A Murderous Marriage

by Alyssa Maxwell

  The woman huffed. “I do not work for you, Lady Phoebe, nor for your sister. I am here on behalf of Lord Annondale’s estate, on official business.”

  Eva had had more than enough. “You no longer work for Lord Annondale, either, do you? Now, is there something the Renshaws should know about Lord Annondale’s estate? Some development you learned about before his death?”

  Lady Phoebe looked eager for the answer to this question.

  Miss Blair, however, shook her head. “No, not to my knowledge.”

  The truth or a lie? They were not to know, for she turned on her heel and exited the room.

  Eva felt inclined to call her back but thought better of it. Miss Blair had enlightened them no more about her appearance here than they had enlightened her. They had reached an impasse, and perhaps for now, it was better that way. Eva turned to Lady Phoebe.

  “Did you find something on those cards?”

  Instead of answering, Lady Phoebe gazed down at them again. “A few are still sealed, as if Gil hadn’t wanted to read them—or perhaps his time ran out before he had a chance to attend to them.” She searched the desktop. “Where is the letter opener?”

  Eva scanned the items on the desk. “I don’t see one. Just rip them open.”

  “Not here.” Lady Phoebe came around the desk and led the way to the main stateroom. She stopped short inside the door. “Look, Eva. The broken mirror.”

  On a dresser, the shards that had been gathered up from the floor had been placed within the frame of the piece. Eva went closer. One particularly nasty sliver showed a line of dried blood along one of its edges. Eva winced, imagining the pain of such a gash. Then her gaze fell to the floor, to the dark splatters on the rug.

  “Blood, my lady.”

  “Yes. Julia’s blood.” Lady Phoebe sighed and opened the top dresser drawer. They began filling a valise with underclothes, nightclothes, and toiletries. While they worked, Lady Phoebe explained what had so interested her in those cards.

  “The first one said, ‘I will be there.’”

  “There is nothing unusual about that in an RSVP.”

  “The second one said, ‘You left in too much of a hurry.’ ”

  “That one is a bit odd, I’ll give you that. Left where in a hurry?”

  “And the third one said, ‘It won’t be long.’ ”

  Eva stopped what she was doing. “That sounds vaguely threatening, or it could simply refer to Lord Annondale becoming a married man. Are the cards signed?”

  “We should be so lucky, but no. What’s more, they’re typewritten, so there’s no telling who might have sent them.”

  “Postmark?”

  “London. Could be anyone.”

  “My lady, do you suppose Mildred Blair came here today to retrieve those cards?”

  “I don’t think so. She seemed relieved when she saw what I had.”

  “Maybe her relief was because you seemed to accept the cards at face value—as mere RSVPs and not subtly veiled threats.”

  “Does she think I’m that stupid?”

  Eva smiled. “It’s safe to say people of Miss Blair’s ilk typically think their betters are stupid.”

  Lady Phoebe flashed her a disapproving look. “I do wish you wouldn’t use that word, Eva. I’m no one’s better.”

  Eva might have argued with that assessment, not because of Lady Phoebe’s birth, but because of the woman she had become: kind, compassionate and, above all, intelligent. But she said only, “Yes, my lady.”

  * * *

  Once they returned to Cowes, Phoebe and Eva went to the police station to deliver the provisions to Julia. Phoebe had hoped to see her again, but the officer managing the front desk informed her Julia had had enough visitors for one day.

  “What does that mean? Who’s been to see her besides me?”

  “Can’t say. It’s the prisoner’s business.”

  Phoebe winced to hear such a harsh term applied to her sister. Then she remembered the envelopes she had brought with her from the Georgiana. “If I can’t see my sister, I need to speak to the inspector in charge of her case.”

  “The murder case, you mean,” the insensitive man replied.

  Phoebe tried not to scowl. “I’ve brought some new evidence.” She reached into her handbag and drew out the cards. “These suggest someone had been threatening Lord Annondale before he and my sister were married. Someone who is not my sister, that is.”

  The man eyed the envelopes skeptically. Without much interest, he said, “You can leave them with me. I’ll see they get to Detective Inspector Lewis.”

