“If I did, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?” he said with barely concealed sarcasm. “No one saw me after ten that evening.”
Miller looked over his notebook, then looked over at Dominic. “I’ll start making some inquiries.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
Miller shrugged. “If I crack this, I’ll get the scoop of the year. Maybe even my career,” he said. He nodded, picked up his bowler, then left.
Beau looked over at Dominic. “He’s a real man of the people, isn’t he?”
“He’s a bit rough around the edges,” Dominic said. “I suppose he has to be, given the type of work he does. But he’s good, and he protects his sources.”
“Let’s just hope he gets his story,” Beau said. “The sooner, the better. I’m already convinced Miss Murray will murder me in my sleep.”
His quip brought a sharp burst of laughter from the American detective.
“There is no one else I would trust with my wife’s life more than her. You don’t have to be friends with her. She doesn’t need to like you. But she will keep you safe. And if you were in a dark corner, you would want her in front of you.”
What would Beau want to do with Madeline Murray in a dark corner? A thousand unholy, delicious things. She was so tempting in a way he really couldn’t articulate. She’d gripped something carnal inside him which made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Beau da Silva liked his women bright. Warm. Open. Pliable. Despite the fiery red of her hair, Madeline Murray was as warm as a February morning.
“It still doesn’t feel right,” Beau said. “I’m not one to sit on my ass while other people take care of my problems.”
Mr. Ashe sat back then, raising his brows in what looked to be a flash of recognition. He put down his pen and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his hands carefully steepled in front of him.
“Look—let me say, I’ve been in a position similar to yours. I know what this feels like.”
“Then you know I can’t be shoved off into the woods with a banshee while you and a bunch of these Everwell women go off and save my neck,” he said. “They run a school, for Christ’s sakes. A noble effort for sure, but they shouldn’t be putting themselves in harm’s way for me.”
“These Everwell women have the gift of caring for people that no one else gives a sweet damn about. And that includes idiots like you and me. If they do the job—and they will—they will get more resources to keep doing what they do, and you will get that most rare of gifts.”
“Life?”
“A second chance.”
Veronica Turnbull’s presence in Everwell’s parlour reminded Maddy of that scene in Austen’s Pride and Prejudice when Lady Catherine de Burgh visited Longbourn. To be fair, Mrs. Turnbull wasn’t as much a tyrant as Austen’s overbearing aristocrat, nor even an aristocrat at all. Indeed, that title fell to Lady Em. But the strangeness of seeing this woman in their home could not be denied. After all, Veronica Turnbull had, quite unwittingly, seen The Everwell Society of Scandalous Spinsters at work. She had no idea, of course. Elouise had been in a heavy disguise, and when the job was concluded, had the plausible excuse of aiding a detective working undercover for an illustrious and very rich client back in Boston.
Lady Em and Tilda, behind the gracious hostesses that they were, had taken extra care to see to Mrs. Turnbull’s comfort. Indeed, the visit had begun with all the social conventions of a normal afternoon call—pleasantries were exchanged, and cups of tea along with plates of pastries were passed. There had been discussions about the weather and the deplorable state of the spring roads, and recommendations from Tilda, a doctoress with years of experience and recently the very public endorsement of her skills by the private secretary of the Lieutenant Governor, about remedies for a cough that had been troubling Archie Turnbull.
“This has been a most refreshing afternoon,” Mrs. Turnbull said, and for a moment Maddy almost wanted to believe it. She sat on the settee next to Rimple and Elouise, hands folded in her lap, watching their guest. There seemed little familial resemblance between Mr. da Silva and his diminutive aunt, except perhaps for her ability to appear genuinely convivial even when she would rather be somewhere else. “I am sorry for the circumstances that bring me here to intrude upon you.”
“Sometimes the best must be made of an unfortunate situation,” Lady Em said, rising to her feet and waiting for Tilda, who joined her. “We will leave the younger ladies to discuss the details. You are in good hands, and so is your nephew.”
Mrs. Turnbull nodded, her smile placid but not quite meeting her eyes.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Tilda said.
“Likewise,” their guest replied, “Thank you for the advice about Archie’s cough. I will speak to the apothecary about a solution.”
“If they won’t do it for you,” Lady Em spoke up, “come see us. Miss Murray grows all the necessary herbs in the gardens. Tilda can mix it up for you if needed.”
Mrs. Turnbull nodded her head to Tilda, a gesture that raised Mrs. Turnbull just a little in Maddy’s estimation.
The Everwell matrons left the room. An uncomfortable silence descended, broken by the rustle of cotton and silk skirts as the women shifted in their seats. Phillipa pressed her lips together, then folded her hands, indicating to the room that the real conversation was about to begin.
“I am grateful you are able to provide some assistance,” Mrs. Turnbull began. “As you can imagine, this is a rather unexpected and difficult time for my family.”
“It is an unfortunate business,” Phillipa replied. “I am quite surprised, however, that you were open to coming here and discussing this with us, given the obvious means at your disposal.”
“I was not at all certain as to Mr. Ashe’s suggestion,” Mrs. Turnbull said. “But in the end, there is no one I can trust. We pay people well, but for such a sum as is being offered for Beau’s return, there is more than enough incentive to alert the authorities to my nephew’s whereabouts.”
