“Yes, Gil . . .” Miss Townsend sighed deeply. “My poor brother. All his wealth couldn’t protect him.” Then she brightened. “I should very much like to take you up on your offer. Can you be at my room by seven o’clock tonight, to help Mrs. Seward”—she gestured toward the woman named Antonia—“and myself dress for dinner? We are sharing a room.”
“I’ll be there, Miss Townsend.”
“Good. It’s Huntford, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I shall see you at seven.”
“Yes. Please don’t be late.”
* * *
Phoebe stopped in her tracks when she reached the lobby. Mildred Blair had already disappeared through the street door, and even without a coat to protect her from the sea breezes, Phoebe longed to follow and see what the woman was up to. She hesitated before reaching a decision, thinking perhaps she should scurry after Miss Blair. But her conscience tugged her in the opposite direction, to the lifts, where Amelia and Fox had just ducked inside one of the cars. Phoebe hurried before the operator could close the door.
“Wait, please. I’m going up.”
Inside, the evidence written on her siblings’ faces convinced her she had done the right thing. The pallor she had noticed in Fox earlier not only lingered, but he looked even worse, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy and lips pinched and colorless. She cast a questioning glance at Amelia, who looked equally concerned about their younger brother. Phoebe wished to ask him if he was ill, but waited until the lift came to a stop and they exited the car.
“Fox, are you all right?”
“Let’s go to his room first,” Amelia said quietly and led the way down the corridor to the room adjacent to their grandparents’ suite. Amelia put out her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Fox dropped his key into it. In short order they entered the room, and Fox threw himself into an easy chair.
Phoebe went to stand in front of him. He didn’t look at her but kept his gaze on his shoes. She repeated her question. “Are you ill?”
He shook his head. “Just miserable.”
That simple phrase gripped Phoebe’s heart. Not so much the words themselves, however, but the tone in which he said them. Gone was the bullying she had grown so accustomed to these past several years, and the manner he typically employed when ordering his sisters to find wealthy husbands. That Fox was full of bluster and arrogance. This one sounded forlorn and not at all sure of himself.
Phoebe crouched at his feet. A thump from the adjoining rooms made her lower her voice; she didn’t want her grandparents overhearing this conversation through the walls. They had enough to worry about. “We’re doing our best to help Julia.”
He nodded but said nothing.
“He thinks it’s all his fault,” Amelia supplied. Phoebe pressed a finger to her lips and pointed to the wall that separated the room from her grandparents’ suite. Amelia nodded, comprehending. She dragged an armchair closer and sat.
“Of course it’s not your fault, Fox.” Phoebe searched his features while he continued to avoid her gaze. “Someone murdered Gil, and right now Julia is being blamed, but she’s innocent, and soon everyone will know it. That’s a promise.”
“You can make no such promise,” Fox mumbled into his collar. “And it is my fault. I caused this.”
She held out her hands. “How?”
When Fox remained mute, Amelia replied for him. “He thinks it’s his fault Julia married Gil, and that if he hadn’t pushed her to marry, none of this would have happened.”
Phoebe’s instincts nearly led her to blurt out the absurdity of that conclusion. She stopped herself just in time. The sorrow in Fox’s features convinced her of the earnestness of his sentiments. This was no ploy for attention or bid for sympathy. That he snatched his hand away when she attempted to cover it with her own proved he wished for neither or perhaps didn’t believe he deserved anyone’s compassion.
Julia did marry at someone’s insistence, but not Fox’s. Grams’s. Phoebe continued to ask herself if she blamed Grams. Guilt rose up again, and she simply shoved the question aside. She couldn’t allow her brother to continue suffering under his mistaken impressions. Even if that meant a return to his habitual, insufferable self.
“Fox, you must believe me when I say you had nothing to do with Julia’s decision to marry Gil—or anyone, for that matter. If that were the case, I’d be married now, too, and I promise you I have no intentions of marrying anyone anytime soon.”
“Not even Owen?”
