Robyn DeHart - [Dangerous Liaisons 01]

by The Secrets of Mia Danvers

  The young constable withdrew a book and pencil and poised himself to scribe notes.

  “Let us get on with it,” Alex said. He was most eager to get the girl’s body removed from the street.

  The two inspectors exchanged looks, then Givens shook his head. “We’ve located the body, thanks to your servants. And she has, in fact, been murdered.”

  Alex nodded. He would have gone out himself to check for the body had he not been forced to listen to his mother’s latest gossip she’d picked up at the Featherton ball. Granted, the poor dead girl was more important than the rumor mill, but he hadn’t yet wanted to alert his mother to the fact that they’d had a crime committed on their property. She would discover the truth soon enough, but Alex hoped to have time to settle things with the police first so that he could dispel any untruths.

  “We believe because of the location that perhaps she worked here at Danbridge,” French said. “We need to know if you can identify her remains.”

  The detective’s words seemed to echo against the wood-paneled walls as everything came into focus. He’d already known it to be true based on what his footmen had told him. Yet hearing it officially from the police made it all the more real. A girl. Murdered. On his estate.

  “I’m afraid this is going to be all over the newspapers, Your Grace,” Inspector French said.

  “Could be quite the scandal,” one constable agreed.

  “Scandal?” Alex asked.

  “We simply don’t see these sorts of violent crimes here in Mayfair, especially on the property of a duke,” French said.

  “I’m not concerned about a scandal,” Alex explained. “I should think we’d only be worried about finding this girl’s killer.”

  That being said, Alex couldn’t deny the men were right. This was far worse than Stephen’s damned duel or any of Drew’s antics. Alex had been working tirelessly to avoid any notoriety from his brother’s misdeeds. There was a big difference between a brawl at a gaming hell or a night spent at London’s most notorious brothel and this, a murder.

  His mind raced with questions of how Miss Danvers, a woman with no sight, could have known such details of the crime. Could one gather that sort of information simply by hearing a murder take place? Alex shuddered at the thought. His questions for Miss Danvers would have to wait. Right now he had more pressing issues at hand. Namely removing the girl’s body from his land and hoping that the newshounds had not yet received whiff of the story. He wanted to tell his mother himself before she could distort the information among her gossipy friends.

  Alex stepped around the desk. “Let us get on with this then.” He led the men back outside.

  Once they were out on the front lawn, Alex motioned that he would follow them to the alleyway.

  “This way,” the constable said.

  Fingers of dawn stroked across the horizon, illuminating the rain-soaked earth with an orange glow. The clouds had dissipated and the rain dissolved. Ironically, it looked as if it were going to be a beautiful day. Even the temperature was rather mild for a January morning. Stray, damp blades of grass stuck to Alex’s leather boots as they traipsed across the yards.

  As they turned the corner and headed down the alleyway, Alex could see the scene ahead of them. The body of the girl lay in the middle of the pebbled path covered with a sheet. Alex made note of the shrubs where Mia had said she’d hidden. She had almost been home when she’d come upon the crime as they were not far from her cottage. They finally reached the body. Blood from the girl’s wounds had soaked into the ground next to her and coated some of the rocks, leaving them to shimmer in the sun like crude uncut rubies.

  Another constable stood over her body, looking anywhere but down.

  “Your grace, if you wouldn’t mind. We just need you to look at her face and tell us if you know who she is,” Givens said. He knelt by the sheet-covered body, but he didn’t remove the sheet. “My apologies, Your Grace, that this is so violent.”

  “I was a soldier, I have seen death before,” Alex said.

  The inspector nodded, then gently pulled it back to reveal the girl’s face.

  Dried drops of blood splattered her chin and cheeks and her blond hair looked tangled and matted. They had closed her eyes so she almost appeared to be sleeping, but the gash across her throat belied her serene face. There were also slices cut into her cheeks. It was a gruesome sight, much different than what he’d seen in battle. In war, death was an unfortunate circumstance; this, though, this was intentional. Violent and cruel.

