A Murderous Marriage

by Alyssa Maxwell

  Lady Phoebe shot her a reproving look. “I don’t know that we have to consider anyone, Amellie. But whom do you mean?”

  Amelia compressed her lips, hesitated, and said, “Theo.”

  “That’s crazy.” Phoebe waved a dismissive hand.

  “He was here, Phoebe. At the wedding.”

  “But then he left,” Eva said, “before the reception even started.”

  “Did he? How do we know for certain?” Amelia appealed to them both. “I don’t like to think it. I like Theo. Very much. But mustn’t we consider him?”

  Lady Phoebe went so entirely white, Eva became alarmed. She said, “No, we mustn’t consider it. Lord Allerton might have been at the wedding, but I don’t believe for a moment he had anything to do with Lord Annondale’s demise. Nor did your sister.”

  “But . . .” Phoebe trailed off and reached for Amelia’s hand. “You said it, Amellie. You said Julia was marrying Gil for Theo, so that when Gil died, Julia and Theo would be free to marry.”

  Lady Amelia’s eyes misted. “I didn’t mean it. I wish I hadn’t brought up Theo’s name. I wish to take it back.”

  “Both of you, calm down, please.” Eva spoke with more authority than she normally dared with her employers. “I spoke to Lord Allerton after the wedding, and all he wanted was to be assured of your sister’s happiness.”

  “How could you assure him of that when it was so obvious Julia wasn’t happy?” Amelia demanded.

  Eva decided on a different tack. “It should be easy enough to discover if Lord Allerton returned home yesterday. I’ll simply ring Miles and ask him to check.”

  “What if he didn’t go straight home?” Amelia’s worries were etched across her youthful brow. “What if he went somewhere else, and we can’t prove he didn’t stay in Cowes?”

  “Eva’s right,” Lady Phoebe said decisively and sat up taller. “Theo didn’t do this, and Julia is innocent, too. We’re letting our fears guide us. Circumstances call for logic and cool heads, and the assumption that both Julia and Theo are innocent. We must believe it and never waver from that belief. Now then, Eva, let’s set our plans in motion.”

  Lady Amelia slid off her bed. “What do I do?”

  “Behave yourself,” her sister said, then relented. “All right. You can hang about the lobby, dining room, and terrace as much as possible, and keep your ears open.”

  “That’s all?” Lady Amelia looked dejected, but Eva thought she knew how to remedy that.

  “What your sister is asking is important,” she said. “People say all kinds of things to each other when they believe those around them aren’t paying attention. Besides, if your grandparents knew your sister and I had discussed such matters in your hearing, I’d be sacked immediately.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Phoebe couldn’t believe her good luck upon entering the lift. Miss Blair already occupied the car and was on her way down to the lobby. She held a coat, suggesting an intention to leave the hotel. They traded polite greetings, and Phoebe expressed her sympathy for the passing of Viscount Annondale. The woman accepted her condolences with a cold thank-you and a tilt of her head. They fell silent, and Phoebe’s ire grew with each instant the woman failed to inquire after Julia, who was, technically, still her employer. She groped for a way to continue the conversation, and then an idea came to her.

  In the lobby Miss Blair headed for the street door. Phoebe called her name. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you, unless you’re in a hurry.”

  The raven-haired woman eyed her curiously. After an initial hesitation, she came back in Phoebe’s direction. “Yes? I have a few moments I can spare.”

  Phoebe nearly chuckled at Miss Blair’s haughty tone, one she was not accustomed to hearing from anyone but perhaps her grandmother. “Would you care to sit in the conservatory with me? I’d suggest the terrace, but I don’t have a coat with me.”

  “Of course.” Without another word, Gil’s secretary led the way, another potential slight to Phoebe, were she the sort to put importance on the deference due her station. Julia, she could well imagine, would not have endured the woman’s impertinence. When they reached the conservatory, a room of bright windows, tiled flooring, and airy furnishings, Miss Blair strode to an unoccupied corner and sat in a wicker chair without waiting for Phoebe to seat herself. She leaned slightly forward, as if impatient to hurry matters along. “What may I do for you, Lady Phoebe?”

