A Murderous Affair, page 13
Katherine frowned, mulling this information over.
Harriet added, “But that’s not all.” Smug as a mouse in the cheese, she added, “Mrs. Blake might be having an affair with her driver!”
McTavish straightened from his casual position. He frowned, skeptical. “What makes you think that, lass? Do you have proof? Could be the maid was lying or ’tis no more than idle gossip.”
Harriet sat as straight as a pole, glaring at him. “I know what I’m doing when I investigate. I can sniff out a clue as good as anyone else.”
“Of course you can,” said Lyle, somewhat mollifying her.
Hoping to defuse the situation, Katherine added, “Please, tell us more.”
Harriet smiled, satisfied. “Well, you see, my friend had a pair of shoes she was working on in the laundry. Well, two pairs of shoes. One belonged to Mr. Blake — I take it he has a problem with his temper and likes to kick the logs in the fire. But in any case, next to them was a pair of lovely, embroidered silk shoes. They were water-stained, and my friend was making a futile attempt to get the stains out. Trust me, it’s a nearly impossible task. Anyway, she informed me that Mrs. Blake had soiled them while running in from one of her clandestine trips to the livery.”
Frowning, Pru asked, “Why would Mrs. Blake make a clandestine trip to the livery?”
“Only one reason. To see the livery driver without anyone else knowing.” Whenever Katherine called for a carriage, she sent the footman to see that the vehicle was readied and brought around to the front door. Pru was right: Mrs. Blake didn’t have any reason to visit the livery. And if she didn’t have a valid reason, that could only mean she went to see the driver. Perhaps Harriet was right. “Lady Dalhousie mentioned something about Mrs. Blake having as much of a wandering eye as her husband."
“Do you think the driver would have the funds to buy a gold bracelet?”
McTavish snorted. “Gold? Nay, lass. Not if he makes the pittance I do.”
Across the room, Lord Annandale grunted, displeased. “Perhaps if you learned to curtail your mouth, you’d earn a pittance more.”
Pru hid a smile behind her hand.
Before this devolved into some petty squabble, Katherine explained, “You see, Ellie’s sister told me that she had a silver bracelet with a ruby clasp in the shape of a heart. I thought Mr. Blake might have given it to her—”
Wayland shook his head, lending his opinion of her theory. She ignored him.
“—so I conspired to get a look at Mrs. Blake’s wrist. She was hiding a bracelet, but not the one described by Ellie’s sister. Her husband never buys her jewelry, so it must have been given to her by someone else.”
She tapped her lips, following the thread of her theory aloud.
“Perhaps it wasn’t pure gold, but merely gold-plated. I didn’t get close enough to examine it for quality. She hid it too quickly. Lady Dalhousie told me that Mrs. Blake enjoys money. I wonder if she could have persuaded the driver to buy her the bracelet as a token of his affection. That would give her motive to want to keep it hidden, wouldn’t it?”
Lyle pointed out, “If she likes money so well, she might have purchased it for herself. Surely she would have access to some funds. If Mr. Blake didn’t care for her spending his money, that could be why she kept it hidden. What does this have to do with the murder?”
Wayland nodded. “Nothing, I’d say. If Mrs. Blake was having her own affair and her lover bought her jewelry, she would hardly kill the maid because she was jealous of her husband. In fact, she would probably encourage her husband to be otherwise occupied so he wouldn’t notice that she was having an affair as well.”
Katherine fought hard not to scowl, but the only grudging word she could part from her thinned lips was, “Perhaps.”
Wayland took it for encouragement. “And if she bought the bracelet for herself, it would have no bearing on the death of her maid.”
“We wondered if she might have pawned Ellie’s bracelet to get funds for her own,” Katherine said through gritted teeth.
This he allowed with a gracious nod of his head. “We can check the pawn shops tomorrow.”
“I’ve already gone. I found nothing, and the shopkeepers weren’t forthcoming.” She hated to admit her failure. It made her theory even more inconsequential.