  “I believe her name was Sally,” he said. Though perhaps it was Mary or Penny. He knew most of the senior servants, but there were so many staffers at Danbridge, he lost track of all of them. “She worked in my kitchen.” Of that he was certain, as she had brought him his afternoon tea these past several months.

  The constable dropped the sheet once again, covering the girl. “Thank you. That’s all we need.”

  Alex didn’t move. The girl’s face was burned into his memory. And once again he thought of Mia and the things she’d said. How she’d heard the girl plead and beg for mercy.

  “Do you have any suspects?” he heard himself ask.

  “No, but we’re assuming this was a lovers’ quarrel gone badly,” Inspector French said, his words sounding very rehearsed.

  “Indeed?” Alex said.

  “We have no reason to believe anything else,” French said.

  It was less what the man said than what he left unsaid. Everyone would want to know if this murder was connected to the string of grisly murders in Whitechapel that had come to a halt the previous November. Two months, and there had been no word from Jack the Ripper. There were rumors that he’d been caught, but no name had yet been released on who the killer had been.

  Alex arched one brow in question. “Are you certain?” he asked. “This certainly doesn’t look to be that of a lovers’ quarrel gone badly. She’s horribly brutalized,” he said.

  “Lord Carrington, I know what you’re asking and this girl was not mutilated as thoroughly as the women in Whitechapel. There’s no reason to believe it’s the same killer. Besides, this girl was no prostitute,” Givens said.

  “No, she was not,” Alex confirmed. “But you do know that everyone will believe the Ripper is back.”

  French nodded. “Yes. We are aware such conclusions will be drawn.”

  “We will keep you abreast of any new information,” Givens said. “The rest of your staff should be safe.”

  Should be.

  Alex would be sure to caution them against going out alone at night. And he would hire guards if he had to, to walk the grounds at night. No one else under his protection would succumb to such violence. He glanced back at the shrubbery hugging the stone wall—Mia’s hiding place. It was definitely thick and could have provided her enough covering especially in the dark, but it wasn’t solid by any means. Something moved in the breeze and caught his attention.

  He walked closer to the bushes and reached in to better investigate the motion. It was a piece of fabric, torn from the sleeve of Mia’s dress; he remembered the hole he’d seen there the night before. He fingered the brown wool, then pocketed it. She’d been so very close to the killer and his victim.

  So close she’d been able to hear the girl’s cries. Alex couldn’t help but wonder if the killer had seen his witness hiding in the bushes? Though certainly if he had, he’d have killed Mia, too.

  Alex was no inspector, but he wasn’t feeling overwhelmingly confident in the abilities of the Metropolitan Police at the moment. Perhaps he would do a little investigative work on the murder and see what he could discover. The rest of his staff would know if Sally even had a beau who might possibly have killed her in a lovers’ quarrel.

  It struck him that Mia Danvers was not the perfect witness for such a crime, but she was the only one he had.

  ***

  The following evening, Alex sent for Miss Danvers. A footman had gone over to her cottage to retrieve her, bu
t that had been more than a half of an hour ago. It should not be taking this long.

  Earlier that day he’d called a meeting with all of the staff of Danbridge to notify them of the incident. Then he’d spent a great deal of time visiting with those who’d known Sally personally and all had agreed that while she did have a fiancé, he would never have done anything to harm her. Everything they said confirmed his belief that the girl had not been killed in such a situation, but by a violent murderer instead. And he had questions to ask Miss Danvers regarding the details she remembered.

  He’d wanted to speak with her much earlier in the day, but he’d had to attend a soiree that evening, much to his chagrin. It all seemed foolish in light of the murder, but he’d made a previous commitment and, crime or not, he was a duke in search of a duchess. So the meeting with Miss Danvers had had to wait until he’d returned home. But now he was still waiting. He eyed his pocket watch once more, nearly forty minutes now. He exhaled slowly and watched the door to his study, waiting for it to open, for her presence to be announced. Nothing.

