Emma had never willfully disobeyed her brother before, and her heart and head were in turmoil as the hackney entered St. John’s Wood. She felt guilty over defying Ambrose, yet her sense of resolution was stronger. Sheknewthat both he and Strathaven needed her help, and she couldn’t stand by wringing her hands. She was a Kent, after all.
In this case, she would have to act first, apologize later.
Follow the wisdom of your heart.
That advice brought her to Alaric’s “cottage,” a luxurious Italianate villa nestled within a bucolic setting of woods and flowering plants which seemed a world away from the city. As the hackney rolled up the long drive, she observed the privacy afforded by the towering trees and hedges.
When she rang the bell, a woman in her middling years answered. Her black taffeta dress and firmly secured knot of grey hair announced her as the housekeeper.
“How may I help you, miss?” she said.
“I am Emma Kent.” Squelching her guilt, Emma handed over the business card she’d filched from Mr. Hobson’s desk on her way out from the office. “Kent and Associates was hired by his grace to investigate the matter of Lady Osgood.”
Frowning, the good lady looked at the card, then at her.
Emma assumed her most professional expression.
“Those gentlemen from your firm were here earlier this week,” the housekeeper said.
“I’m following up,” Emma improvised. “I have a few more questions.”
The woman scrutinized her for a few more moments before standing aside. “I am Mrs. Millbury, the housekeeper, and I’ve already told the gentlemen what I know about Lily Hutchins, which is very little. If you must, however, you may speak to the maids again.”
Emma could barely contain her excitement. “Thank you, Mrs. Millbury.”
She was brought to wait in a salon, which had been decorated with an exotic flair. Bronze bamboo-patterned silk covered the walls, and the furnishings were upholstered in a rich shade of Oriental blue. The overall feeling was one of decadence. Thinking of the guests Alaric must entertain here, Emma felt her chest tighten with a foreign feeling... jealousy?
Surely not. She had no attachment to him, no claim.
You’re here to find a murderer. So focus.
Two maids entered, a plump brunette and a ginger-haired girl. Both bent their knees.
“Good mornin’, Miss Kent.” The brunette was bran-faced, with dimpled cheeks that hinted at a jolly disposition. “Mrs. Millbury said you wanted to speak wif us?”
“Yes, Miss…?”
“I’m Jenny.” Clearly the leader, the brunette jerked her chin at her companion. “And this ’ere is Gretchen.”
Gretchen ducked her chin shyly.
“Won’t you both sit down?” Emma said.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Jenny plopped herself on the divan while Gretchen perched on its edge.
Taking the adjacent wingchair, Emma pulled out a pencil and notebook from her reticule. “I understand that both of you knew Lily Hutchins. Would you describe her to me?”
“Ash-blond ’air, ’azel eyes, the kind o’ female gents take notice o’, if you catch my meaning.” Jenny snorted. “Lily started work ’ere about a month ago, but as I told the other investigators, she was too hoity-toity to rub shoulders with the likes o’ me and Gretchen. Myself, I wouldn’t be surprised if shewerethe one that done the poisoning.”
“Why do you say that?” Emma said swiftly.
Jenny tapped her temple. “Iknowpeople, miss. Worked in more than a few ’ouseholds in my time, and there was somefin’ not right ’bout Lily.”
“What wasn’t right about her?”
“She didn’tknowthings, for starters. Once, I caught ’er using silver polish on acopperpot.”
“When a dash of salt and lemon juice would have sufficed,” Emma said, her brow scrunching. Any housemaid ought to knowthat.