  Inwardly, Phoebe flinched yet again that Miss Blair expressed no concern for Julia, or for the Renshaw family. While the woman’s arrogance didn’t have the power to unsettle Phoebe, this lack of compassion and consideration took her aback and angered her. She swallowed the emotions and said, “In view of circumstances, I’m wondering what you plan to do once we are permitted to leave Cowes.”

  Furrows grew between the woman’s bold black eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand why that should concern you.”

  Again, she suppressed the urge to either laugh or chastise the woman. “What I’m getting at is . . . Will you be seeking new employment? And if so, I might be able to help with that.”

  “I see.” The woman’s expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts.

  “Although, with Mr. Shelton poised to inherit the title and the estate, I suppose you might stay on in his employ.”

  Miss Blair’s gaze sharpened, and Phoebe knew she had guessed correctly. Judging by their brief encounter in the Georgiana’s dining room yesterday, after Mr. Shelton’s accident, she had concluded Miss Blair and Mr. Shelton didn’t share any particular regard for each other.

  Miss Blair cleared her throat quietly. “You know of someone looking for a private secretary?”

  “Indeed yes. My family. We might be interested in hiring your services.”

  “To what end?”

  With a sigh, Phoebe sat back. Clearly, Miss Blair required frank speaking rather than the subtle inferences Phoebe was accustomed to employing in polite society. “Foxwood Hall could use a good secretary.”

  This much was true, actually. Mr. Giles, the butler who had been at the Hall for decades, used to run the estate like clockwork, with nary an activity off schedule or an item of linen out of place. In recent years, however, age had rendered the dear man somewhat less than efficient. The head footman, Vernon, helped fill the void, while still allowing Mr. Giles to retain his position, but in truth a capable steward would take the pressure off the staff in the day-to-day running of the household.

  Whether Miss Blair would be the right person for the job, Phoebe didn’t know, but she would make her interest appear as sincere as possible.

  “Have you no estate manager?”

  “We don’t, actually, not since the war. Grampapa has a solicitor who oversees the family accounts and investments, and the home farm finances, of course, but there is no one presently in the position of steward.”

  “And your grandfather would accept a woman for the job?”

  “I believe he would. I couldn’t help noticing how well you organized the wedding and reception yesterday. You are a model of proficiency.” Was that going too far? Apparently not, for Miss Blair basked in the praise.

  “Thank you. When I accept a task, I take it very seriously.”

  “That is obvious. Which is why—”

  Puzzled ridges appeared once more above Miss Blair’s nose. “I cannot help but wonder why you’d concern yourself with my future with your sister currently residing at the Cowes Police Station.”

  Phoebe winced and for a moment couldn’t gather her breath to reply. She forced herself to remain calm and not to react in anger. “Miss Blair, my sister is innocent and will soon be released. Of that I have no doubt.” The woman before her had the audacity to raise a dubious eyebrow. Phoebe pretended not to notice. “You, however, have been left both without employment and homeless, have you not?”

  Ah, that hit its mark. It was Miss Blair’s turn to flinch, and her gaze darted to a couple sitting across the way, as if she feared t
hey had overheard the talk of her sad plight. “Indeed I have,” she murmured. “Although my circumstances are not as dire as all that. Lord Annondale paid me handsomely, and I’ve enough laid by to keep myself off the streets.”

  “For the time being,” Phoebe said evenly. “But you’re a young woman. Surely you haven’t the means to simply retire to a life of leisure.”

  Miss Blair’s red lips became pinched. “That is true.”

  “So then, if you would kindly supply me with a bit of information, I will pass it on to my grandfather. How long did you work for the viscount?”

  “Nearly ten years now.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t have thought nearly so long. You must have been very young when the viscount hired you.”

  Miss Blair made no comment.

  “And where are you from?” Phoebe asked.

  “I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m from anywhere in particular. My . . . family . . . moved around quite a bit when I was a child.”

  Phoebe heard the hesitation in her voice. She smiled. “Have you a large family, Miss Blair?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Well . . . no. I only ask out of curiosity.”

