Henry exchanged a glance with Juliet as he rose. “It appears you will be unable to take that walk after all, Miss Finch. If you two ladies would please excuse us?” He clipped them a polite bow as he strode to the door.
Juliet stood, the shift in the room as dense as an October fog. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Clara. Until later, Charity.”
Clara tilted her head slightly, interest deepening the blue in her eyes. “I hope we shall see you again soon, Juliet. Perhaps at the Harvest Festival on Saturday?”
Before she could formulate a reply, Henry called over his shoulder, “Of course, Clara. We shall all see you then.”
Juliet followed Henry out of the room, and with every step, she felt the inquisitive gaze of Clara Whitmore burning between her shoulder blades.
Mrs. Hamby stopped in the front hall, pivoting to peer around him and Juliet. Did she seriously think someone else would creep up behind them to listen in on whatever she had to say?
Henry frowned. “What is this about, Mrs. Hamby?”
Lips pinched, she produced a ripped piece of paper from her pocket. “One of the maids found this in the footman’s livery while doing laundry. I thought you and Miss Finch ought to be privy to it.”
Collecting the small slip, he held it up to eye height.
She doesn’t know yet, but she will. Soon. Unless …
What the deuce? He glanced at Mrs. Hamby. “What does this mean?”
She shook her head, expression grim. Not one of her gunmetal-grey locks dared to break rank from the coil of hairatop her head. “I don’t know, sir, but with all the … happenings around here, I hate to imagine.”
Juliet held out her palm. “May I see it?”
Henry passed her the paper but kept his eye on Mrs. Hamby. “You found this in Woodley’s pocket, you say?”
“The laundry maid did, yes, sir.”
Suspicion warred with disbelief and a fair amount of caution. The note was vague. It could mean nothing. Then again, this might be the clue he needed. He glanced at Juliet, her teeth grazing her lower lip a moment before she offered back the note.
Her fingers brushed against his, her nostrils flaring at the contact. Even so, her tone remained as even as ever. “I suspect this is no coincidence.”
Perhaps. Perhaps not. He ran his thumb over the hastily scribbled words. As master of the manor, he had to be prudent, and yet it was hard to deny that something sinister was taking root deep in his thoughts. “I should like to speak with Woodley,” he said at length.
Juliet’s gaze darted to his. “So would I.”
He turned back to Mrs. Hamby. “Where is he?”
“Last I saw, sir, he was attending to the silver in the pantry.”
He nodded curtly. “Tell him to meet me in the study once he is finished.”
Juliet laid a light touch on his sleeve. “Perhaps it would be better if we spoke with him straightaway.”
True. The element of surprise could be an ally. “Agreed.” He cast a final glance at the housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Hamby.”
He guided Juliet down a side passage leading to the back of the house. The air turned cooler as they left the family-used portion of the manor to descend wooden steps, clean and tidy but decidedly less polished.
Juliet glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “We shall have to tread carefully when we speak to Mr. Woodley.”
“Carefully?”
She nodded while gripping the handrail. “It is easy to say too much when you are trying to get answers.” She paused, then added, “People can take even the smallest detail and turn it into something more.”
His eyebrows shot to the rafters. “Are you accusing me of something, Miss Finch?”
“Not necessarily.” She traversed the final step to the tiled landing of the servants’ floor, then faced him, an enigmatic smile quirking the corners of her mouth. “It is just that earlier, with Miss Whitmore … well, I think it is possible she perceived more than you intended.”