  Phoebe hesitated. She wanted to put these RSVPs directly into the detective inspector’s hands herself and hear his opinion of them with her own ears. She feared if she merely left them, they’d be ignored or summarily discounted or, worse, lost.

  She slid them back into her bag. “I’ll come back.”

  The policeman leaned across his desk. “Now, see here, if you have evidence, you’d best turn it over. Otherwise you’re interfering with police business.”

  “I’m doing no such thing. If I hadn’t gone out to the Georgiana today, this evidence would never have been found. It certainly should have been, but for some reason, it appears to have been overlooked.” She wanted to add that missing those envelopes was a sign of shoddy work on the part of the police, but she thought better of it. Instead, she insisted upon returning in the morning.

  When the officer didn’t question her further, she left the valise for Julia, knowing it would be thoroughly searched and any items the police deemed unsuitable would be removed. When she returned tomorrow, she would place the RSVPs in Detective Inspector Lewis’s hands. Then she would see Julia and ask her if Theo had returned to Cowes—or perhaps had never left.

  The thought that he hadn’t raised a shiver.

  “I cannot think of who else would have been here to visit her but Theo,” she told Eva as they stepped back out onto Birmingham Road.

  “Your grandparents, perhaps. And, of course, a solicitor.”

  “Yes, Grampapa’s solicitor, though I doubt he managed to arrive this fast. But not my grandparents. Not with Grampapa on bed rest. And Grams wouldn’t leave him to come alone. We’ve been gone a good while, and we’d best hurry back.”

  They walked north, toward the hotel, the cool sea breeze on her face helping Phoebe think. She hoped they would return to a telephone message from Eva’s beau, Miles Brannock, with news that Theo Leighton had indeed returned to his estate in the Cotswolds. It was bad enough Phoebe had once suspected him of wrongdoing. She felt like a traitor, to both Theo and Julia, to entertain even a mild suspicion now.

  “It wasn’t Theo Leighton, my lady,” Eva said, with her uncanny knack for reading Phoebe’s mind.

  She stopped in her tracks and turned. “How do you do that? Know what I’m thinking, I mean.”

  Eva smiled. “It isn’t difficult. You think loving your sister gave him a reason to kill Lord Annondale.”

  “Didn’t it?”

  Eva shook her head, looking comfortable in her conviction. “I’d almost stake my life that he did not. And if he did, wouldn’t he have turned himself in by now, rather than allow your sister to suffer another moment?”

  “Eva, you’re right! I hadn’t considered that. Theo wouldn’t let Julia spend a minute in a jail cell.” She pressed a hand to her breastbone. “I’m so relieved. Come, let’s hurry. If there’s time before dinner, I should like to have a word with Ernie Shelton. And Sir Hugh. I do wonder where he’s been hiding all day.”

  “Perhaps he’s stayed in his room. He must be grieving his friend, after all.”

  “Perhaps, but he doesn’t strike me as someone who likes to be alone, even in grief.”

  If she’d had any hopes of tracking down either man upon arriving at the hotel, her grandmother quickly quelled them when she met Phoebe and Eva in the corridor outside their rooms, as if she had been watching and waiting.

  “Did you bring Julia her thing
s?”

  “We did, Grams.”

  “And how is she doing?”

  Phoebe was glad Grams asked this question, for it allowed her to more easily ask one of her own. “They wouldn’t let me see her this time. Did you by chance go down there earlier?”

  “No, I didn’t. And I’m afraid Julia will think we’ve abandoned her.” Grams looked chastised, making Phoebe regret her question. “She doesn’t know about your grandfather.”

  “Don’t worry, Grams. Julia will understand.”

  Grams nodded, still looking sad. “I need you to look after Fox and Amelia tonight. Have dinner with them, and keep Fox out of trouble.”

  “Grams, really, Amelia and Fox are capable of looking after themselves. They hardly need me to play nanny these days.”

  Grams’s expression turned stony. “Phoebe, please. I’m asking you to do this. Grampapa and I will have dinner in our suite, but I want you young people to eat together in the dining room. Fox and Amelia could use the distraction, a sense of things being . . . normal.” Her voice caught ever so slightly on that last word, and Phoebe’s heart turned over.