  The woman’s eyebrow twitched, and she waited for Phoebe to continue.

  “Lord Annondale’s primary home is outside of London. Would you mind living in our out-of-the-way Cotswold village? Have you any experience with country life?”

  “It wouldn’t matter to me, Lady Phoebe.”

  Phoebe was getting nowhere. Her questions had been meant to prompt conversation, and so far she had failed miserably. And then she remembered a question Miss Blair herself had asked, one that might prove useful. “You asked whether my grandfather would hire a woman for the steward’s position. Why was Lord Annondale agreeable to having a woman as his secretary? He struck me as someone who believed in tradition. Who would insist upon it. Men in charge, women in the home. It does seem rather odd.” She borrowed Miss Blair’s custom of raising an eyebrow in expectation.

  A subtle rush of color suffused the woman’s cheeks. “I suppose it does seem a bit unusual,” she said slowly. “A mutual acquaintance recommended me. I attended North London Collegiate School and later Girton College in Cambridge, so my qualifications were quite in order.”

  “Girton!” Phoebe’s sudden enthusiasm was genuine, and her heart raced at the notion of attending university, for it was exactly what she hoped to do—someday. “How fortunate for you, Miss Blair. You must have enjoyed your time there immensely.”

  “Yes.”

  Perhaps, she thought, but that didn’t explain the woman’s blush when Phoebe first raised the question, or why hints of it continued to tint her cheeks. More and more, it appeared that Julia had been right, that Gil and Miss Blair had enjoyed more than a professional relationship. She needed to find out more, but Miss Blair proved a formidable subject.

  A mutual acquaintance . . . such a vague reference. Phoebe was surprised Miss Blair hadn’t cited family connections to Gil. That would have been the most likely scenario, but also easy to verify. As would a reference that had come from a schoolmistress. Miss Blair didn’t wish Phoebe to know who had made the recommendation, and she wondered why.

  The woman startled her by rising abruptly to her feet. “Is that all for now?”

  Phoebe had the distinct impression that even if she wished to continue the interview, Miss Blair had other ideas. She stood. “For now, yes. Thank you, Miss Blair. So then, where are you off to?” Normally, she would not have pried in such a blatant way, but Miss Blair didn’t seem attuned to subtleties.

  “I have a couple of errands to attend to. Estate business. My employer might no longer be with us, but neither has my employment been terminated. Yet. Good day, Lady Phoebe.”

  “Good day.” Phoebe waited until Miss Blair had disappeared through the conservatory doorway before hurrying out herself. She intended to follow the woman, but when a certain pair of individuals crossed her path, her plans suddenly changed.

  * * *

  Eva set the receiver on its cradle and sat contemplating the telephone for some moments. Her conversation continued to trouble her greatly. Theo Leighton, Marquess of Allerton, had yet to return home to his estate on the outskirts of Little Barlow. Miles Brannock, her beau of some months now and a constable with the Little Barlow branch of the Gloucestershire police force, knew this to be true because he had happened upon Lord Allerton’s housekeeper purchasing supplies in the village only that morning. She had had no word from the marquess since he’d left for Cowes two days previously.

  That didn’t mean Theo Leighton hadn’t decided to go up to London for a change of scenery, or to any number of other locales. It didn’t mean he was still somewhere in Cowes.

  Eva prayed not.

  Another matter troubling her was that while talking to Curtis Mowbry earlier, she had neglected to ask him if he had ever met Lady Julia before. Lady Julia had indicated the photographer seemed familiar, and the notion niggled, especially considering his behavior toward her. Yes, he had given an explanation. His talk of artistic perfection had charmed Eva, but now she wondered if that had been intentional on his part. It was all too easy to trust someone when face-to-face, but time apart had reminded Eva to trust no one connected to yesterday’s wedding. Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult to track him down again and question him further. In the meantime, someone else warranted her attention.

  She perused the dining room but saw no sign of her quarry. Neither the conservatory nor the library yielded any better results. But on the terrace, Eva spotted Veronica Townsend sitting with two other women, one of whom she recognized as Lady Wilma Bancroft, an aunt of the Renshaw siblings. Should she wait and approach Miss Townsend when she was alone?

