Perhaps he sent a maid over from his official residence to clean or brought a valet with him when he stayed overnight. Had there been more servants at hand, one would have answered the door.
Therefore, Katherine likely had only the valet to convince that she was one of his master’s paramours seeking a moment alone with him. It shouldn’t be too difficult, she hoped.
“No,” Harriet answered vehemently. “I will not let you step out of this house if you’re intent on seeking your grave. You’ll have to turn me out before I’ll let you through this door.”
Emma whined again, lowering herself to the floor as if to make herself smaller.
“Be reasonable,” Katherine chided.
“I am being reasonable. If you’re so bent on speaking with this lord, you should bring someone with you. For protection.”
Katherine crossed her arms. “Are you volunteering?”
Harriet’s complexion paled. “Certainly not! I’m not entering the home of a murderer, and you shouldn’t either!”
“So he’s jumped from being a suspect to a murderer, in your estimation?”
“If the possibility exists, then you must consider the worst. Or have you forgotten the Pink Ribbon Murderer?”
Katherine’s stomach lurched. That investigation had resulted in a close brush with death for Katherine. But she’d survived. She could undoubtedly survive another.
The touch of a furry head rubbing against her skirts returned her to the present. Emma craned her neck back, her ears inquisitive as she whined again.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“By staying home,” Harriet said firmly. “Or at the very least, sending a note to one of your friends to accompany you. Why not Captain Wayland? He’s seen war. He could protect you.”
“I can protect myself,” Katherine reminded her. Between her father and Lyle, she had learned enough tricks of her fists and elbows to deter an opponent, even a stronger or larger one. Her fear was getting the better of her again, and she couldn’t let it do that.
Given the way Wayland had been acting, Katherine was not about to ask him for help. He’d all but ignored her. Not that she cared, did she?
A strong rap sounded at the door behind her, three sharp taps of the knocker followed by silence. Emma looked from one to the other before she faced the door and barked with enthusiasm, tail wagging. Harriet remained still, blocking the path.
“Don’t you intend to answer the door?” Katherine asked.
“Who could be calling this early in the morning? It’s likely a footman here to leave his mistress’s card.”
Katherine raised an eyebrow as Emma’s barking almost overwhelmed Harriet’s disgruntled mutter. “You won’t know until you open the door.”
With a sigh, Harriet turned and bent to scoop up Emma. She thrust the pug into Katherine’s arms wordlessly. Fearing that Emma might barge into the street if she let her down, Katherine hoisted her pet onto her hip.
Harriet opened the door to reveal a weary-looking Lyle. “Thank goodness,” Harriet exclaimed with feeling. “You’re here.”
Lyle stood mutely, blinking at her as if he couldn’t comprehend her words. Harriet caught him by the hand and towed him into the house. Color rose in his cheeks as he stumbled through the door.
“You can talk some sense into Lady Katherine. She’s bent on finding herself the murderer’s next victim, and she won’t listen to me.”
Lyle blinked several more times, a whirl of snowflakes following him into the house along with a gust of wind. He stared down at his glove, which Harriet still held. “Oh. That’s why you’re relieved to see me.”
She dropped his hand and shoved the door closed, shutting out the frigid air. It had still intruded enough upon the house for her to hug her arms and rub them to warm herself. “Of course it is. You’re one of the few people who can talk sense into her. I’m not letting her go out alone to pay a call on a potential killer!”
“No,” Lyle said slowly, turning his gaze to Katherine as if seeing her there for the first time. “That would be unwise. Why are you planning on interviewing a suspect alone? You always have Miss Burwick with you now.”
Yes, and Katherine had best learn not to rely on having her friend near at hand. Once Pru married, she would be off to Scotland, only in town during the winter months, if then. No, Katherine h
ad to find a way to conduct her investigations without relying on Pru’s canny insight or Wayland’s unpredictable aid.
Calmly, Katherine informed them, “I hoped to interview Lord Conyers at his townhouse. If I catch him early enough, he might yet be with a… lady friend and less likely to balk when I confront him.”
“Ah.” Lyle’s cheeks flushed again. He removed his hat and gloves to camouflage the reaction.
“Tell her not to go,” Harriet insisted. She stepped forward, briskly retrieved Emma, and fiddled with the bow around her neck. Harriet must not think Katherine in danger of walking out the door if Lyle was inside, never mind that she had already dressed to go out.
“Why do you believe he will be there? No one answered yesterday when Wayland and I knocked. The house is likely empty.” Lyle tucked his gloves into his pocket then rolled the brim of his hat between his palms. “Oh, that reminds me. I’d hoped to hear what the neighbor had to say. I saw you speaking with her, but you refused to say a word when we rejoined you.” He darted his gaze to the drawing room. “Perhaps we can sit someplace warm?”
He looked as though a strong wind might bowl him over. Katherine wrinkled her nose. “Did you work through the night again?”
He nodded. “I’ve been handed another investigation. I’ve only just ended my shift, and I’d dearly love to sit down.”
After depositing Emma on the ground, Harriet helped Lyle with his coat. “I’ll see if there’s some tea ready so you don’t fall asleep while she’s convincing you to let her out of the house. I trust you won’t let her run off.” Harriet pierced him with a stern look, making the color rise in his cheeks again.
He stumbled over his tongue, which she took for an answer and turned to shut away his greatcoat and hat in the closet. Katherine ushered him into the nearest sitting room.
“What’s gotten into her?” he mumbled as he all but fell into a spindly, uncomfortable chair. He didn’t appear to notice its hardness.
Katherine shrugged. “She’s convinced that Lord Conyers is the murderer, I suspect. She won’t hear of me speaking to him.”
Murder at the Ice Ball Page 17