"I shall ask Berry about it."
"You're quite the friend of his these days."
"It's all official business, Emily. His idea of an entertaining evening could not be more different from mine."
"I've heard that you're spending inordinate amounts of time with the Marlborough Set. Dare I ask if the Prince of Wales and the would-be heir to the Bourbon throne are becoming close?"
"They have many similar" — he cleared his throat — "interests."
"Hmph." I knew all the rumors about Bertie and his interests, particularly those of the female persuasion. I did not much like the idea of Colin running with the Marlborough Set.
"You can imagine the delicate situations that might arise should Berry make any bad political moves."
"How lucky that he's got you to look after him." I looked at the letter again. "This makes me wonder if he had reason to want Mr. Francis eliminated."
"Don't let your imagination run wild, Emily. This situation is more precarious than you know. Investigate if you wish, but do not" — with a finger, he lifted my chin so that I was looking directly at him — "do not make accusations you cannot back up with irrefutable facts."
"The police seem perfectly willing to lock up Jane Stilleman without solid evidence."
"She had motive, she had opportunity. I know you dislike Berry. He is...not the gentleman he ought to be. But if you want to help Mrs. Francis, letting your dislike of him cloud your judgment will be an enormous mistake. Murder is not a crime limited to the obviously contemptible."
"I shall keep that in mind." I straightened his lapels. "I am most pleased that you are not trying to dissuade me from helping my friend."
"I wouldn't dream of it. First of all, you'd ignore me if I did, and you know how I deplore futile endeavors. Second, anything that distracts you from uncovering the identity of your admirer brings me closer to having you as my wife."
"You underestimate me. I'm perfectly capable of solving both puzzles and look forward to spending the fall with you in Greece. Shall we keep to Santorini? Or would you like to visit the mainland, too?"
"A question I shall not have to answer. Better that you, Emily, ponder options for our wedding trip. I thought Ephesus, and then Egypt."
"Someday, perhaps." I smiled, thinking that giving Colin permission to court me had been a very, very good idea.
I returned to Richmond the next morning and immediately told Beatrice about the list I had found at the Savoy as well as the letter Colin had discovered. While she searched for anything that could be considered "personal correspondence" of Marie Antoinette, I set about conducting interviews with the servants, hoping that I might discover something the police had missed. I started with Thomkins, whom I found working in the garden. He was less than forthcoming and clearly did not appreciate having to answer to a woman.
"How long have you been involved with Mrs. Stilleman?"
"Two years."
"If the affair began before she wed, why didn't she marry you?"
"I never asked," he said. "I always knew she'd do better with Stilleman. Marrying a gardener would have been a step down for her." Truly, servants were worse about class distinction than their masters.
"But you loved her?"
"I suppose."
Faint praise, I thought. "When did Mr. Francis discover the two of you?"
"About two months ago."
"That long? Did he put you on notice?"
"He made it clear that he wouldn't tolerate that sort of thing in his household but said he would keep me on."
"And Jane?"
"I never talked to her after it happened."
"Not at all?"
"I need this work, milady."
"Do you think that Jane committed these crimes?"
"No." His voice was unsure.
"Why would Mr. Francis have threatened Jane's position but not yours?"
"I'm sure he wouldn't have told me. You'd have to ask Jane."
I returned to the house and sought out the housekeeper, an efficient sort of woman who confirmed what Thomkins had said and assured me that Jane would have been let go immediately if it were not for her husband.
"That's the tragedy of it, Lady Ashton. Mr. Francis quite depended upon Stilleman. If his wife were to lose her position and couldn't find something nearby, which she wouldn't — the entire county knows of her indiscretion — he might follow her. She was allowed to stay on a probationary basis."
"Then her position was not in jeopardy?" I asked.
"Not until she and Thomkins started carrying on again."
"What happened?"
"Stable boy caught them." So Thomkins had lied about not talking to Jane again.
"Had Jane been given her notice?"
"No. Mr. Francis died the next day."
"And what of Thomkins?"
"I was not privy to Mr. Francis's decision on that matter."
None of this information boded well for Jane, but when I said as much to Beatrice, she insisted that the maid was innocent. "Jane is like family to me. She is a good girl. I am disappointed that Thomkins was able to seduce her, but adultery is a far cry from murder."
"Quite right, Beatrice, but what if Stilleman had threatened her with divorce? That, coupled with the loss of her position, would have ruined her. Even good people can act badly when cornered."
"I am certain she is not guilty."
"I know you are," I said, taking her hand. "This is very difficult. I shall do all I can to uncover the truth, but please remember that it may not be what we hope it is. Did you have any luck with your search?"
"I did." She passed to me a bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon. "They were in a box where he kept theater programs."
I untied the ribbon, then, mindful of the fragile nature of the old paper, slowly unfolded the first sheet before me. It was written in French, a seemingly innocuous note to a friend, and would have meant very little were it not for Marie Antoinette's signature at the bottom of the page. "Oh! This" — I could not help but smile — "this is almost too easy. May I read the rest of them?"
"I wish you'd take them home with you. I'd rather not have anything here that might lure the thief back to my house."
Thinking of what I'd told Colin about there being nothing in my house that could lead to another break-in, I hesitated.
"Please take them, Emily," she said. "I can't stand the thought of them being here."
"All right." I folded the letter I was holding and returned it to the bundle, retying the ribbon. "I wonder why our intrepid thief did not steal them before."
"I've no idea. You will let me know if there is anything of significance in them?"
"Of course," I replied, and as my thoughts began to wander, I decided it was time to return home. Surely Charles Berry was not the thief. He could never pull off such a sophisticated series of crimes. Nor, however, could he afford to hire someone to do it for him. So why did he have the list I'd found in his room? And what had Mr. Francis wanted him to stop doing? Jane may have had reason to want both her husband and her employer dead, but a nagging instinct told me that Mr. Berry may have benefited from at least one of the murders, too. I was still contemplating these questions when, back at Berkeley Square, my driver, rather than one of the footmen, opened the carriage door.
"I thought you should know, Lady Ashton," he said, helping me down from my seat. "A coach followed us all the way from Richmond. It bore no markings and disappeared soon after we entered London. I did not get a good look at the driver. With the house having been broken into, we're all of us a mite worried about you."
9