Page 42 of Death at Fournier Downs
He pulled back at the unrelated question.Good. Hugh wanted to keep him flustered.
“Why, yes, in fact, I do. A daughter,” he answered, a hesitant grin forming. “She is employed at Haverfield.” His doting grin expanded. “Just a maid at the moment, of course, but Annie has dreams of being housekeeper at an estate someday.”
Hugh perked up.Annie. The maid who nearly dropped the tea service tray and got a scolding from the baroness? As the doctor had not made mention of another body being found the day before, Hugh determined that gossip had yet to reach the village.
“I visited Lord Edgerton this morning,” Hugh said. “I believe I saw your Annie delivering tea.”
The doctor’s pride showed in his smile. He in no way appeared concerned that Hugh had been at Haverfield speaking to the baron. Though he could not put the doctor entirely out of his mind as a suspect, and something about the port wine stain on his neck still pricked the back of Hugh’s mind, just out of reach, Ryder seemed a little too oblivious of any violence done to a maid at his daughter’s place of employment.
“Thank you for your time, doctor. I’ll see myself out.”
He’d write to Thornton; he might know more about the curious half-memory of a birthmarked doctor that Hugh’s mind currently grappled with.
He paused before leaving the office. “One more thing. Lady Mary…was she melancholy as well?”
Doctor Ryder’s brow crinkled. “Melancholy? Mary? No.” A small grin touched his mouth before flattening out. “She had a sunny disposition. Everyone was drawn to her. She was…” After a moment of searching for the right word, he gave up and ended with, “Well, no matter. Thank you for stopping in, officer.”
Hugh left the office, curious as to how the doctor might have finished his sentence. How would he have described Mary further? Certainly not suicidal.
He made his way to the inn, with every step sinking deeper into a muddle. One he could not have anticipated when the duchess’s letter had arrived for him in London.
ChapterFifteen
Scented water dripped from a sponge as Audrey washed herself that evening. A network of pipes had been installed into Fournier House the previous year, to carry heated water up into her and Philip’s individual bathing chambers. After returning from the outing with Hugh earlier, then indulging Cassie by sitting for her in the rose garden while she sketched Audrey’s likeness, and then enduring an awkward dinner with Philip and her sister-in-law, in which no one dared broach the events of the day before, Audrey had only wanted a good, long soak to ruminate on her visit to Kilton House.
She had left the marquess’s estate with a heavy heart; Lord and Lady Finborough’s despair over their daughter’s death had not dulled in the handful of years since. Audrey could only imagine the pain they had endured after hearing Mary had taken her own life in such a violent manner. If Mary had been exultant with the knowledge that she was carrying a baby, it made little sense that she would do such a thing.
The mystery over the second Lady Bainbury’s death wasn’t the only thing weighing Audrey down as she returned to Fournier Downs. Hugh’s questions about her uncle’s outburst had twisted her up inside. He knew she was keeping a secret from him, and how she wished he would simply let it go. It was none of his business anyhow! It was her past, her pain. And yet, she sensed he would not be easy until she confided in him. Either that, or until he was able to pick apart the secret for himself. She let the sponge drop back into the water with a splash and reclined, closing her eyes as the lavender-scented steam curled around her.
Yes, she had confided in him before, and it hadn’t been anything like she’d feared. He’d been skeptical of her ability at first, but he’d quickly trusted her. Believed her. But if he learned she had been locked away in an asylum for two years, it would change the way he saw her. Thought of her. Maybe he wouldn’t trust her any longer. Audrey rocked her head side to side. What a fool she was! What did it matter what he thought of her? And why,whydid she wish to confide in him? It was madness.
Greer entered the boudoir carrying her nightdress and robe.
“More hot water, Your Grace?” she asked, setting the things down and approaching the dials to pipe in more water. She had already freshened it once before.
“No, I should be getting out. Any longer in and I’ll shrivel.”
Her lady’s maid wrapped her in toweling and dressed her for the night. Audrey declined the robe—it was far too hot for it. Even with all the windows open, there was barely a cool breeze coming in.
“Greer,” Audrey asked while she lingered in the threshold between the bedchamber and boudoir, “do you know anything about Ida Smith?”
The staff knew about the second murder, of course, what with the woman’s remains being installed in the icehouse for the time being. The inquest was being held the following morning, Philip had said near the end of dinner, then, spearing Audrey a look, added, “I expect you to remain in the house while it is being held.”
Her maid used a long hook to pull the plug in the copper tub and began to tidy the boudoir. Greer’s usual placid expression pinched with concern between her brows now.
“I have heard a few things about her, yes.”
Audrey waited with an expectant tuck of her chin.
“It’s well known that she was a midwife before turning to service,” Greer went on.
At this, Audrey straightened. “Midwife?”
Her maid nodded before collecting the laundry and toweling in a basket. Why would Charlotte have been meeting with a midwife when she already had Dr. Ryder for a physician? Titled women did not summon midwives to assist in their births. If Charlotte and Miss Smith had been meeting in such a secluded place, it was not for anything aboveboard. And why would Miss Smith return to the cottage a few days later?
“She has a good reputation, Your Grace.Hada good reputation,” Greer corrected herself with another frown. She pressed her lips together, as if contemplating saying something more, but the connecting door to Philip’s sitting room opened, and Greer made a hasty exit. Given the time of night, she might assume the duke was paying a marital visit. Then again, Greer was highly observant, and Audrey imagined she knew the truth behind the ruse they had taken to operating once or twice a week. In fact, it would not be so great a surprise if the entire staff knew that the two of them simply lounged about the bedchamber for a half hour or so before Philip bid his wife a good night.
In the beginning, they would have great fun with it, moaning loudly and jumping upon the bed to make as much noise as possible before devolving into fits of giggles. On their wedding night, Philip had even insisted on making a shallow slice on his forearm and dripping some blood onto the sheets as evidence of claiming her maidenhead. Whether or not Greer believed it, Audrey couldn’t say.