  Another fifteen minutes later and finally Hodges stepped inside. “Your Grace, Miss Danvers is here to see you.” He nodded, then led the girl inside the room. She entered with all the grace of a well-bred lady and one who could see perfectly.

  “That will be all, Hodges. Please have the tea warmed, then brought back. Miss Danvers will have to survive the stale tea cakes.”

  She wore another loose-fitting brown woolen dress, though this one was not missing a piece on its sleeve. His hand went to his pocket where that bit of fabric sat, though he’d changed pants earlier. He wasn’t certain why he’d continued to carry it around. Perhaps as a reminder of what he needed to do to bring justice to his servant girl.

  “I do not require refreshment, Your Grace,” she said evenly. Her long nimble fingers felt around her surroundings, first on the occasional table, then to the pair of wing-backed chairs, giving away her inability to see. She moved her way around one of the chairs, her fingers touching nearly every surface of the seat before she lowered herself into the chair.

  “I had tea brought in nearly half an hour ago,” he said. He was not used to having to wait for anyone save Her Majesty and he didn’t see her often enough to be bothered by that.

  “I was in the middle of something when your man came by to gather me. I had to finish,” she said politely, but most assuredly unapologetically.

  Alex was aware of his eyebrow rising in response to her comment, but he stopped his reaction there. He made his way to the chair opposite her and took a seat. When he did, she positioned herself so that she was facing him, as if she’d known precisely where he’d gone. But she was blind, the vacant stare in her startlingly beautiful eyes confirmed it.

  “What is it that you wish to speak to me about?” she asked. Again her hair was swept behind her in one long braid that hung down her back nearly to her waist. She still was not beautiful by societal standards, she was far too thin and her clothes left much to be desired, but she was much prettier when she wasn’t dripping rain all over his rug.

  “Last night. What you saw,” he cleared his throat, “what you witnessed,” he clarified.

  She swallowed. “So now you believe me. I take it her body has been discovered?”

  “Indeed. The police were called in as soon as her body was located. I certainly could not ignore a crime committed on my property, and had no intention of doing so.”

  “Precisely the reason I notified you,” she said. Her hands were folded properly in her lap, and she sat straight. She’d been raised right. Other than that, he didn’t know much about her.

  “If you could simply tell me the story,” he prompted again. “I should like to make some notes.” Notes he fully intended to share with Scotland Yard provided he could find an inspector who would take the crime seriously enough to actually investigate it.

  “I was walking home,” she began.

  “It was late,” he said. “Nearly midnight, if I recall.”

  “Would you like for me to tell the story?” she asked.

  Alex sat straighter and eyed the woman before him. “I don’t believe sarcasm is necessary, Miss Danvers. I am a highly regarded peer of the realm.” Granted that was a rather new situation for him, but still he deserved some deference. “I should be spoken to with utmost respect.”

  “In here are we not merely a man and a woman having a conversation? I should think that distinction would only matter in the House of Parliament.” She paused a moment as if contemplating her own words. “You said you wanted to ask me questions. If you would like to hear my story, then you must allow me to speak,” she said. She was not rude in her tone, but firm and matter-of-fact.

  Though Alex was taken aback by her forthrightness, he couldn’t deny there was a part of him that was utterly fascinated that she was brazen enough to speak to him in such a way. As an army officer, his position had demanded respect. And now as a duke, he had people practically fall all over themselves to have a simple conversation with him.

  Yet here was this woman who had no ties to Society and was, by anyone’s standards, far beneath his station, and she’d very simply put him in his place, as it were. “Very well, continue.”

  “I do realize it was late,” she said. “Later than I’m normally out, especially when alone.” She took a slow breath. “There is a statuary park that I enjoy walking in and I’m afraid I lost track of time. Rachel normally accompanies me, but as I mentioned last night, it was her day to visit her aunt so I was alone. The walk from the shops and this particular park, it’s not an overly long walk. And clearly it isn’t an issue to me if it is daylight or dark.” She smiled briefly. “Still I try to be in my cottage before nightfall simply because it is not safe for a woman to be traipsing about London in the evening alone. I do try to be careful.”