  Before she could decide, Lady Wilma saw her and waved her over. Eva well imagined what the woman would ask her, and she wasn’t wrong. “Huntford, how is my niece? I assume you have information about her. Servants always know everything.”

  Eva bobbed a curtsy to the three women. The third was only vaguely familiar to her, and while she couldn’t name her, she assumed her to be one of the Townsends’ guests. “Lady Phoebe visited her sister earlier.”

  With a look of outrage, Lady Wilma drew herself up taller. “She went to the police station?”

  “I accompanied her, although I was not permitted to go farther than the lobby. Lady Phoebe reports that her sister is upset—naturally—but remains calm. She says she is certain the police will discover the true culprit.”

  “Humph.” Miss Townsend lifted her teacup for an audible sip. She obviously did not agree that any other culprit existed. Eva waited for Lady Wilma to correct Miss Townsend in no uncertain terms, but the chastisement never came.

  “If you do see my niece”—Lady Wilma sniffed and adjusted the beribboned hat atop her pile of graying hair—“do tell her we are all praying for her.”

  Eva felt a frown spreading across her forehead for all she had spent years perfecting the art of masking her true feelings to anyone but her ladies. “Have you no other message for her? An assurance that you believe in her innocence, perhaps?”

  “My dear girl,” the third woman said to her briskly, “your loyalty is commendable. But the best thing you can do for the Renshaw family is be there to comfort the younger sisters—and their brother, too, I suppose—and prepare them for the worst.”

  “The worst . . . ?”

  “You are quite right, Antonia,” Miss Townsend said as she pressed a hand to her friend’s wrist.

  “Yes,” Lady Wilma agreed. “Thank you for putting it so truthfully, Antonia.” She turned her gaze back to Eva. “It is utterly deplorable, but the facts do speak for themselves, or the police would not have acted as they have.”

  Fury rendered Eva’s fingers numb, and the scene before her wavered in her vision. These women were so willing to condemn Lady Julia—and without a shred of proof other than what the law would consider circumstantial. She narrowed her gaze on Veronic
a Townsend, a woman who certainly had reasons to resent both her brother and Lady Julia, and who very well could have reason to hope Lady Julia took the blame for Lord Annondale’s murder.

  However, Lady Wilma’s attitude made no sense to her. How could Lady Julia’s aunt so readily believe the worst about her own niece?

  “Well, unless you have anything to add,” Miss Townsend said to her with a lift of her brows, “I believe you may be dismissed.”

  The Renshaw sisters never spoke to Eva that way. In fact, no one in the entire Renshaw household ever spoke that way to anyone. Even so, such a manner was nothing new to her, for she had encountered it at house parties and social events through the years. Thus, she flinched at neither the words nor Miss Townsend’s haughty tone and stood her ground without blinking.

  “Actually, Miss Townsend, I came out to offer my services to you. To any of you ladies, while you’re staying here at the hotel. If I can be of any assistance to you at all, Lady Phoebe has instructed me to put myself at your disposal.”

  “Did she now?” The woman named Antonia sounded delighted. Although Eva had come specifically to make the offer to Miss Townsend, she wouldn’t mind having an opportunity to speak with this woman privately, for she could be none other than the confidante Lady Phoebe had heard Miss Townsend speaking with on board the Georgiana yesterday.

  “I have my own maid,” Lady Wilma said dryly and turned her head away.

  Too bad, Eva thought, for she would have liked the same opportunity to discover what, if anything, she had against Lady Julia.

  She rejoiced inwardly when Miss Townsend’s expression turned to one of interest. “My own maid didn’t come. She suffers from dreadful seasickness, so I took pity on her and sent her home yesterday morning, before the wedding. I believe she went to Dorset to visit her family. I was going to call her back, but if you’re willing . . .”

  “I am. Very much so.” Eva regretted those last words. She didn’t wish to sound too eager. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal losing your brother, and Lady Phoebe wishes to ease your burden as much as can be until we can all leave Cowes.”