No, Ellie. Thankyou.
* * *
Hudson’sformer lodgings were above an apothecary’s shop. Fortunately, for now, Elysande and her husband remained in a back area of the store below, rather than in the rooms above. The chamber in which they found themselves smelled medicinal, and lining the shelves surrounding them were stocked tins and boxes and bottles, powders, syrups, and tinctures. There was only one chair and a small desk, presumably for the apothecary’s use when tallying his ledgers or otherwise taking inventory of his wares.
To that end, Hudson, Elysande, and the apothecary himself, Mr. Benjamin Cowling, stood in a strange, awkward trio.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. Cowling.” Hudson’s voice was cool and composed. Gone was the raw, anguished man of the breakfast room. In his place was Chief Inspector Stone.
Cowling was a man of short stature, with thinning, dark hair and an extensive mustache, the ends of which had been waxed to curl upward. To Elysande, the appearance was quite comical, as if his facial adornment were smiling.
“The sooner this murder is solved, the better for me,” the apothecary said, his countenance dour and severe. “Do you have any notion how bad it is for business to have had a woman murdered above one’s shop?”
Elysande longed to deliver a stinging set-down to Mr. Cowling. A woman had been murdered, and he was more concerned with the impact the death had upon his business than the loss of life. His sole motive in seeing the killing solved was to benefit himself, and he had no intention of being charitable, despite Hudson’s status.
But Hudson, to his credit, maintained his sangfroid, appearing utterly unaffected by the man’s selfishness. “Solving the case and bringing Mrs. Ainsley’s murderer to justice is what I intend to do. That is why I have come to speak with you, as you can imagine.”
Cowling’s gaze narrowed. “Scotland Yard has already been here, you know. Chief Inspector O’Rourke. He told me you are the next Duke of Wexcomb.”
“Wycombe,” Hudson corrected quietly.
“Hardly matters, does it? One duke is no different than all the rest,” Mr. Cowling said, his tone dismissive. “What I don’t understand is why you were keeping it a secret, continuing to make use of the rooms I rented you.”
“That is a private matter, Mr. Cowling,” Hudson said stiffly, “and I did not come here this morning to talk about myself, but rather about what information you may have concerning the night Mrs. Ainsley was found murdered.”
For the first time, the apothecary trained his speculative stare upon Elysande. “And who might this be, accompanying you?”
“My wife, Mr. Cowling,” her husband said, a bite of irritation underscoring his tone now. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Wycombe.”
Elysande had never had occasion to be introduced to an apothecary in the storage room of his shop whilst investigating a murder before. She hardly knew the protocol, so she dipped into a curtsy worthy of any court presentation.
“Mr. Cowling,” she said.
Looking startled, Mr. Cowling offered her a bow. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I had not realized you were married.”
The words were not particularly welcome, especially considering the events of the past few days. Here it was, the specter of her husband’s past, and she must greet it like an old friend instead of warily, dagger drawn.
Elysande had done everything she could to distract herself from thoughts of Hudson’s bachelor quarters. And not just for the most disturbing reason of all—the murder of Mrs. Ainsley, which had been perpetrated there. Rather, the notion of the life he had lived before he had married her left her with a curious, unwanted feeling in her breast, rather like a hot coal, lodged just beneath the skin.
Jealousy.
She supposed.
Whatever the emotion, it had returned with fierce vengeance just now at the reminder Hudson had been living here, even following their marriage. That a woman who had once been his lover had awaited him at his rooms.
“It is a new marriage,” Hudson said by way of explanation.
Elysande bit her lip to refrain from further speech.
“That explains a great deal.” Mr. Cowling nodded his head, sending a thin hank of greased hair over his balding pate. “Young marriages can often be difficult.”
Elysande’s heart beat faster at the man’s intimation that her husband had been unfaithful. Oh, he had not said the words, but doing so had been quite unnecessary.
Hudson’s lips compressed. “My marriage is none of your concern, Mr. Cowling. Let us dispense with further niceties and get to the heart of the matter, which is the unfortunate murder of Mrs. Ainsley. As I understand, you were the one who provided her with the key to my rooms on the night of her death. I was hoping you might have some additional information in that regard which would prove useful.”
“I didn’t,” Cowling said.
“I beg your pardon?”
