Page 28 of Murder at the Seven Dials
Audrey had never been like them, and thankfully, she had been able to find a few others who were in similar positions—shoved off to a stark place where they could be forgotten by their families. Audrey spent most of her time in the library with a small group of others, though she couldn’t truly count them as friends, not when she’d tried to forget them as fervently as she had. She’d returned home desperate and furious and on the edge of a dark precipice.
So, rather than risk her mother and uncle concluding that she had not been cured of her affliction and needed to return to Shadewell for another, indefinite stay, Audrey had stayed quite silent. She had nodded and smiled and made airy conversation with words that her mind could easily reach for, phrases and replies she heard ladies frequently saying. They might have sounded cold and hollow, but at least they wouldn’t accidentally set the world aflame.
Genie moved off the gravel path and toward the placid edge of Hyde Park’s pond, a long, curving body of water that tended to put off a stagnant odor in the height of summer. At the moment, Audrey could only trace a mineral-like whiff of it in the air.
“I wasn’t beingkindto walk with you,” Genie said, finally replying after a few moments of silence as they walked. “I was attempting to be brave. Good heavens, Michael would spit fire if he knew,” she said with a mischievous giggle.
He most definitely would. Audrey’s brother-in-law’s temper was well known and stood in stark contrast to his older and much more collected brother.
“He only wishes to spare you humiliation,” she told Genie as they reached the water’s edge. Their reflections rippled into view—Audrey’s shorter, more voluptuous figure, and Genie’s taller, lither one.
“Undoubtedly,” Genie replied. “But I’m afraid I am more concerned with the state of my own conscience. Now, tell me the truth.” She faced Audrey fully. “You are not what I would call a bold or brash woman, who enjoys laughing in the face of accepted societal norms. Taking a stroll through Hyde Park not forty-eight hours after your husband’s arrest isn’t just bold—it’s purposeful. Why are we here?”
Audrey fairly gaped at her sister-in-law. She hadn’t thought she was being exceptionally heavy handed and obvious in her approach, as Mr. Marsden had already accused her of being. Or perhaps Genie had been masking a keen intellect behind her bubbly and sociable exterior.
She sealed her lips and settled on a direct answer. “I am hoping to encounter Lady Wimbly.”
Genie’s pale brown furrowed. “Why would you wish to see her?”
“I have reason to believe Miss Lovejoy had a connection to Lord Wimbly.”
There was no danger in parting with that much. Audrey didn’t have to expose how she had reached such a suspicion, after all.
“Miss Lovejoy...she was the actress?” Genie asked.
“Opera singer.” Audrey nodded. “And as many do, she had a patron. The Bow Street officer believes it was Philip, but I suspect it was the marquess.”
The sun reflected off the surface of the Serpentine and despite the bonnet she wore, Genie squinted. “And what could you possibly plan to say to the marchioness if you do see her? If she will even stop to speak with you. I don’t mean to be cruel, but you must know that there are many ladies who will refuse to so much as acknowledge you now.”
It wasn’t cruel. It was simple truth.
“I’m not sure yet,” Audrey admitted. She’d been considering several different topics to ease into her questioning, though none of them felt genuine.
Genie sighed, and hooking her arm with Audrey’s, she spurred them on along the edge of the water. “Everyone knows the Marquess of Wimbly is a notorious reprobate with a habit of mixing with the demimonde. Lady Wimbly can’t possibly be ignorant to her husband’s tendencies, but she would never discuss them with you, even if Philip were not sitting in prison for doing a murder.”
Her sister-in-law was correct. Audrey’s best scheme had included bringing up the opera singer’s name and hunting the marchioness’s expression for any kind of reaction. Should she have seen one, she would have continued to dig, manners be damned. However, she couldn’t chase the lady through the park shouting questions if she chose to snub Audrey altogether.
A bark of laughter echoed over the Serpentine. Audrey lifted her eyes toward a group of young men and women, sprawled upon a large blanket by the water’s edge. They lounged in the shade of a willow tree, baskets of food and glasses of wine surrounding them. A stroke of envy surprised her. How wonderful it would be to have no worries or cares, and simply be free to gather for a picnic with friends.
One of the picnickers, a handsome and dark-haired young man wearing a boater and crisp linen suit, twisted his neck to look toward Audrey and Genie. He was reclining on an elbow, surrounded by two other men sprawled in the same easy manner. His eyes, topped by dark arched brows, met Audrey’s. With a look of alarm, quickly turned to face his friends again. There was something familiar about him. She had likely met him at a function in the past, and he clearly knew who she was. The consequences of Philip’s predicament had already taken hold, it seemed.
“Then again,” Genie went on, not having seen the young man’s alarmed glimpse, “Lady Wimbly is a charitable woman.”
The marchioness was a benefactress, sinking her fortune and her time into projects the majority of the ton considered beneath their notice. Foundling homes, hospices, even a convalescent home in Devon had all been given a healthy beginning or a much-needed boost through Lady Wimbly’s fundraising. She and Philip had attended a few of her soirees for such benefits too.
Though Lord Wimbly attended these parties, he tended to stay silent, letting his wife take the leading strings.
“Not to mention,” Genie went on after they had both walked some distance in silence, “Lord Wimbly would live as a monk the rest of his life before admitting Miss Lovejoy had ever been his mistress now.”
Audrey’s legs turned leaden with such sobering observations. Genie was utterly correct. There was nothing to be had in questioning Lady Wimbly after all. But then, how could she prove Miss Lovejoy’s connection to the marquess beyond the opium locket? There had to be something she could obtain and show to the magistrate, or if worse came to worse, to the grand jury. The previous morning, when Michael had returned from Bow Street, he’d explained there were many steps to be taken before a trial at the House of Lords. Audrey couldn’t recall them now…she’d been half listening and adamant that it would not go so far as that.
“I didn’t mean to discourage you,” Genie said before turning to signal the driver of her town coach, which had been following at a distance. “Perhaps we should return for tea and call for Mr. Potridge. He might be able to lend assistance with Philip’s case.”
As the coach drew closer, Audrey’s breathing turned shallow. Yes. As the family solicitor, Mr. Potridge should be the one preparing for Philip’s inquiry. He would be in touch with a barrister by now. And Audrey, as a duchess, should simply let them move along with their work while she stepped out of the way.
However, neither Mr. Potridge nor the barrister knew to consider Wimbly. They only had the same damning evidence Mr. Marsden had presented: Philip, blood-covered and in the presence of the body. With sinking spirits, she ruminated if Mr. Potridge and his barrister believed the duke to be guilty.
“You’ve been relentlessly realistic so far, Genie. Don’t stop now. You know Mr. Potridge would merely placate us and listen with respect, but that he would not be moved by anything I had to say or suggest.”