If Harriet had told her of this news before spilling it to everyone at once, Katherine might have been able to vent her thoughts and deduce Wayland’s conclusion on her own. Then she wouldn’t be left feeling like his inferior. Whatever else he was, he was also an astute detective. And he was right.
Lord Annandale drained his cup of wassail and set it on his knee. “Och now, if it is not Mrs. Blake who was jealous, it must be one of Mr. Blake’s other lovers. We need more clues!”
Wayland nodded, but he didn’t appear entirely convinced. “Sometimes, the key to an investigation is in the small details. Let’s think about what we know. We might find a clue among it. Something someone said or did…”
Harriett snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute. The other maid, Rita, lied. She told me she was at her mother’s cottage in Brixton during the storm. But my friend saw her with Ellie before the murder. She couldn’t possibly have driven all the way there in time!”
Dubious, McTavish muttered, “Why would she lie?”
Pru suggested, “Perhaps because she is the killer.”
Lord Annandale grunted but didn’t appear to have confidence in Pru’s suggestion. Perhaps because McTavish added, “I met with wee Rita. She’s a mite small to be stabbing people in the middle of alleys.”
Katherine glared at him, but unfortunately none of the men came to the defense of the idea.
In fact, Lord Annandale cracked a yawn, hiding it behind his hand as he suggested, “Perhaps we ought to sleep on this before we exchange more information. ’Tis a lot to think about. If you do nae mind, ’tis high time I took my leave.”
Katherine raised her gaze to the clock in the room, finding that they had spoken for nearly an hour. Papa might return at any minute! No matter the cost, he couldn’t find Wayland in his home. Katherine jumped to her feet. “I’ll find someone to order the carriage.”
When she did, the other men rose as well, McTavish included.
“No need, lass. I’ll do it myself. I know the way.” He strode out of the room, downstairs, where he likely went in search of his greatcoat. Harriet didn’t seem particularly keen to follow, so Katherine figured he couldn’t do much harm if left to his own devices.
After a moment spent collecting everyone’s cups, Harriet settled them all on the tray and told everyone to wait while she fetched the cloaks, Pru’s included. Katherine led them down to wait by the door for their outer clothes, but Lord Annandale blocked it, shaking his head.
“We have to leave out the back.”
Katherine stifled a sigh. “Another tradition?”
He nodded.
Fortunately, Harriet was quick. She met them partway as Katherine led the group down the narrow servants’ corridor. It was barely wide enough for the men’s shoulders, and they had to walk in single file. Katherine led the way, with Wayland on her heels and Harriet taking up the rear to keep Emma in line. Although she didn’t look behind her, Katherine felt the vibrations from Wayland’s every step.
As they reached the kitchen, she paused, her gaze fixed on a bough of mistletoe hanging on the threshold of the kitchen door. Tarnation! She’d forgotten this was here. Three plump berries taunted her from the crux of the leaves. The bough called for three more kisses to be bestowed as couples crossed the threshold at once, lest bad luck befall them on the year ahead. She didn’t much care about superstition, but Harriet did, and the fuss Harriet would make should she attempt to walk beneath without acknowledging the mistletoe promised to be mortifying.
Not to mention, although she wasn’t superstitious, she didn’t know if Wayland was. If he believed in the silly reign of bad luck, he might decide to kiss her! There had been a time, in Bath, when she’d thought he wanted to… But it was better for them all that she’d been mistaken.
When she glanced over her shoulder, she found him looking at the mistletoe with indecision. Her heartbeat stuttered, and her mouth dried. Surely he didn’t intend to kiss her! Not here, in front of everyone.
Not at all.
Leaning forward, Lord Annandale jostled Wayland into Katherine as he plucked two berries from the bough. The breath rushed from her chest as Wayland’s body collided with hers, pressing her back against the wall. With a look of irritation, Wayland levered himself away from her to glare at Lord Annandale.
