The sergeant frowned. “This is the first I’m hearing about the viscount being unwell.” He focused on Julia again. “My lady?”
“Yes, well, that’s true. My husband has been a bit under the weather of late. As his sister says, his lungs have been plaguing him. But it’s nothing serious. Not consumption or anything like that. His physician would have said.”
Phoebe had a moment of doubt as to the truth of Julia’s claim. Just yesterday she had referred to the fact that she would long outlive him. Given the near forty years’ difference in their ages, that seemed given, but Phoebe had gotten the impression that Julia believed Gil wouldn’t live many more years. Had his doctor issued a warning no one else knew about?
But even if that were true, Gil’s health could have nothing to do with his disappearance today—unless he’d gone into Cowes, without informing anyone, to see a doctor. And that seemed unlikely.
A constable came to stand in the doorway, gesturing for the sergeant’s attention. “We just had a shore-to-ship communication, Sergeant. Lord Annondale’s been found.”
“Thank heavens for that.” Julia came eagerly to her feet. “Where is he?”
“He was found drifting against the pilings of the main pier at the Royal Yacht Squadron, my lady. Drowned.”
CHAPTER 6
“Eva, I’m frightened.” Phoebe sat with Eva on the hotel terrace overlooking Queen’s Road and the strip of beach on the other side. Amelia and Grams had gone indoors, and only a scattering of people inhabited the other tables. Phoebe felt able to speak freely again.
“We don’t know that there is anything to be frightened of,” Eva reminded her, not for the first time since their trip to the Georgiana that morning.
The breeze off the water stirred the brim of Phoebe’s sun hat and ruffled the hem of her frock. The sun had warmed since earlier, but Phoebe shivered nonetheless. “Julia is practically under house arrest here, and Sergeant Davis has turned the investigation over to his superior, Detective Inspector Lewis.”
“Surely that’s a good thing, my lady. He’s more experienced in these matters than the sergeant. He’ll get to the bottom of what happened, and all suspicion will be lifted from your sister.”
“That’s just it, Eva. Had they called in Scotland Yard, I’d be feeling a good deal more optimistic. The fact that they didn’t tells me they’re fairly certain of their suspect.”
“Oh dear. I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Her finger traced the pattern in the wrought-iron table. “I could try ringing Miles.” Eva spoke of her gentleman friend, Constable Miles Brannock, who kept the peace at home in Little Barlow. Phoebe shook her head.
“I don’t see how he could help. Cowes is far out of his jurisdiction.”
“He might be able to advise us.”
“What we need is a good solicitor.”
“I hope not, my lady. Besides, despite the viscount’s sailing experience, it’s still possible he fell overboard accidentally.” She seemed about to add something more, but her mouth closed suddenly.
Arm in arm, Julia and Grampapa stepped out onto the terrace. Julia had changed into a black frock, visible beneath her open overcoat, and a black felt hat with a narrow brim. She wore a glove over her uninjured hand. The other she hid in her coat pocket but just then slid it free to swipe at a strand of hair that had blown across her face. That hand was as white as the bandage encircling it. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, not from crying, Phoebe discerned, but from fatigue. No wonder, considering how little sleep she had gotten last night.
Phoebe stole the opportunity to study her grandfather’s features. He had come to Cowes already looking strained. Now he seemed downright exhausted. Phoebe’s heart ached with worry for him.
He spotted her sitting at the table, and she immediately schooled her features. With a small smile, she beckoned them over.
Eva came to her feet. “Lord Wroxly, Lady Annondale.” “Never mind the formalities, Eva,” Julia said with a wave.
Still, Eva remained on her feet until Grampapa said, “Please do sit, Eva. My girls need you here. Where is Amelia?”
“She’s inside with Grams,” Phoebe told him. “Didn’t you see them?”
“We came from upstairs.” Julia shrugged and sat down across from Phoebe. “Perhaps they went into the restaurant.”
