Page 37 of Murder at the Seven Dials
His voice became louder with every sentence, his eyes wider with intensity. Audrey saw his utter frustration then. Philip’s predicament did touch Michael and Genie, and yes, even the baby, yet unborn. They were all tainted now, and it was not something that could be easily washed off. Perhaps ever.
“Michael, please tell me you don’t believe he did this.” She had to know if she was the only one with any hope left at all.
He stood, as if unable to sit another moment, and paced away toward the hearth again. “I know my brother. Philip is no murderer.” He paused, the breath he dragged in shaky. “I want to believe he has been caught up in something. That he is somehow, someway, innocent. But Audrey...” He turned to face her. “We must prepare ourselves.”
She put down her tea, careful not to crack the china. “For what?”
He wouldn’t say it. She didn’t truly want to hear it, anyhow. They hanged murderers. They hanged men and women for far less than murder.
Michael moved toward her. “The grand jury is certain to move the case onward. However, it’s possible we can avoid a trial if the House can be convinced of another…plan…for Philip.”
Again, he had trouble holding her stare. He was not one to fidget. However right then, Lord Herrick looked severely discomfited. She narrowed her eyes on him. “What other plan?”
“If he were to go away…someplace where there would be no question of his harming another soul…if we could convince Philip’s peers that he would be looked after…”
A cold hand tripped up her spine as Michael stumbled over his words.
“An asylum,” she whispered. Like the one Freddie Walker had been shunted off to. Hidden. Forgotten. Her throat constricted.
“It is a better alternative than the noose,” Michael replied.
“But Philip is innocent,” she said. “You know he is, and so do I.”
Not to mention that Philip would far prefer the noose to being imprisoned in an asylum for the rest of his life. It was his greatest fear. Though, of course, Michael wouldn’t know as much. Philip had only trustedherwith his truths.
Impotent frustration and rage returned to Michael’s expression, causing the veins along his temples to stand out. “Dowe know that? Do we truly?”
She gaped. Michael’s retort scoured her mind of any possible response. He didn’t believe in Philip’s innocence? He’d given up? She curled her fingers into her palms, her nails biting into her skin. She wished she could shout,Yes! Yes, I do know, truly.
She wished she could tell him why and how she knew. But Michael had no idea what it was to have a secret that could strip him of his freedom at the drop of a hat. If Audrey were to tell him about Philip’s true feelings, that he’d leased those rooms to meet with a man, not a woman, what would he do? She feared it would not change Michael’s proposal to suggest a “retreat” in the least. She feared it would only encourage the plan.
Audrey sealed her lips. “I’m afraid I’m suddenly not feeling well enough for visitors. If you would excuse me, I will bid you a good day.”
It was inexcusably rude to dismiss him in such a manner, but at the same time she could not remain in his presence without screaming at the top of her lungs. Michael was startled into immobility for only a moment, but then he nodded. “Of course. I will call on you again soon, but perhaps it would be best if you did simply rest.”
He stopped just before the door. “And please, Audrey, consider Fournier Downs.”
He left the morning room, keeping the door open in his wake. Audrey let out the suppressed sob in her throat. First, Millie had pleaded with her to decamp, then Philip, and now Michael. She was quite certain Mr. Marsden would also wish for her to beckon her lady’s maid and begin preparations for a trip to Hertfordshire. How much simpler it would be to sweep her and her persistent objections under a rug somewhere.
However, as the letter from the private agent had related, Mr. Marsden must have an inkling of doubt now. There was nothing for her to do other than to exploit it. Wimbly had a role in Miss Lovejoy’s life, and she had every intention to find out what he knew of his mistress’s final hours.
Now that Michael had left, Audrey had a resurgence of energy. She stood and went directly to her study. It was a small room on the first floor, near the rear of the house. The windows overlooked a rose garden that had been maturing ever since Philip’s late mother had first come to Violet House to live. In the height of summer, Audrey would leave the windows open for the scent to carry inside. Audrey would often sit at her desk, staring into the garden, wondering what it was she was supposed to do in her study, other than see to correspondence. Being a duchess was at times dreadfully dull. But it was that very dullness that shielded Audrey so well. No one paid much attention to staid, boring duchesses.
All that would be over now. A frisson of tension cracked through her chest at the thought of so many people thinking and gossiping about her. Right that very moment, most likely, in their homes and drawing rooms, in their carriages and on their strolls about town, she would be on their minds. The tension stiffened to something closer to panic.
She’d been so careful since returning from Shadewell to go unnoticed, stay unseen. So much so that she’d nearly gone through with marrying Bainbury just to avoid the scandal of severing the betrothal in order to marry Philip. In the end, however, all anyone could say was that they had not blamed her for marrying a young duke rather than an old earl.
And now, a handful of years on, Audrey had faded into the pitiful role of a sad duchess, unable to bear children. The ton would much rather discuss roguish men and bold debutantes. And now, murder.
Genie and Michael were correct in that going out in public would invite scrutiny. Too many eyes had a way of unsettling Audrey to the point of panic. She would never make the same mistakes she had when she’d been younger, before being sent away to Shadewell. That had been all her fault, all her reckless doing, when she’d thought her ability was something that made her special.
No, she wouldn’t make the same mistakes again, but she worried people might start to dig into the past. Turn up old stories about her supposed trip to the Continent and her prolonged stay with her aunt in Scotland. They might perhaps tunnel even further, to when she’d been silly and naïve enough to show a handful of village children in Hertfordshire how she could read objects.
Audrey closed her eyes against the memory. She hated to remember herself being so foolish. So desperate for praise. Well, there was no time for memories today, not when there was a Bow Street officer to sway.
ChapterTen
The weak light from a glass chimney on the mantel barely touched the corners of Hugh’s bedroom, let alone the lines of the woman seated on the edge of his bed. Gloria reached for his dressing gown on the post of his bedstead and wrapped herself in it. It was too large for her, and though Hugh had gone to the trouble to purchase one for her, and even kept it hanging in his closet, she ignored the silken wrapper in favor of his. He reclined on the bed, the sheets at his hips, and indulged in the languid sensation a meeting with Gloria usually provided.