Paying no mind to his friend, Lord Annandale thrust his arm between them to capture her hand. “My apologies, lass.” He bestowed a kiss on her knuckles before turning to his wife-to-be and kissing her full on the mouth. Pru sank into the kiss, unashamed to be sharing it with him in front of such an audience.
Her insides squirming, Katherine turned away to give them privacy.
When they parted, she brushed down the front of her gown and tried not to recall that everyone had seen Wayland press against her. It hadn’t been the first time — their investigations together had thus far put them in a variety of private situations, particularly in Bath — but heretofore, they had never shared such moments with their friends. Although she tried to avoid Wayland’s gaze, she couldn’t miss his expression in her peripheral vision. He stood in the threshold of the door, looking at her askance.
The very last thing she would do was kiss him! However, when she turned to sharpen her tongue at him, no more berries hid between the leaves of mistletoe. Had she miscounted? She must have. In any case, it was safe to walk beneath.
Her stomach shriveled into a raisin. She couldn’t define the lingering emotion behind the sensation. Embarrassment, perhaps. Certainly not disappointment. Without a word, she led the men to the back door and bid them good night without looking at them.
Lyle, the last to depart, left with his face a bright scarlet red.
Chapter Thirteen
As Katherine followed Harriet through the ankle-deep snow, she wished for her cloak. However, her clothing had been far too expensive to pass for that of a servant and her red cloak too noticeable. Despite her argument that perhaps she could claim the garment was a castoff from her fictional mistress, Harriet had insisted that they borrow clothes from the maids in Dorchester House, none of whom happened to be tall enough to wear gowns or cloaks that covered Katherine’s ankles. However, Harriet had been firm. If Katherine did not dress the part, she would have been relegated to waiting at the house while Harriet continued to investigate.
This time, Katherine refused to do any such thing. Even Pru had been willing to put aside her pride and don the thinner clothing.
“Maybe we should visit the scene of the crime first,” Katherine said under her breath. “Someone might have seen Rita there, and that would solidify our case.”
“First let’s see for ourselves what Rita has to say. I know you will be able to make her slip up if she’s guilty. We can visit the place where Ellie was killed later on if need be. It’s not like there will be any evidence left lying around. Besides, the murder happened months ago, and people’s memories are short,” Pru said.
“I can’t believe Wayland and Lord Annandale discounted our theory that Rita might be the killer! Size doesn’t mean anything if one has a sharp enough blade. I suppose McTavish is besotted,” Harriet said, glancing back at Pru. Katherine agreed with the statement but wondered if Harriet was hinting around to find out if her theory on McTavish being besotted was true.
Pru shrugged, but whatever she and Lord Annandale had spoken of after leaving Katherine’s house last night — or, she should say, early this morning — she refused to speak a word of it. Katherine sighed, dropping the subject as Mr. Blake’s house came into view.
“If not the killer, she lied, so she knows something,” Katherine said. “And I aim to find out what it is.”
Whatever Rita was hiding could be the very thing that broke the case. She could very well be the killer, and if Katherine could get a confession today, she would win the wager they’d set. And, as the icing atop the cake, she would see both Wayland and Lord Annandale tomorrow night at the monthly meeting of the Royal Society for Investigative Techniques. She would get him to acknowledge that she was the better detective in a room full of their peers.
When Katherine would have stepped up to the front door, Harriet clasped her arm and led her down a steep flight of steps to a discreet door at the back of the house. “We’ll enter here. Gabrielle, my friend, works in the laundry room closest to this door. We should be able to find her without too much trouble.” She waited for Katherine to nod before she knocked on the door. As agreed, Katherine let Harriet take the lead. Katherine looked enough like her father that she feared being recognized if she led the way into the house. Not to mention, Harriet had friends here and would be able to more easily gain entrance.
“A moment,” said a muffled voice from within. The door was opened by a short woman with a weary expression. Upon seeing Harriet, her eyes widened and her mouth slackened in relief as she shoved a pile of white linen onto her hip and out of her face. However, the moment her gaze traveled from beyond Harriet to Katherine, her expression shuttered once more.