Amelia looked as eager as Fox for Phoebe’s reply. “Not even Owen,” she said clearly. “Quite simply, I’m not ready to marry, and I won’t be pressured until I am. As for Julia, there were many reasons for her marrying Gil.” She paused to consider her next words, hoping to find the right ones to set her brother’s mind at ease. “Have you ever known her to do anything she didn’t want to do?”
He shook his head.
“There, then.”
“She could hang,” he whispered.
“I won’t let that happen.”
The promise weighed heavily on Phoebe’s shoulders when she left her youngest siblings and made her way back to the lift. Fulfilling that promise meant following every lead, yet she had let one slip away in choosing to comfort her brother. She might never know where Miss Blair had gone when she left the hotel, although she resolved to simply ask the woman when she returned. Mildred Blair might not be inclined to tell the truth, but Phoebe had learned in speaking with her earlier that upon occasion, her carefully sculpted façade showed a crack or two. Her reaction to Phoebe’s inquiry could be as telling as the reply itself.
She would wait downstairs for her to return and then make a nuisance of herself.
The lift dinged as she reached it, and the man who stepped out wore an overcoat and carried a bowler. From his other hand dangled a black leather case that looked suspiciously like a physician’s bag. Phoebe tensed. The lift operator inquired as to what floor she wished to go to. She ignored him, watching the man proceed down the corridor until he reached the door he sought. He knocked twice. Grams admitted the newcomer with a “Thank you for coming, Doctor.”
“Grams, wait,” Phoebe called out. She trotted down the hallway. Grams looked as though she would rather close the door without speaking to her, but she waited on the threshold.
“What is it?” Phoebe whispered upon reaching her. Just as she hadn’t wanted her grandparents overhearing her conversation with Fox, she didn’t want Fox and Amelia overhearing this latest development. She took Grams’s hand and stepped into the suite with her. “Grampapa’s unwell, isn’t he?”
Grams nodded solemnly, her hand tightening around Phoebe’s in a rare show of vulnerability. “You’re not to say a word to the others. Especially not Julia.”
“I promise I won’t. Now please tell me about Grampapa.”
“He was complaining of feeling dizzy, and when I caught him pressing a hand to his chest, I wasted no time in calling the doctor.”
“Good. I suppose he said not to, that it was nothing.”
“You know your grandfather well.”
They sat together in the sitting room until the doctor came out from the bedroom. His eyes registered recognition when he saw Phoebe, and Grams introduced her. “You may speak freely in front of my granddaughter,” she told him.
Phoebe couldn’t help reflecting that only a year and a half ago, Grams would not have said such a thing. She would have insisted on shielding Phoebe from worrisome circumstances, as she continued to do for the rest of her siblings. It hadn’t been easy for Grams to acknowledge that her middle granddaughter possessed an inner strength that rivaled her own; it had been a gradual process prompted by the startling events of the past year and a half. Yet Phoebe sensed Grams’s great relief that she now had someone in whom she could confide. Someone to sit with and wait for the doctor’s prognosis.
“He’s resting now,” Dr. Caines said. “I gave him a sedative, which will ensure he gets some sleep. I’ve a
lso increased his nitroglycerin dosage, but he must see his regular physician as soon as he returns home. Now, when he wakes, he is not to be stressed. You must keep him calm and see he gets plenty of bed rest.”
Though he spoke with authority, Phoebe also detected a note of apology. She believed he knew exactly what had caused Grampapa’s anxiety, and she wondered how widespread that knowledge was. They would have to ensure no morning newspapers made their way onto Grampapa’s breakfast trays.
CHAPTER 10
“I need to be at Miss Townsend’s room by seven o’clock,” Eva explained to Lady Phoebe when they met later in the hotel library. No one else occupied the room at the moment, so they needn’t fear being overheard. “She’s sharing with Antonia Seward. Isn’t that the name of the woman you overheard Miss Townsend speaking to on board the Georgiana yesterday?”
“It is.” Lady Phoebe looked pleased. “This is a stroke of luck. Do you think you’ll be able to get them talking?”
“I believe so. They seemed ever so gratified that you sent me to attend them.”