Grampapa sank heavily into the chair Eva held for him before she resumed her own seat. “Amelia is too young for all of this,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “Yes, I quite well remember what happened at Haverleigh last year, and how well she held up. That doesn’t mean the child should relive that kind of dreadful event all over again.”
Amelia currently attended the Haverleigh School for Young Ladies. Phoebe, Julia, and even Grams had attended. Eva, too, had been admitted on scholarship but hadn’t been able to complete her studies. They were all Haverleigh girls, which made a death—a murder—there last spring especially distressing for them.
“And certainly your brother must be shielded from the unpleasantness,” Grampapa went on. “I left him with Sir Hugh in the library. They were pouring over a couple of atlases.”
Phoebe thought to question whether this was a good idea, seeing that anyone on board the Georgiana last night could have been responsible for Gil’s death, including Hugh Fitzallen. Then again, anyone might have rowed out to the vessel from Cowes, under cover of darkness, and confronted Gil on deck. She decided to hold her tongue. After all, Fox and Sir Hugh were in a public place.
“Is the detective inspector still here?” she asked instead.
“He has set up here for questioning,” Julia explained. “Said it would be easier to conduct this part of his investigation here, where most of our wedding guests are staying. The crew is still aboard the Georgiana. Apparently, Sergeant Davis is still there questioning them.” She stared down at the table, then raised her head with a mirthless laugh. “Our wedding guests. Married and widowed in less than twenty-four hours. Who’d have thought it possible?”
“Julia . . . ,” Phoebe whispered but had no words to add.
Grampapa slid his arm around Julia and pulled her toward him to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m very sorry, my dear.”
“I know you are, darling Grampapa. I am, too. I’m sorry for Gil.” She lowered her gaze, and when she looked up again, Phoebe was shocked to see tears glittering on her lashes. “It’s my fault.”
“You mustn’t say that, my dear.” Grampapa was quick to chide her, albeit gently.
“Why not? Because someone might hear me and think I’m confessing to sending him to a watery grave?” When she paused, Phoebe feared she might attest to the fact that Detective Inspector Lewis thought exactly that. It would only upset their grandfather and put further strain on his heart. She nearly breathed an audible sigh of relief when Julia took a different tack. “If I hadn’t come to Cowes last night, after we argued, he would most likely be alive right now.”
“You argued? You came to Cowes last night?” This news obviously perplexed Grampapa.
Julia patted his forearm. “We had a spat, and yes, I came to see Eva and my sisters. I needed someone to tell me everything would be all right. And it worked. I went back to the Georgiana, but Gil wasn’t in our stateroom. It’s such a large boat, though, that I didn’t go looking for him. I assumed he’d return soon enough and was determined to stay awake until he did, but I fell asleep. When I awoke this morning . . . well.”
Grampapa looked satisfied. “Then I don’t see how you could possibly be to blame, Julia.”
She drew a breath, evidently steeling herself to go on. “Gil obviously did return to our stateroom while I was here last night. He readied himself for bed but, for some reason, went back out on deck. Don’t you see? If I hadn’t left the Georgiana, I’d have been where I was supposed to be, in our stateroom, and Gil and I would have made up and gone to sleep. He’d still be . . .”
Grampapa was shaking his head, his expression stern. “You cannot know that. Gil might ha
ve gone out on deck again no matter where you were. His going overboard had nothing to do with you. Nothing whatsoever.”
He ended on a loud, emphatic note, and Phoebe became aware of a sudden silence around them. Conversations had ceased, and the occupants of the other tables craned their necks for a view of Julia. Then the whispers began.
“Isn’t that her?”
“It is. That’s Julia Renshaw.”
Julia turned her head at the sound of her name. Her color rose; her nose became pinched with tension.
“Julia Townsend, you mean,” someone else said.
Phoebe pushed to her feet. “Let’s go inside.”
The whispers cut short as Julia, Grampapa, and Eva came to their feet. Grampapa returned their gazes with one of rebuke and put his arm around Julia again. “Never mind them, dearest. They’ve nothing else to occupy their small minds.”