  “Yes, Grams. We’ll all have dinner together, and I’ll make sure they’re both occupied.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Grams kissed her forehead. She quickly slipped back into her own suite, but not before Phoebe caught the glimmer of tears.

  “Oh, Grams,” she murmured.

  Eva had kept going to their room, and now Phoebe joined her. Amelia was not there, giving them privacy to talk openly. Phoebe told her of her grandmother’s request. “She rarely uses endearments with us. I’ve never seen her so vulnerable, Eva, and it frightens me. Grams has always been so formidable. The thought of her getting old, infirm . . .”

  Eva touched her shoulder. “The countess is still formidable, my lady. She’s going through a worrisome time right now, but she’s strong.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She turned to read the clock on the bed table. “It’s grown late, and you’ll be expected at Miss Townsend’s room in a little while. Amelia and I can tend to ourselves, so you won’t have to worry about us. On second thought, I wonder where Hetta has gotten to.”

  “Did anyone think to reserve a room for her?”

  “Good heavens, Eva, I don’t know. I tend to think not, with so much happening all at once today. Poor Hetta. I’ll see to it now.” She started for the door, but Eva stopped her.

  “Don’t worry, my lady. I’ll see to it before I go to Miss Townsend’s room.”

  “Thank you, Eva. I’ll clear it with my grandparents. I’m sure they won’t mind the extra room.”

  “Before I leave, then, why don’t we have another look at those RSVPs?”

  Phoebe dug them out of her handbag and spread them out on her bed. There were five in all, and she had read only three on the Georgiana. She used her forefinger to break the seal on the remaining two.

  “This one says, ‘Don’t bother guessing. You’re not clever enough.’ Good heavens. And this one . . . ‘Your ignorance will be your undoing.’ ”

  “That is certainly a threat, my lady.”

  Phoebe nodded. “They seem to be saying that because Gil wouldn’t be able to guess who these notes came from, he would be unable to protect himself. They also imply Lord Annondale knew his murderer.”

  “Yes. The individual was toying with him, challenging him to guess.”

  “And Sir Hugh, as well, based on what you overheard yesterday. I do need to find him and have a little chat.” She paused as a thought struck her. “Eva, do you suppose it’s possible Sir Hugh was the person toying with Gil? Pretending to have received similar threatening messages would certainly have thrown Gil off from suspecting him.”

  “I was just having the same thought, my lady. ‘Not clever enough,’ the message says. It would take a clever man to suspect his best friend, even without Sir Hugh’s claims of similar threats.”

  Phoebe thought a moment, then said, “They had been friends for decades, meaning they had many experiences in common. They fought in the Boer Wars together. They both served in Parliament, albeit Gil in the House of Lords and Sir Hugh in the Commons. And they served in the diplomatic corps in Ireland at the same time.”

  “Not in the Great War?”

  “No, they were in Ireland for the duration. I wonder if something happened there . . .”

  “You mean something to make someone seek revenge against them?”

  “I do. But why now? Why not sooner?” She smiled ruefully. “Rhetorical questions, both.”

  “We’ve been forgetting about something, my lady. The blood on the deck railing. Assuming it wasn’t Lord Annondale’s, and the police found no evidence of that sort of wound on his body, then his killer must have been hurt somehow.”

  “Like Julia.” Phoebe loathed thinking about this one detail that incriminated her sister more than anything else. If only Julia hadn’t cut her hand last night, she might not be in this predicament now.

  “No one else from the wedding has shown evidence of a recent wound. So far.”

  Phoebe gasped. “Perhaps that’s why Sir Hugh has been keeping to himself all day.” She frowned. “But like the rest of us, he was interviewed by the police. Wouldn’t they have seen it?”

  “That depends on where the culprit was hurt. Find the wound, my lady, and find the killer.”

  CHAPTER 11

  In the lobby, Eva found Hetta sitting alone in an inconspicuous corner near the entrance to the library. Her overnight bag sat on the floor beside her, which, of course, indicated Hetta had no room to go to. She wore her overcoat, a dark, shapeless affair, while her equally nondescript felt hat sat on her lap. Eva wondered how long she had been there and if she’d eaten anything since leaving the Georgiana that morning.

