“I’ll go,” Violet volunteered. “They’ll be plenty of chaperones present, so the rest of you could stay here and help in the search.”
“I’ll go with you,” Richard offered.
Kent narrowed his eyes. The investigator might be weighed down with numerous duties, but evidently he wasn’t about to relinquish those of a protective older brother. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of you to go together,” he said stiffly.
“Come, darling, they’re practically engaged,” his wife murmured. “And there’ll be so many others present. I’ll ask Lady Ainsworthy to chaperone; she’s a stickler for proprieties.”
After a moment, Kent relented. “All right. But no more escapades, Violet, do you understand? You must stay with the group and Lady Ainsworthy.”
“Of course.” Violet’s expression was as innocent as an angel’s.
The gazes directed toward the ceiling conveyed that she fooled no one.
A knock sounded.
“Must be the maid. Time to get her to disclose her mistress’ true motives.” In a louder voice, Kent called, “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal a young footman. He was alone.
“Where is the maid?” Kent demanded.
“That’s just it, sir. I couldn’t find her.” The footman lifted his liveried shoulders, his expression perplexed. “She wasn’t in her room, and all her things are gone.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Once again, the team split up, this time to investigate Jeanne’s disappearance. Ambrose and the men went to talk to the guards at the gates, and Violet accompanied Emma and Marianne to the servants’ wing to talk to the staff. Mrs. Hopkins, the housekeeper, had had a tray sent up to Jeanne yesterday morning; the maid who’d delivered it reported that Jeanne had told her to leave it outside the door. That was the last time anyone had heard from the Frenchwoman.
A search of the garret room yielded no clues as to where Jeanne might have gone. She’d taken all her sparse belongings. Save for the empty tray, she might have never been there at all.
Looking around the deserted room, Em gnawed on her lip. “Where did Jeanne go? More importantly,whywould she leave so precipitously—unless she had something to hide?”
“Surely you don’t thinkJeannewas the one who killed Monique and took the necklace?” To Vi, the notion didn’t seem right. “When I spoke to Jeanne, she seemed devoted to Monique, truly distressed over her mistress’ death. She’s dedicated her life to Monique’s family.”
“When money is involved, anything is possible,” Marianne said quietly. “And we are talking about ten thousand pounds.”
“I cannot believe Jeanne would do such a thing,” Vi insisted.
“All right, let’s focus on where she went for now,” Em said. “What would be the best way to leave the house undetected?”
Vi thought about what she’d do. “Climb out through the window?”
“Let me rephrase that: if you were atypicalperson who didn’t relish death-defying feats, how would you get of here?” Em amended dryly. “And Jeanne is no spring chicken, mind you.”
“I’d take the path of least resistance and leave through the closest door,” Marianne said. “If someone asked where I was going, I’d simply make up an excuse.”
“Good point. The closest door is this way.” Emma’s ivory skirts swished as she led the way back down the flights of stairs. Footmen and maids carrying a medley of objects dodged out of their path as they navigated through the narrow hallways into the kitchen, where Emma steered them out a side door.
Stepping outside, Vi saw that they were at the back of the servants’ wing, out of view of the main house. Here, workers from the village were busily unloading wagons of supplies onto the graveled drive as their sturdy horses waited, ears and tails flicking. Vi’s stomach gave a rumble when one workman yanked the cover off a dairy cart, revealing neat stacks of cloth-wrapped cheese and buckets of fresh milk.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Em said.
“That we could use some refreshment?” Because Vi was all for a snack.
Amusement glinted in Marianne’s emerald eyes. “I think Emma is referring to the fact that we’re looking at an easy escape route from the estate.”
Her meaning struck Violet. “You mean Jeanne hid in one of the carts?”
“It’s a distinct possibility,” her sister-in-law replied. “The constables at the gate aren’t looking for stowaways. They’re just keeping track of the guests.”