  He watched her as she spoke. He supposed that for someone not paying close enough attention, they might miss the subtle hints that revealed her blindness. For the most part, she appeared to be looking at him, though on more than one occasion she simply would close her eyes and continue talking. He knew the statuary park she mentioned, he’d been there on more than one occasion.

  “Miss Danvers, precisely what does a woman with your,” he pondered the polite way to ask the question, “limitations do in a statuary park?” he asked.

  She smiled; well, it was more of a hint of a smile. “Fair question. I have always loved art. I am an artist myself and I enjoy the solitude of the park.”

  “Late at night?” he asked.

  “It is the only form of art I can still enjoy because I can feel it, put my hands on the cold marble and touch the pieces. And time simply got away from me. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

  “Very well, please continue,” he said.

  “I had just rounded the corner to step onto Carrington property,” she continued. “I was following the stone wall with my fingertips, as is my custom. It began to rain so I was trying to stay close to the wall itself to take advantage of the small amount of protection from the weather it provided. The shrubbery, as you know, is rather thick and robust in that area so I had positioned myself in between the two. It kept me warmer and somewhat covered from the onslaught of rain.”

  She exhaled slowly. “But then I heard a sound—a woman crying, to be precise. I nearly stepped forward, out onto the stone path to see if I could be of assistance. But then I heard him.” She shuddered, then looked up as if she met Alex’s gaze. “I apologize for changing my mind, but I believe I would like some tea now.”

  He rang the bell and Hodges came in immediately as if poised just outside the door with the tray. He set down the tea service, then poured Miss Danvers a cup of tea. Alex nodded to the man and he excused himself out the double doors. Alex picked up the teacup and saucer, the delicate china clanked as he handled them. He reached forward to hand them to her. “Here.”

  Her fingers were cold when they brushed his, but their frigidness di
d little to hide the heat that flashed through him at the touch of her hand. A peculiar reaction considering she wasn’t at all the sort of woman he typically found attractive. She was far too thin, not to mention her flagrant disregard for propriety.

  She took a shaky sip, then held the cup in her lap. “Thank you.” She sat quietly a moment, as if relishing the tea and allowing the warmth of the cup to heat her hands. “Yes, well at first,” she continued, “I thought perhaps it was simply some lovers caught in the rain. I stayed still, not wanting to interrupt them or draw attention to myself. But it didn’t take long for me to realize that they were not lovers.”

  Alex wrote notes as she spoke. Perhaps when he provided the inspectors with firsthand knowledge of the words spoken between Sally and her attacker, they might move past their theory of a lovers’ quarrel.

  “He was hurting her,” Mia said. “Pulling her hair and gripping her tightly and speaking to her so vulgar it made my ears burn. She whimpered and begged him, but her pleas and fear only seemed to fuel his anger and amusement. He laughed at her, called her names.” She took another sip, then stared at the ground for several long moments. “Then he cut her.”

  Alex listened to every word she said, making notes of every detail he suspected was important. He thought back on what his mother had always said about the Danvers girl that lived on their property, and wondered why she had always believed Mia to be mad. There was nothing in her behavior that suggested she had a mental disturbance.

  “He continued his assault of her, stabbing and cutting through her clothes. I could hear the fabric tear with every movement of his knife.” Mia shook her head and Alex realized she was crying. Silent tears slid down her cheeks. “When it was all over he spat on her. Then he lit a cigarette and walked off. Whistling.”

  Alex was unsure of what to say. She had certainly been through an ordeal. No one should have to witness such a crime, not with their eyes nor their ears.

  She swiped at her tears. “I should have tried harder to stop him. Called out or . . . anything to draw his attention away from the girl,” Mia said. “But everything happened so quickly, I wasn’t able to help her.” She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to shake the disturbing image away.