  “Hallo,” the Swiss maid said without a hint of reproach, doubling rather than alleviating Eva’s guilt.

  “How long have you been here?”

  Hetta frowned, and Eva berated herself for not having taken the time to learn a few basic German phrases. But then Hetta’s brow smoothed. “Awhile. All right.” She smiled and nodded. “I wait.”

  “Well, come with me, and I’ll see about getting a room for you. Perhaps you and I can share. Right now I’m staying in Phoebe and Amelia’s dressing room, but under the circumstances, it makes sense to put us together. The countess’s lady’s maid, Miss Shea, has her own room, but as the higher-ranking staff member, she can’t be expected to double up.”

  Eva realized Hetta understood little of what she was saying, but she kept talking to fill the awkward silence until they reached the front desk. There she requested a small room suitable for the two of them and identified them as being in the employ of Lord and Lady Wroxly. The clerk consulted his ledger and announced that a room had been vacated only a few doors down from Phoebe and Amelia’s.

  “That’s perfect. We’ll take it.” Eva turned to find Hetta frowning again. “What’s wrong?” She couldn’t imagine her fellow maid having qualms about sharing a room, if she had even understood that much. Thus far, Hetta had never exhibited self-seeking behavior of any sort. On the contrary, she typically went about her duties with a cheerful attitude and pitched in to help the other servants at home whenever she found a spare moment.

  “Madame Julia . . . she doesn’t come home. Hetta must go?”

  “Oh . . . yes, I see.” Of course, Hetta feared for her future. But how could Eva reassure her? If indeed—heaven forbid—Lady Julia wasn’t exonerated, would the Renshaws continue to employ Hetta? With the estate fortunes dwindling, could they afford to keep a servant whose duties were no longer strictly necessary? Perhaps, Eva considered, she might serve Lady Amelia instead. Although Lady Amelia still had another year of school to complete, and she wouldn’t be needing a full-time maid until she graduated . . .

  Eva cut those thoughts short. She mustn’t even entertain the notion that Lady Julia would be convicted, that she wouldn’t shortly return to the family. Her mother had alwa
ys told her that a positive frame of mind would see one through the worst of times, that one must have faith and work toward one’s goal. She and Lady Phoebe were doing just that. They had been successful in the past, and she had no reason to believe this time would be any different. It was just that the stakes had never before been so high.

  She placed her hand on Hetta’s forearm and gave a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about that now. The Renshaws will do everything they can for you. Besides, Lady Julia will be coming home. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  After escorting Hetta up to their room, Eva made her way down two flights to Miss Townsend’s room, which she shared with Antonia Seward. The two ladies immediately set her to work drawing baths, ironing and laying out clothes, polishing shoes, and helping them select jewelry from the cases each had brought. Most of Mrs. Seward’s choices consisted of ropes of glass beads and smaller pieces set with paste gemstones. Miss Townsend’s collection was rather more impressive. The pearls appeared genuine and of good quality; the semiprecious stones glittered with authenticity; the gold bracelets and rings warmed quickly to Eva’s touch, as gold typically did.

  After helping each woman select her dinner dress, she recommended for Mrs. Seward a necklace fashioned to look like green amber, with matching earrings; and for Miss Townsend a pearl necklace, with a braided gold cuff bracelet sporting tiny opals. Both seemed pleased with her choices.

  Miss Townsend went in for her bath, and when she finished, she called for Eva to help her out. She stood waiting, wrapped in a towel. Eva carried her velvet wrapper to her and allowed Miss Townsend to lean on her arm as she stepped over the high rim of the tub. Then she swung the robe around the woman’s bulky shoulders and closed it around her as the towel fell to the floor, thus preserving Miss Townsend’s modesty.

  “Thank you, Huntford. I cannot tell you how precarious it is for a woman of my age to step out of a bath without assistance. I don’t know what I was thinking, letting my own maid go off to visit her family. A woman simply cannot get on without her maid.”

  Eva smiled and nodded, not showing a hint of her thoughts about this contrary notion. A woman certainly could get on without a maid; Eva did it every day.