Sophie narrowed her eyes at the butler. Visitor? What visitor? Was it Hugh? “Thank you,” she replied simply, knowing Roberts would not be inclined to tell her more. Instead, she made her way up the staircase, intent on convincing Roberts she was merely retiring to her bedchamber.
Five minutes later, she was back, peering down the staircase. Roberts was nowhere to be seen. He was probably smoking on the back stoop with Valentina’s hateful lady’s maid. Sophie hurried down the stairs, across the foyer, and down the corridor to the rose salon.
The double doors were closed, and she glanced each way to ensure none of the servants or Papa were coming, before plastering her ear against the door. Who was Valentina in there talking to?
“I told you, Valentina. I’ll take care of it,” a man’s voice said.
Sophie sucked in her breath. Take care of what? The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. It definitely wasn’t Hugh, however.
“When? This has already got out of hand,” came Valentina’s tart reply.
“I’m weighing the options,” the man’s voice replied.
“Which are?” Valentina snapped.
“These things must be handled delicately…with finesse,” the man continued.
“What do you plan to do?” Valentina’s voice took on a nasally, whining sound. It was the same voice she used when she attempted to wheedle more jewelry out of Papa.
“I don’t know yet,” the unknown man’s voice replied, “but I suspect the newest Duke of Harlowe is about to meet with an untimely accident.”
A gasp escaped Sophie’s throat before she promptly clapped a hand over her mouth. She’d heard all she needed to and didn’t dare linger and be seen. She lifted her skirts and hurried back through the corridor and up to her room, all the while trying to place the man’s voice. Think. Think.
She pushed open the door to her bedchamber and let it shut heavily behind her, rushing over to the window to look down on the street. She would watch when the man left to see who he was. She hovered at the windowsill for what felt like a quarter of an hour before the front door opened and a man descended the steps. He was dressed in the clothing of a nobleman, that much was certain. But his dark cloak and hat blocked any view of his hair or face. Blast. And the tree in front of her window obscured her view of the man’s carriage. Blast. Blast. Blast.
She hurried back downstairs, intent on getting a glimpse of the carriage at least, but she ran straight into Roberts standing at attention at the front door, having obviously just ushered out Valentina’s guest. There was no help for it. She had to ask the awful man.
“Who was that leaving just now?” she ventured, trying to seem as if she hadn’t just rushed down the stairs to stare out after him.
“I doubt milady would appreciate her servants gossiping about her visitors,” Roberts responded, his eyes narrowed.
Sophie had to struggle to keep from rolling her eyes. “I’m only curious,” she offered in what she hoped was a nonchalant voice. She strained to look past the butler in an attempt to glimpse the coach, but Roberts had the audacity to move to block her view.
“I don’t think it’s any of your business,” Roberts replied, glancing outside, probably to ensure the coach had left, before turning on his heel and marching off toward the back of the house.
Sophie watched him go with her jaw set tight. Roberts had been egregiously unhelpful. There was no help for it. All she could do was try to remember whose voice she’d heard. Perhaps she’d recall if she thought about it longer. She quickly discarded the notion of asking any of the other servants. Valentina had hired all of them.
Sophie turned on her heel and slowly climbed back up the stairs to her bedchamber. Whoever the visitor had been, one thing was certain: what he’d said hadn’t been some idle threat. He’d threatened Phillip directly. She might be unhappy with Phillip at the moment, but she had to let him know. It wasn’t Hugh. Someone else was after him.
Chapter Seventeen
On the ride home from Dr. Kilgore’s house, Phillip turned to Bell. “If there was blood beneath Malcolm’s body that night, why have the servants never come forward to indicate foul play? They had to guess it wasn’t a condition of the heart.”
Bell cursed under his breath. “I never specifically asked Malcolm’s valet if there had been blood. I asked him what he’d seen, and he said essentially what Dr. Kilgore told us. That Malcolm had been lying face-up near the doorway to his bedchamber. It’s more than possible that they just assumed later that a condition of the heart involved blood loss.”
“The valet didn’t mention Lord Vining?” Phillip prompted.
“No.” Bell shook his head. “The valet said he called the constable. And when the constable arrived, he and the other servants were ordered belowstairs to keep out of the way.”
Phillip nodded. “Lord Vining must have arrived after that. But how did he even know about it? Did you ever speak with the constable?”
Bell plucked at his bottom lip. “Yes. And he indicated he escorted Malcolm’s body to the doctor. At the time, I assumed he meant Dr. Brigham. It wasn’t until Dr. Landry came forward that we knew there had been another doctor.”
“Let alone two others,” Phillip replied, shaking his head.
Bell’s coach pulled to a stop in front of Clayton’s town house and Phillip alighted.
“Stay inside. Stay safe,” Bell warned. “I’m going to speak to Grimaldi…tell him what we’ve learned. Tomorrow we’ll go looking for Malcolm’s valet. I have several more questions for the man now that I know what Dr. Kilgore saw.”