They were on their way inside when an individual came out, saw them, and halted abruptly. Dressed in a plain brown wool coat and matching hat, the young woman looked familiar to Phoebe, yet she couldn’t recall where she had encountered her previously. She noticed Julia frowning at the woman, too, perhaps also with a sense of recognition. Grampapa started them walking again and stepped around the woman, but Eva pulled up sharp.
“I’ll come in presently,” she said, and Phoebe nodded, trusting Eva to deal with whatever the matter might be and report back to her. Before the door into the hotel closed behind her, she heard Eva’s angry murmur.
“What are you doing here?”
* * *
Before the waitress had a chance to answer the question, Eva grasped her by the forearm and drew her to the edge of the terrace, away from the occupied tables.
“How dare you?” the young woman protested. “You can’t just tug me along like this. Who do you think you are?”
Eva came to a halt and dropped the woman’s arm. “I am Lady Annondale’s former maid and her friend. I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”
“I was asked to come by that detective fellow.”
“Detective Inspector Lewis?”
“That’s the one. He telephoned over to the Yacht Squadron, and my supervisor said I had to come talk to him here.”
Eva studied her features and didn’t like what she saw. This young woman seemed all too happy to be included in a police investigation, just as she had been all too happy to hover upstairs at the clubhouse yesterday and listen in on the Renshaw sisters’ conversation.
“And have you spoken to him yet?”
“For a few minutes, yeah. Then someone came in and whispered in his ear, and he told me to wait out here, that he might have a few more questions.”
Eva darted a gaze at the other hotel guests, some of whom stared outright, while others pretended not to be listening in but nonetheless darted looks in her direction. She once more guided the waitress away, this time down the steps that led to the road below.
“I was told to wait on the terrace,” she objected.
“We won’t go far.” With a hand at her elbow, Eva started them walking along the pavement. A motorcar whizzed by. Beyond, waves shattered on the beach into glittering droplets. “What is your name?”
“Marie. Marie Tansley. Why?”
“Because I like to know whom I’m speaking to, that’s why, Miss Tansley.” If Eva borrowed a bit of her authoritative tone from the Countess of Wroxly herself, she could hardly be faulted. It was the countess’s granddaughter she sought to protect. “Now, what have you told Mr. Lewis so far?”
A frown flickered across the woman’s brow. “I don’t think I should say. This is official police business, after all.”
“Anything that concerns the Renshaw sisters is very much my business, Miss Tansley, and I take it quite seriously, not to mention personally. You deliberately eavesdropped on my ladies yesterday—”
“I did no such thing. I delivered refreshments—”
“And after setting down the tray, you lingered to hear their personal conversation.” Eva didn’t have to be in the room at the time to infer this correctly. She had seen the details in the sisters’ faces: Phoebe’s frustrations, Amelia’s tears, Julia’s stubborn resolve. They had argued about Gil, about Julia’s reasons for agreeing to marry him. And all the while there had been Miss Tansley, her eyes lit by the excitement of having stumbled upon something beyond her mundane routine.
“Can I help it if those ladies yapped in my presence?”
“My guess is they didn’t know you were there.”
“They might have glanced behind them. It’s not like I was hiding.”
Eva stepped closer, practically toe to toe. “What did you tell the inspector?”
“I told him the truth.” Her chin came up defiantly. “I told him just what I overheard.”
“Which is?”
Miss Tansley’s chin remained tilted as a veil of shrewdness descended over her features. She smiled in a way that made Eva want to smack the expression from her face. “ ‘He’ll be gone soon enough,’ Lady Annondale said to her sisters, ‘and then I may do as I please.’ ” She leaned closer to Eva, like one gossip imparting a particularly tasty morsel to another. “And then her sister, the younger, prettier one, said, ‘You think Gil will die soon and then you can marry Theo and be happy.’ ”
With that, Marie Tansley turned about and climbed the steps to the terrace. The blood drained from Eva’s face, leaving her feeling faint.
