Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.
With no better options, he exhaled, nodding slightly. The truth was that it felt good to have someone at his back. To have someone he could… trust.
“Three interviews gives us a place to start,” Kent said. “I’ve also heard back from my partners, Mr. Lugo and Mr. McLeod. They will be handling the investigation on the London end, questioning Monique’s known associates and searching her residence for clues. They expect to report here in three days’ time.”
Three days.The news further wound the coil in Richard’s gut. In London, the investigators might discover evidence of Wick’s affair with Monique. They might place him on the list of suspects. An invisible net was closing around Wick.
Looking at Violet, Richard saw his own emotions reflected in her eyes. Concern—and steady determination. The hourglass had been tipped. They had three days’ time to find the true killer and prove Wick’s innocence.
Chapter Twenty-One
The group agreed to split up the tasks. The men were to take on Wormleigh and Burns whilst the ladies spoke to Monique’s maid. Thea and Tremont had been assigned the duty of chaperoning Primrose and Polly.
Ambrose muttered to Thea and her husband, “Sorry to give the pair of you the most perilous mission of all. Polly won’t be a problem, of course—but keep a close eye on my daughter, will you? Of late, Rosie has been attracting trouble the way honey does flies.”
“Don’t worry about a thing.” With a teasing smile in Vi’s direction, Thea said, “How much worse could she be than Violet?”
Seeing the twitching lips around her, Vi resisted the impulse to stick her tongue out at her sister. She felt quite proud of her growing maturity.
“Very amusing, Thea,” she said loftily and left it at that.
They went off on their assignments. As Violet followed Emma and Marianne to the servant’s wing, her anticipation was threaded with worry. What would Jeanne reveal about Monique’s past? Did the maid know about her mistress’ lovers, including Wick? If she did, how should Violet handle the situation?
Em led the way down the servants’ stairs into the kitchen. The large room buzzed with activity, maids and footmen racing to and fro in an orchestrated frenzy. They stopped short at the sight of three upstairs guests in their domain, bowing hastily as Vi and the others walked past.
Vi, for her part, was momentarily distracted from her worries by the scent of baked goods and roasting meat. Her belly rumbled; it had been hours since lunch. She paused and eyed a platter of sandwiches resting on a counter.
“Go ahead and take one, miss.” The cook, a jolly bespectacled woman in a pristine apron, nodded at the sandwiches. “I’ve got plenty.”
Violet didn’t need to be asked twice. Thanking the good woman, she took one of the triangles and bit into it with relish. Buttery bread, spiced ham, and chutney—heaven. She took another and caught up to the others, munching.
“Goodness, couldn’t you wait for supper?” Emma said.
“I’m hungry,” Vi protested.
“Tartarus,” Marianne said with a faint shake of her head.
A woman dressed in dark bombazine approached them and curtsied. Her tidy appearance and air of command conveyed her status as the top female servant of the household.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace. Ladies. How may I assist you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Hopkins,” Emma said. “We’re back to check in on Jeanne.”
The housekeeper shook her head. “Such a terrible business. One can’t blame the poor woman for succumbing to shock. I hope you’ll find her in a better state.”
Em continued to lead the way into the servant’s hall, a long and narrow space dominated by a large trestle table. On one wall hung rows of small metal bells, and Vi spotted the names of the guests written beneath each. Whenever a chime went off, some member of the staff had to abandon their tea or whatever tasks they were doing at the table and dash off.
Violet followed Emma through a warren of hallways and up three flights of stairs until they reached their destination: the garret floor. The cramped corridor had doors on both sides.
Em went to the first door on the right and knocked briskly. “Jeanne? It’s the Duchess of Strathaven. I’ve come to see how you’re doing.”
No reply.
“Do you think she’s asleep?” Marianne said.
“The sleeping draught ought to have worn off by now.” Frowning, Em knocked again.
“Try the knob,” Vi suggested.
