“’Twasn’t Lady Margaret.”
I patted the back of the chair next to me. “Tell me.”
The proprietress nodded to her, and the woman sat. “There’s a young man in the village who wasn’t born with all his wits. He followed Lady Margaret around, and she always had a puppy or kitten with her. She drowned one kitten herself, while carrying the creature when she was trying to climb into a boat. She slipped and nearly fell in herself. The young man was there and saw what happened.”
She shook her head. “After that, her pets would be found drowned after a few weeks or a few months. No one understood why, and for a long time Lady Margaret was suspected, despite that she was upset at their deaths. It was finally discovered that the young man was to blame.”
“Was there evidence against him?”
The woman nodded. “Caught in the act. However, Lady Margaret was fanciful, temperamental, spoiled. She was feared in the village because if something didn’t go her way, someone would pay.”
“Pay?” That didn’t sound good.
“Outsiders would get sacked, but not without a good reference and a month’s wages. Villagers would be warned to stay away for a few weeks or shifted to another post. This didn’t happen as often as folks will tell you now that she’s gone.”
The woman stared at the fire for a moment and then continued. “Lady Margaret spent most of the little time she had with her family alone with the duke, and a duke has real power. Her idea of what was normal was warped. Especially after her mother’s death. Until then, her mother was her whole world. After that, no one had the heart to say no to her.”
“What happened to her mother?”
“You know the duke. Ask him.”
I planned to as soon as I reached London.
*
TWO DAYS LATER, I arrived back home to find Sir Broderick had called a meeting of the Archivist Society for that night. Proclaiming that I couldn’t face another hour with the grime and soot of travel on me, I left Frances Atterby helping Emma in the bookshop while I heated water in the gas geyser and poured myself a bath.
After four days of smoking railway engines, bouncing horse carts on dusty roads, crowded train cars, and lumpy beds, sinking into a tub of steaming hot water was glorious. While my body reveled in the twin pleasures of heat and soap, my mind studied what I’d learned on the trip. The locals appeared to suspect Lady Margaret of killing herself that night two years before and I was left wondering why. Did guilt drag her into the water?
And that led me back to Victoria Dutton-Cox’s puzzling death. I had no answers there. After letting my thoughts run in circles a few times, I picked up the sponge and rubbed down my skin.
If I’d found understanding Margaret’s and Victoria’s motives difficult, my parents’ killer was a complete enigma. Why had he killed my parents? Why had I seen nothing of him for a dozen years? His face haunted my dreams. That was my first investigation and my one failure. I needed to find him.
After a good soak and a scrub, I felt human and ready to face anything. Even reasons beyond my understanding.
*
PHYLLIDA HAD ALREADY unpacked for me and laid out clean clothes. She gave me the welcome news that there’d been no domestic accidents and there were spring peas for dinner.
She helped me dress in a white shirtwaist and blue skirt, but instead of going to the shop, I put on my cloak, hat, and gloves and went to Hyde Park Place. At that time of day, the sidewalk was busy with well-dressed men and women heading home from shopping or visiting or meeting with their men of affairs. Traffic on the street was busy with hansom cabs and carriages traveling between the City or Regent Street and the wealthy residential area on this side of Hyde Park.
I walked slowly along a four-block stretch, looking at every top-hatted man around me before I turned and strolled in the opposite direction. After my second circuit, a bobby stared as if considering whether I was up to no good, but I gave him a big smile as I walked past and he appeared to ignore me after that.
Clouds were blocking the sun, bringing an early end to the day and speeding pedestrians along their way. I couldn’t tarry much longer looking for my prey, when I heard, “I doubt you’ll find Drake along here.”
I swung around to find myself facing the Duke of Blackford, an umbrella replacing his usual walking stick. “No, I’m here on a different search entirely.”
“I hadn’t heard the Archivist Society handles more than one investigation at a time.”
“We don’t. This is a private matter.”
He raised his eyebrows.
I was saved from answering as a fat raindrop hit my nose. The duke put up his umbrella instantly and held it over both of us. “There’s a tea shop nearby on Oxford Street. Shall we have a cup of tea while we wait out the storm?”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
His smug smile made me think he’d offered to save me from a soaking for the pleasure of forcing me to call him “Your Grace.” I had to hurry to keep up with him, although he didn’t appear to be rushing. We arrived before we were dripping. The duke arranged for us to have a table by one of the windows to share a pot of tea and some biscuits.
“This is very kind of you.”
“My father raised me to be a gentleman. And while he’d never approve of leaving a lady out in the rain, he would expect me to ask why she was walking slowly along a busy sidewalk for quite some time.”
Our tea arrived and neither of us spoke until I’d served us both. “I told you, it’s a private matter.”
“Not so private that you can’t tell me. Who are you looking for?”
“What makes you think I’m looking for someone?”
He glared at me. “Please, Miss Fenchurch, don’t treat me like a mental defective. You were slowly walking down a major sidewalk staring at every passing man. I repeat, who are you looking for?”
“You’ll laugh at me.” Sir Broderick had told me it was hopeless.
“No. I won’t. I can tell it’s important to you.” His expression showed genuine interest.
“I’m looking for the man who killed my parents.”
“Why here? Why now? Didn’t your parents die years ago?”
“Yes, they did. However, I recently saw their murderer walking down that sidewalk. I was on an omnibus, and by the time I climbed down, he was gone. I’m hoping he has a reason to be in this area and I’ll see him again.”
“Have you looked for him before?”
“Every day for the past dozen years. Not actively, but I’d walk down the sidewalk, see a top hat, and immediately glance at the man’s face. The day I met you was the first time I’d seen him since the day my parents died.”
“You’re certain it was him?”
“Yes,” I snapped. I held up my hands. “Sorry. You sound like Sir Broderick.”
“Sir Broderick doubts you?”
“Yes.”
“Has he ever spotted someone he thought was that man?”
“He couldn’t. He wasn’t there when my parents and I were taken hostage. When I escaped, I ran to him as my father’s partner and as someone who knew how to take care of himself.”
I shivered, knowing it wasn’t from watching the rain fall. “When I pulled Sir Broderick out of the burning cottage after the beam fell on him, I saw our abductor standing nearby. Sir Broderick was unconscious at that point, or nearly so. And that was the last time I saw that horrible man. Until recently.”