“That almost makes me wish it had been my idea.” She gave a laugh. “But this also gives us some free time. Grams asked me to go out to the Georgiana again and retrieve more of Julia’s things. Her jewelry, keepsakes, that sort of thing. This gives us a perfect opportunity.”
Eva detected a certain designing tone she had come to recognize in recent months. “You want to have a look around. But can we do that, my lady? Won’t the boat be off-limits as a crime scene?”
“I shouldn’t think so. The police already gave the crew permission to reboard. They believe they have their evidence and their culprit,” she added dryly. She lifted her coat from the back of a chair.
Eva went into the dressing room and retrieved her own coat from the foot of her narrow bed. “What is it we’ll be looking for?”
“I don’t know. Anything. I just hope the crew doesn’t interfere.”
“At least Miss Blair herself won’t be on board,” Eva said. “She wouldn’t leave us alone for a moment if she were.”
“Yes, that’s another bit of luck.” Lady Phoebe shook her head. “If only I’d gone after her earlier. I’d give anything to know where she went in such a hurry. I don’t trust her.”
Lady Phoebe blamed herself for allowing Miss Blair to slip away. Eva didn’t blame her one bit for placing her brother’s needs above the secretary’s activities, but Lady Phoebe saw it as placing Fox’s needs above her sister’s much greater concerns. A lump of admiration grew in Eva’s throat at the thought of young Phoebe taking upon herself the responsibility of holding her family together. And now, with Lord Wroxly showing signs of infirmity . . . Eva sighed as she buttoned up her coat.
Near the Royal Yacht Squadron, they were able to hire a youth with a skiff, who rowed them out to the Georgiana. The weather had cleared, but temperatures continued to hover at chilly levels, not at all springlike. Eva turned her collar up, while Lady Phoebe sat with her chin tucked and brushed back stray hairs plucked loose by the racing winds.
A deck steward was ready to help them aboard when they reached the vessel. Even with the viscount gone, his crew continued to run a disciplined ship. “This is unexpected,” the man said as he handed them onto the deck. “And a bit irregular. I don’t know that—”
“It’s quite all right,” Lady Phoebe interrupted. “I’m here on behalf of my grandmother, the Countess of Wroxly, to gather up some things of my sister’s. There’s no point in leaving them here, is there?”
“No, I suppose not.” The man frowned, as if he didn’t quite agree, but couldn’t think of a counterargument. He moved to open the door into the main saloon for them. When he started to follow them in, Lady Phoebe again spoke to him dismissively.
“We know our way to my sister’s stateroom, thank you. If you’ll excuse us. We shouldn’t be long, although there is the matter of making sure everything is there. That nothing. . .” She cleared her throat. “Has been damaged or has gone missing.”
Eva felt like applauding her mistress. The implication was clear. With the authority of the Countess of Wroxly, Phoebe had come to inspect her sister’s belongings, and at the first sign of theft, the crew would be held responsible. After all, no one else had been on board since early this morning. The steward looked most unhappy as he nodded, took a couple of steps backward, then turned and strode back outside.
“Thought we’d never be rid of him,” Lady Phoebe murmured. “Come along.” They hurried below. There Lady Phoebe stopped and glanced at each closed door along the passageway. “Which do you suppose is Gil’s office?”
“It’s that one, there.” Eva pointed.
“Ah.” Phoebe strode to the door, tried the knob, and asked over her shoulder, “Have you got a hairpin handy?”
“Always, my lady.” Eva plucked one from the simple coif she wore beneath her hat. Lady Phoebe moved aside to let Eva work. She crouched, bringing the lock to eye level, and inserted the hairpin.
“If there is anything worth finding, I expect it to be here.”
“You’re thinking about that conversation I overheard between the viscount and Sir Hugh, aren’t you?” Eva turned the hairpin with no results, so she removed it, widened the two ends, and reinserted it.
“I am. You said it didn’t sound as if Gil was particularly surprised by what Sir Hugh was warning him about. That implies Gil already knew, and since Sir Hugh waved a wedding invitation under his nose, I’m hoping the same person sent a similar message to Gil.”
