“Above would have been fine,” Minerva said. “As an employee I am accustomed to making do and eating with the staff.”
“He said here. Not a servant as such, are you, even if you are in employment.” The housekeeper gestured and a girl slipped in. “This is Sarah. She will serve the two of you. She has a way with hair, even if she is not a lady’s maid.”
Sarah beamed a smile before assuming a demure demeanor.
“I’ll leave her to settle you in.” Mrs. Young turned to Elise. “If you come with me, I will show you your chamber.”
Minerva waited until they left, then gave the high mattress a subtle press. Very nice. She peered out one of the windows. A bit of garden showed below, then a paddock, and beyond that some fields.
Sarah lifted her valise and set it on a stool. Minerva noticed. “I’ll unpack myself. There isn’t much there.” She had only planned to be gone from town three nights, so she had few garments.
“Would you like me to prepare a bath, or help you undress for a rest?”
She wanted the maid to leave so she could look through the house while she had the chance. “No, but I’m sure Miss Turner would enjoy that bath. Tell her I said she should rest afterward. Also, while I will dine with the servants, Miss Turner will take her meal in her chamber.”
Sarah left. Minerva was just about to check that the landing was clear when a knock sounded on her door. She opened it, expecting Elise.
Instead a footman stood there. “For you, Mrs. Rupert.” He offered her a folded paper.
Minerva opened it.There is a back stairs behind the doors at the end of each landing. Take it to the top. I’ll meet you there. CR.
“Do you want to send a reply?” he asked.
“No.”
Minerva waited until the footman was well gone. Then she slipped out to find the back stairs.
* * *
From the parapet walk one could see for miles, even beyond the low hills that flanked the estate’s land on the north. Dark clouds gathered there. They appeared to be moving east, not south, and Chase doubted storms would ruin this fair day.
He kept one eye on the door that gave way to the interior of the house, wondering if Minerva would come up here. He assumed so. She would want to see the spot where Uncle Frederick had gone over. It was the only reason she had left London.
She had not liked hearing Nicholas was in residence. She had probably planned to ask the housekeeper for a tour. He imagined the housekeeper showing two young women the public rooms, and not much noticing when one of them loitered to admire the appointments. He pictured Minerva rejoining the tour twenty minutes later, apologetic about getting lost or distracted. That would give her enough time to find the stairs to the roof, run up them, examine the parapet, and run down.
She was resourceful, he had to give her that. Clever. He wondered what the valet had told her while she visited and chatted about old times in his master’s home. If Edkins had mentioned that woman in the garden, she would be on her guard. After all, she could have been the woman in question.
Did you kill him?He did not think she had. She was going through too much effort to try and determine if anyone had, and if so who.
He could simply ask her, and assess whether he thought she spoke the truth. He had been tempted to several times after their conversations became familiar. He hadn’t because—he laughed to himself. He hadn’t because if he did, she might speak lies that he was only too willing to believe. That was what wanting a woman does to a man.
So he was left to his own judgment. If he did not want her, he would trust it more. He would not suspect he found excuses for her, or put too much faith in his intuition and instincts—his inner sense, as she called it—instead of hard facts. Any investigator became worthless when feelings trumped information.
Did you kill him?He all but heard his uncle’s voice that day seven years ago, up here behind this parapet, while they looked down on the land and discussed some new investment the duke had made. Right in the middle of a small pause, as if it were part of the conversation, the question had come. He had been waiting for it. If anyone had the right to ask, it was Uncle Frederick.
No, not exactly. But also, yes. There had been no choice but to explain it then. He found some relief in doing so. Perhaps his uncle had known he would.
“It took me a long time to find the door to the staircase. It is well hidden.” The voice sounded right by his shoulder, pulling him out of the reverie. He had not even heard Minerva arrive. Behind her, the door to the stairs stood open now. “Where did it happen?”
He propped an elbow on the parapet and looked at her. She still wore her gray ensemble. It did not flatter her, but it did not hurt her either. If anything its lack of color and decoration allowed her own presence to dominate. Instead of noticing some bright hue or embroidery, the only thing to admire was the woman herself.
He allowed himself a moment to do so, watching her dark eyes light with interest while she gazed out over the land below and beyond, distracted now from the mission that had brought her up here.
“What makes you think I invited you up to see where it happened?”
She tore her attention away from the vista. “There could be no other reason, and you did say you would get me in.”
“There could most definitely be another reason, and you know it.”