CHAPTER 7
Amelia clung to Phoebe’s hand as they followed Detective Inspector Lewis into a small office at the rear of the hotel. Phoebe guessed the detective to be somewhere in his late thirties, with dark hair silvering at the temples, cool gray eyes, and features one might call chiseled. He might have been handsome, she thought, if not for his habit of narrowing his steely eyes, as if boring his scrutiny clean through his quarry.
Phoebe felt like quarry at the moment, and she knew Amelia would give her favorite Kestner bisque doll, her prized childhood possession, to be anywhere else in the world. But obediently they entered the room after the inspector, and after Amelia reluctantly released Phoebe’s hand, each took one of the seats toward which he gestured. He sat in the chair behind the desk, leaned forward, and tented his hands beneath the square line of his chin.
“Now then, my ladies, I’d like you to tell me about a certain conversation you had with your sister, Lady Annondale, just prior to her wedding to Lord Annondale.”
Phoebe and Amelia exchanged a glance before staring back at him.
“Well?” His features remained steady; his expression implacable.
Phoebe cleared her throat, though she immediately wished she hadn’t, for it only produced a tickle that made her cough.
There being no water handy, the inspector waited for her to recover. Then he repeated his prompt of “Well?”
“Which conversation would that be?” Phoebe knew very well which one he referred to but wouldn’t divulge a single detail until—unless—specifically pressed.
“We had many conversations, sir,” Amelia said with such wide-eyed innocence, Phoebe couldn’t tell if she was serious or deliberately playing ignorant.
Detective Inspector Lewis drew in a breath and let it out slowly, a sound that put Phoebe’s nerves on edge. This was not the first time she had been questioned by an officer of the law. Last summer at Cousin Regina’s house, High Head Lodge, Chief Inspector Isaac Perkins had treated her like a prime suspect. She had felt the room closing in around her, like a noose cutting off her oxygen. She felt that way now, except she didn’t fear for herself. She feared for Julia, her grandparents, and the future of their family.
She realized Amelia had gone on speaking. “Most of what we said had to do with how beautiful Julia looked in her wedding gown. Oh, she was splendid, and the lace in her veil rivaled the lace in Queen Victoria’s wedding gown, designed by the very same man, actually. William Dyce. Have you heard of him? The veil had been our great-grandmother’s, and I must say it m
atched the ivory of her gown perfectly. Of course, Julia always looks wonderful. She’s the prettiest of us Renshaw girls. Phoebe, of course, is the smartest, and . . .”
“Ahem.” Detective Inspector Lewis looked not only unimpressed but also utterly annoyed. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Apparently, the three of you were left alone in the room, except for a waitress who came to bring tea or some such.”
Phoebe’s stomach sank to her toes. “Was there a waitress? I don’t remember.”
“Nor do I.” Amelia folded her hands primly in her lap.
“I see neither of you is in a mood to cooperate, and that makes me ponder the reason why.” The inspector rubbed his chin slowly with the back of his hand. “I would have preferred to speak to you separately. It was only out of deference to your grandparents’ wishes that I agreed to see you together. Your grandmother in particular insisted. I don’t mind admitting she rather frightens me a little, the countess does.”
“Grams can have that effect on people,” Amelia supplied eagerly, as if to commiserate with the man.
“Yes, well, let me tell you, if you don’t start answering my questions right now and with a modicum of candor, I’ll separate the two of you, and then we’ll see what you each have to say.”
Amelia stiffened against the back of her chair and reached out for Phoebe’s hand. She even inched her chair sideways, the scraping of its legs loud on the hardwood floor. Phoebe grasped her sister’s hand and returned the inspector’s adamant gaze with one of her own.
“You needn’t threaten us, Inspector Lewis. What do you wish to know?”
His nostrils flared, and his lips pursed. “What did you discuss with your sister after your maid and your grandmother left the three of you alone in the room on the second floor of the Royal Yacht Squadron clubhouse? Is that specific enough for you to be able to form a reply, Lady Phoebe?” A dark eyebrow went up in question.
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