Eva pushed the hairpin farther into the lock, twisted, and was rewarded with a click. She pushed to her feet and turned the knob. “There you are.”
They hurried inside and closed the door behind them.
“I do wish I’d had the chance to speak with Sir Hugh today,” Lady Phoebe said. “I might have asked him a few leading questions to see if he’d reveal anything about the matter, or at least to observe how he reacted. You know, Eva, I’m learning that sometimes what people don’t say reveals more about the truth than what they do say. I believe that’s definitely the case with Miss Blair.”
“Very true.” Eva looked about her, wondering where to start. The room held only a desk, a wall of bookshelves, and a built-in file cabinet. Lady Phoebe had already gone around the desk and begun opening drawers. Eva went to the file cabinet. She slid the top drawer open and then realized the scope of the endeavor. Folders and papers were packed tight, and she suspected she’d find similar disorder in the rest of the drawers. “This could take all day,” she murmured.
Lady Phoebe didn’t respond. She’d sunk into the desk chair, several envelopes in her hands, her head bowed over them.
Eva recognized the stationery. “Wedding invitations?”
“RSVPs. And they’re addressed to Gil, not Grams and Grampapa, as the rest of them were. Odd.” She slid the first card free from its envelope and frowned down at what she saw. She opened the next two, and her frown deepened.
“What is it, my lady?”
She had no chance to reply, for the door burst inward to reveal Miss Blair on the threshold, looking very stern indeed. “What, may I ask, are you doing in here?”
Startled, Lady Phoebe let the envelopes drop into her lap. Eva shut the file drawer rather more sedately.
“I’ll thank you not to speak to Lady Phoebe in that tone, Miss Blair. We are here to collect some of Lady Annondale’s things.”
Miss Blair’s gaze sparked with anger. “You’ll not find them here.”
“How do you know that?” Eva challenged, crossing her arms before her. “Lady Annondale had full access to this vessel, didn’t she?”
The woman’s nostrils flared. “I highly doubt that. Very few people were ever invited into Lord Annondale’s private office.”
“And I suppose you were one of those few,” Eva surmised.
“Upon occasion, yes.” She turned her attention to Lady Phoebe, looking past Eva, as if she no longer existed. “You might have supplied me with
a list of the items Lady Annondale requires. I would be happy to gather them for you.”
Yet Miss Blair sounded anything but happy. Eva’s temper began a steady rise, and apparently, so did Lady Phoebe’s. “My sister’s requirements are my affair, Miss Blair. And since at present she owns the Georgiana, I see no reason why I should be banned from any particular area of it.”
“Your sister does not . . .” Miss Blair let the thought go unfinished, but Eva easily guessed what she’d been about to say. That Lady Julia didn’t own the Georgiana. But as the deceased’s widow, not to mention his only living heir besides Ernest Shelton, Lady Julia had as much claim on the Georgiana as anyone, at least until she was formally charged and found guilty.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell us what you’re doing here, Miss Blair?” Lady Phoebe asked sweetly. “Or are you also retrieving items you require at the hotel? If so, I doubt very much you’ll find them here, either.” When Miss Blair didn’t say anything, Lady Phoebe gathered the envelopes from her lap and pushed to her feet. “My guess is you’re looking for something Lord Annondale left behind.”
The secretary’s gaze dropped to the envelopes Lady Phoebe now held against her. She had the audacity to ask in turn, “As you and Miss Huntford are?”
Lady Phoebe shrugged and waved the envelopes in the air. “Just some leftover RSVPs to the wedding. My sister puts great store in such things. Sentimentality and all that.”
Eva only just managed not to laugh. Lady Julia hadn’t a sentimental bone in her body, at least not when it came to such matters. But it seemed that Lady Phoebe had hit just the right note, for the perplexity smoothed from Miss Blair’s brow.
“Is that all?” she said with a poor effort to hide her relief. “You may have them. They’re of no use to anyone else now.”
“I’m still wondering why you’ve come,” Lady Phoebe said, “and to this room in particular. What are you looking for, Miss Blair?”
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