Lady Pestlewit fluttered her lashes and returned the pot of cream to her reticule. ‘Perhaps this er… reaction I’m having isn’t what I thought. I did eat strawberries the other day, and I’ve heard they can bring on a rash.’
Tapping her finger on her lip thoughtfully, Clio cocked her head to better assess Lady Pestlewit’s skin. ‘It’s possible. I have a poultice I think you’ll find works wonderfully. Some have even said its effectsare so good, they’re magical.’ She stepped behind the counter, and Lady Pestlewit followed her down a row of white shelves. ‘Ah. Here it is. The Calm and Confidence salve.’ She took a clear glass bottle from the shelf. The soothing cream was tinged green from a mixture of aloe vera, distilled cucumber water, and dew collected on the first morning of the spring equinox. It nearly hummed with healing energy. Not that Lady Pestlewit would notice. Those without magic seldom recognised its vibrations.
Lady Pestlewit’s brow came down as her grey eyes clouded with confusion. ‘Calm and C-confidence?’
Forcing a light-hearted giggle, Clio wrinkled her nose. ‘Just one of those silly names we like to give our products.’
Hardly.
No potion could change someone’s belief, but the magic instilled in the bottle Clio pressed into Lady Pestlewit’s hand would give the woman a boost of confidence, which might help her see the intrinsic worth she held far beneath her skin.
‘And lucky you, we are running a one-day sale on this cream.’ Clio walked back to the counter and wrote the price of the potion minus a 20 per cent deduction into the ledger. She could hardly charge her full price when Lady Pestlewit had doubtlessly been fleeced by Madame Rachel for the enamelling which had left her in such a sorry state. ‘Shall I add this to your account, or would you like to pay for it now?’
Lady Pestlewit sniffed and pulled out a crystal-beaded coin purse. ‘I shall pay in full. I’ve had quite enough of debts, I’ll tell you.’
Clio made a notation in the ledger and wisely kept her thoughts to herself.
After plunking down the exact change, Lady Pestlewit tapped her gloved finger on the counter, lingering. ‘You’ve heard the dreadful news about Viscount Beachley, I suppose.’
My reward for giving her a discount: free gossip.
As it was gossip about the very man Clio was investigating, she found herself unusually interested. Opening her eyes wide, she aimed for a look of shocked innocence. ‘Not at all. Has something happened?’
Lady Pestlewit, in addition to being demanding, proud, and entitled, was also one of the biggest chinwaggers in the beau monde. If anyone had information on a potential murderer in Mayfair, it would be her.
‘I heard from my lady’s maid, who spoke with the viscount’s chambermaid, who got it on good authority from the housekeeper that the poor man has been,’ Lady Pestlewit paused, looked over each shoulder, then ushered Clio closer, ‘murdered!’ Her whisper might as well have been a shout. If anyone else had been in the shop, they would have heard everything.
Honing her best attempts at play-acting, Clio leaned back, hand at her throat, and gasped. ‘No! Do they have any idea who might be the culprit?’
Lady Pestlewit shrugged, though her keen eyes betrayed her. She might be a vain woman with no confidence, but she could ferret information from a rock. Perhaps Clio should recommend her services to Uncle Lachlan. ‘Apparently, his wife has gone missing.’
‘Ah. Well. Most murders are committed by someone close to the victim.’
Lady Pestlewit tapped her finger on the counter. ‘Or perhaps, there have beentwomurders. My lady’s maid said the chambermaid told the laundress, who is a close friend of hers, that the housekeeper never got along with Viscountess Beachley. And according to the footman whose sister works in our kitchen, the housekeeper got into a huge row with the viscount only two daysbefore his…’ She shuddered, and before she could say the word again, Sir Robin flapped his wings.
‘Murder!’ he cried helpfully.
Clio’s heartbeat increased. ‘Really?’
Lady Pestlewit sent Sir Robin a searing glare before turning back to Clio. ‘You’ll never guesswhothey were arguing about.’
Clio shook her head, actually breathless to hear Lady Pestlewit’s next words.
‘Lady Violet Beachley! The missing viscountess herself! Apparently, the viscount knew of his housekeeper’s dislike for his wife, and during their fight, the footman overheard him shouting, “You will not disparage Lady Beachley so grievously! How dare you make such accusations!”’
‘Accusations about what?’ Clio leaned forward on the counter.
‘Well, that’s just it. My maid doesn’t know, no matter how boldly I pressed her. I suppose the footman only heard a few pieces before the viscount stormed out.’
‘Shocking.’
Lady Pestlewit shuddered. ‘Well, you know how dangerous servants can be.’
‘I know how dangerous people can be, regardless of their station.’
Lady Pestlewit nodded as though Clio had agreed with her before continuing. ‘I’d wager all my pin money that the housekeeper killed them both.’
Dear goddess, she is ridiculous.