“Good morning, Gabrielle. We’re here—”
Gabrielle turned away. “If you’ll tell no one I’m the one who let you into the house, I’ve no need to know why you’re here.”
Katherine exchanged a wary glance with Pru before stepping into the narrow corridor. There was only room enough for one of them to walk abreast. She took her lead from Harriet and stamped the snow off her shoes before following the maid into a nearby room.
In this cramped, barren room, the interior was lit with a sole tallow candle. The air smelled sharply of something that bit into Katherine’s nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and breathed shallowly through her mouth, blinking rapidly. The vapor in the air was enough to sting.
“We’re hoping to talk to Rita.”
Gabrielle piled the linens into a steaming basin and shoved at them with the nearby stick, making certain that every stray corner was submerged. Only then did she turn to look not at Harriet but directly at Katherine.
“You’re certain she was killed, and this wasn’t an accident.”
Katherine raised her eyebrows. “Ellie Simpson was stabbed in the middle of the street.”
Gabrielle grimaced. “I knew that, of course. But bad things happen in certain parts of town and…”
“It was not a random murder,” Katherine said softly. “We haven’t uncovered the culprit yet for certain, but Rita could be the clue that brings the matter to light.”
Her expression souring, Gabrielle lowered her eyes and stared into the basin. “Very well, my lady. Rita was helping me to strip off the coverlets upstairs. She’ll be down at any moment.”
Katherine fought not to sigh at the formal address. Why did she have to be so darn tall? Her height and figure made her far too easily recognizable. Still, she held the faint hope that Harriet’s friend had only known her because she’d been with Harriet.
The laundry maid stepped back, still not meeting Katherine’s gaze. “You can wait here, but I’m making myself scarce. I want no part in whatever you’re doing.”
Katherine didn’t stop her. She didn’t miss the pained expression on Harriet’s face, either. How close were Harriet and Gabrielle? She’d never stopped to think about the consequences of her investigations on Harriet’s friendships. Guilt warred with affection. Harriet was loyal to a fault, but Katherine would have to consider the tasks she sent her on more carefully. She didn’t want to jeopardize the other woman’s friendships.
We’re doing vital work. It was the truth, and yet Katherine couldn’t decide whether or not it made up for the strained relationship Harriet would no doubt have with Gabrielle after this business was concluded.
If they had to wait, Katherine preferred not to do it in a room that made her eyes water. She turned her gaze to the floor because it made them sting less and turned to leave. As she did, she spotted the man’s burned boots and the embroidered silk shoes with water stains that Harriet had described.
The shoes were indeed lovely. Blue satin with embroidered flowers. Too bad a water stain spread in an ugly blotch over the tops—the very part that would be seen the most. Katherine thought about Mrs. Blake running out to the livery. A woman having a fling with her driver would hardly be jealous of a maid her husband was bedding, not to mention that apparently, Mrs. Blake had her own admirer giving her jewelry, if the way she took pains to hide that gold bracelet was any indication.
Katherine’s choice of footwear was much more practical, especially in winter, but still she had never paid much mind to her shoes. Did Harriet spend hours trying to get stains out of hers?
Gabrielle scurried out of sight, up a servants’ stair. As she did, Katherine dismissed the shoes and turned to those of Mr. Blake. His boots undoubtedly took precedence, given that he was the master of the house, but it sounded as though he kicked the logs and burned his shoes so often that Gabrielle had no time to work on those of Mrs. Blake’s. That bespoke a man with a frightening temper. In fact, she had to wonder if Mr. Blake knew that his wife’s shoes were in such sorry repair. If he didn’t like to spend money, then he wouldn’t want to replace the expensive silk shoes. Mrs. Blake might be frightened of him. When she’d covered her wrist at the theater, she’d certainly seemed wary of something.
Gabrielle returned before Rita did, with another armful of laundry. Katherine stepped aside, letting her into the room and trying not to get in her way. However, when she dumped these into the half-full basin, water splashed up and onto her hand. She hissed, clutching it close to her stomach and swearing under her breath.
