“What do you mean?”
“Not a treasure. But a—a secret.” The maid’s fingers moved fretfully over the handkerchief, smoothing the damp fabric out before bunching it into a ball and then smoothing it out again in a rhythm that seemed to bring her a sense of calm. “A secret they didn’t want anyone else to know.”
Of its own accord, Joanna’s gaze was pulled towards Kincaid. “All the time,” she murmured.
“That’s how Miss Bancroft was acting. At least, the past month or so. Ever sincehecame to call.”
“The Duke of Hanover?”
“No.” Abigail gave a jerky shake of her head. “I—I don’t know his name. She never said.”
Kincaid cleared his throat. He met Joanna’s gaze, drew a circle around his face, then looked pointedly at Abigail. His intent was clear, and she gave a small nod to indicate she understood.
“Miss Groshen, do you remember what this man looked like?”
“I…I don’t know.” The maid bit her lip. “He was tall.”
“Taller than Kincaid?”
“The—the same height, I believe. Except his hair was lighter. And his e-eyes.” Abigail faltered, then gave a shudder. “I know a person can’t have black eyes. But he did. Black as pitch, they were. I was—I was glad when he never returned.”
“Did he threaten Miss Bancroft in any way?”
“No. Not that I heard, at least. He was only here for a minute. But after he left…she was never the same.” The handkerchief fluttered to the floor as the maid abruptly stood. “If that’s everything, I should return to my duties. Mr. Brown does not like us to dally.”
“We’re grateful for all of your help, Miss Groshen. I’ve only two more questions, and then you can be on your way.” Standing as well, Joanna subtly positioned herself between the maid and the door. “You mentioned you were the first to enter Miss Bancroft’s bedchamber that horrible morning. Where was Hannah, her personal maid? Shouldn’t she have been serving Miss Bancroft her breakfast?”
“Hannah left over a fortnight ago,” said Abigail. “To care for her sick grandfather in Bedford. She hasn’t come back. I sent her a letter, but I’ve yet to hear anything.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?” Before Joanna and her siblings were forced to sell their childhood home, they’d employed a staff of five. Not enough for each sister to have their own maid, but they had shared one, as well as a governess. Which meant Joanna knew firsthand the unique relationship that could be formed between servants and those that employed them. She’d certainly considered Lucy, their maid, to be a close confidant as well as a friend. It broke all their hearts, Lucy’s included, when they were forced to let her go; the loss softened only by the knowledge that she’d gone on to a splendid family.
Because of her own experience, Joanna couldn’t think of a single reason why Hannah wouldn’t have immediately returned when she learned of what had happened to Miss Bancroft. If something ill had ever befallen Joanna, or either of her sisters, Lucy would have been there without a moment’s delay.
Surely it was worthy to note that the person who had known the victim best hadn’t bothered to return after Miss Bancroft’s walls were found stained with blood.
“Can I leave now?” Abigail asked with a desperate glance at the door.
“A final question, Miss Groshen,” said Kincaid, his voice notably softer than it was when the interrogation first began. “The night before Miss Bancroft was presumably killed, you mentioned the Duke of Hanover paid her a visit. Did you see him leave?”
“N—not that I recall.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
The maid gave a hesitant nod. “I believe so.”
“Did youhearhim leave?” Kincaid persisted. “Footsteps on the stairs, carriage wheels on the gravel? Anything that might indicate he was not in the house between the hours of two in the morning and when you entered the bedchamber? Whendidyou enter the bedchamber, Miss Groshen? The exact time, if you please.”
“The e—exact time?” Abigail paled. “Um, I’m not sure. After seven, as Miss Bancroft hates to be woken early. But before nine, as she was expecting guests for morning tea. Is that helpful?”
“Exceedingly.” Joanna gave the maid’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you, Miss Groshen. We will be in touch if we need anything further.”
“I wasn’t done,” Kincaid said after Abigail had fled the room.
“Perhaps, but she was.”
Kincaid came to stand beside her. Arms crossed, he stared at the door as he said, “You did a fair job, Miss Thorncroft.”
“I did, didn’t I?” she said, pleased with the reluctant praise. Investigative work wasn’t nearly as difficult as Kincaid had tried to make it appear. It required the ability to piece things together that might not seem, at least on the surface, as if they were connected. In that way, it wasn’t unlike a jigsaw puzzle.
