Page 57 of Murder at the Seven Dials
Genie remained at Audrey’s side as they were brought into the sitting room, Lady Wimbly making brief introductions to a few of the guests whom Audrey did not know—including a young, unmarried heiress, Miss Arabella Grindlay, who had spent much of her youth in Devonshire and was new to town with her elderly aunt, present as the girl’s chaperone. The aunt’s flat stare remained unaffected as Lady Wimbly introduced them, but the young woman’s eyes brightened with recognition.
“Goodness,” she breathed, “I am speechless, Your Grace. I can’t quite imagine how you could be moving about in society right now, what with all you must be going through.”
Silence deadened the room. There was undoubtedly a dozen more questions all of the women would have liked to ask, but none of them dared a breach of decorum like the artless Miss Grindlay. It wasn’t her fault. She was simply innocent and untried. Audrey held herself stiffly and forced a nod of acknowledgment, if not a smile.
The bell for luncheon rang, releasing them all from the awkward moment. Audrey thought she even heard Genie sigh. They followed Lady Wimbly from the sitting room.
“This is a disaster,” Audrey whispered, trying not to move her lips in any definitive way. Lip-reading was a beneficial skill when it came to busy ballrooms and dinner parties.
Genie turned her head toward Audrey, a serene smile still in place. “We will determine that later.”
Audrey felt ill. She’d been a fool to let Genie talk her into coming. Mr. Marsden had been accusing her of making missteps as she scoured for information on the murder, but it was only now that she felt she had made a wrong move. Here, in a place she had once so firmly believed she belonged.
None of these women were her friends. The only person to call on her had been her sister; even her mother had not yet written. The wretched news had long since reached Haverfield. With another lurch of her stomach, she realized even Genie might not have come to see her, or invited her to visit, had Audrey not been the first to reach out. Philip might be the one arrested, but Audrey was already tainted by proxy. They may not show it to her face, but the only thing anyone would feel for her now was pity.
Flashes of heat and chills attacked Audrey as the courses were served, and to make matters worse, Genie had been seated across the large oblong table and several seats down. Miss Grindlay had been placed to Audrey’s left and the sour-faced Lady Timston, a baroness Audrey had never been able to prize more than a few words from in their many previous meetings, to her right. Her right arm remained cold, but Audrey’s left warmed from Miss Grindlay’s close leaning.
“I have heard that you went to Bow Street, Your Grace,” she said, unable to keep her voice as low as Audrey would have liked. The mention of Bow Street severed a few polite yet dull conversations happening around the table.
“What it very awful? I can’t even imagine setting foot in a place where dangerous criminals are kept.” The very second Miss Grindlay finished speaking, she pinned her lips together. Her eyes popped wide with remorse and her cheeks flushed with hot embarrassment. Down the table, a spoon dropped against the rim of a bowl.
“Not, of course, His Grace,” she quickly stammered, “because that is certainly the grossest error any Bow Street Runner has ever made. It is…it’s outrageous, it’s absurd, it’s—”
Audrey stopped the poor girl before she needed to find another adjective meant to exonerate Philip. “Quite right, Miss Grindlay. It is an error, and to answer your question, yes, I was at Bow Street.”
Lady Wimbly cleared her throat from the head seat. “I certainly hope you did not have to bear the company of the arresting Runner, Mr. Hugh Marsden.”
A murmur of recognition circled the table. Audrey met Genie’s eyes and breathed deeply.
“Not for very long,” Audrey lied evenly.
Across the table, Lady Dutton leaned forward, over her bowl of leek soup. “How did you find Mr. Marsden, Your Grace?”
Audrey lowered her spoon and reached for her glass of claret. Was this a trick question? Saying the wrong thing might only further scandalize her.
“Obstinate,” she replied with caution.
Lady Dutton lifted her chin and sat back, giving no indication what she thought of that description.
“The man is a brute,” Lady Wimbly said. “He is an absolute disgrace and blackguard. How Bow Street can depend upon someone with such low morals is beyond me. It would not surprise me in the least to learn Marsden has lied about everything and falsified evidence to implicate our dear duke.Hemight even be the one to have done this wretched business.”
Audrey sipped her claret faster than intended and coughed, her hand shaking as she set the glass back down. Falsified evidence? Hugh Marsden, a murderer? Quickly, she peered at Genie, whose pale brows were raised high on her forehead.
Lady Wimbly’s support of Philip was as unexpected as it was outrageous—to borrow one of Miss Grindlay’s adjectives. Mr. Marsden hadn’t falsified any evidence, and he certainly hadn’t stabbed that poor actress to death. She parted her lips to say so but stopped as reason barreled into her head. Defending Hugh Marsden would only cast doubt on her support of her own husband. She couldn’t lead them to believe she thought Philip guilty.
“He’s certainly had it out for our set since that whole unseemly business,” Lady Dutton agreed.
“Has he?” Genie cut in. “I haven’t heard of any attempts he has made at retaliation.”
It was as good a defense as he was likely to get at this table. Audrey was grateful her sister-in-law had at least challenged the ridiculous accusation. She didn’t wish for her husband to be tried by the House of Lords, but she also could not abide making a scapegoat out of Hugh Marsden.
“Let’s not discuss such gloomy things.” Lady Wimbly dabbed at the corner of her lips daintily. “I’d like to speak on the tremendous good that St. Emmanuel’s has been doing, and how, with your generous support, ladies, they will continue to reshape the lives of those most unfortunate in their circumstances.” She gestured to the liveried footmen standing against the walls of the dining room, straight backed and aloof with their eyes not quite meeting the gazes of the seated ladies.
“Take these fine examples,” Lady Wimbly said. “Each of these young men are recently finished from their retraining at St. Emmanuel’s and have all the skills required to be in service for the most illustrious households in town, and in the country.”
Audrey took a quick glance of the footmen in her line of sight. To be in service to a fine family was a highly coveted and respected position among the working classes. It was no small thing to be a lady’s maid or footman, a valet or a butler. In fact, Greer’s entire family had been in service for generations, and hers was a common story. Even scullery maids and chambermaids, the lowest among the service ranks, worked with pride. These men had been given a second chance at making a living wage, and while Audrey was happy for it, it also left her feeling slightly discomfited. Perhaps it was the smugness of Lady Wimbly’s tone, or the simpering looks being passed between some of the other ladies, as if these men should be indebted to them for their great opportunity.
“Even my Auggie has taken on a new valet of extreme poise and competence,” Lady Wimbly said, then tittered laughter. “I must admit, I’ve never seen him in such a well-tied cravat before!”
