Page 44 of Death at Fournier Downs
“How can it be tripe? It is a letter to Genie, not a love sonnet,” she said to her sister-in-law.
Cassie pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the desk drawer—the third she had needed thus far. “I have nothing to write. I cannot relate what has been happening here—Philip has forbidden it for fear that it would upset Genie in her delicate condition—and so all I have been able to comment on is the weather and Mrs. Babson’s scrumptious puddings.”
Audrey sighed and closed her book. Once again, she felt a pang of regret for Cassie’s wasted summer. The poor girl was deliriously bored, moping about, staying indoors within her bedchamber for too many hours each day. Audrey wished she had accepted the offer to join Genie and Michael in Kent or assented to Audrey summoning her previous chaperone, Miss Frances Stinton, for her to attend one of the house parties she’d been invited to. But each time, Cassie had turned her down. No, she wanted to stay here for now, she would claim. And yet she did not act as if she did. The only time Audrey saw any spark of interest in her was when Hugh had come to Fournier Downs. The old Cassie had returned, however briefly.
“Just inquire as to how Genie is feeling and tell her that Philip is doing much better. Perhaps you could write a line or two about which modiste she would recommend when you arrive in London next month.”
Cassie rubbed her temple, and after a frustrated flutter of her hands, corked the inkwell and set down her pen. She pushed back the chair. “I’ll write later, I think.”
The doors to a brick portico were open, letting in the chirp of birdsong, a happy sound that was entirely at odds with Cassie’s demeanor. Audrey sat up and set her feet on the floor.
“We haven’t spoken much about the other day,” she said. According to Greer, Cassie had spent the whole day abed after finding Ida Smith’s body at the cottage. “It was a horrible thing to see.”
Cassie wrapped her arms around the ribboned waist of her day dress but kept her eyes on the carpet. “I confess I was most undone by it. I’m sure that is what is bringing me low today.”
Audrey nodded, but as her sister-in-law excused herself, she questioned if Cassie had spoken genuinely, or if she had just been latching onto the excuse Audrey had provided. Then, she chastised herself for doubting Philip’s sister. She was becoming far too skeptical and suspicious.
Greer entered the morning room only moments after Cassie departed. “Your Grace, may I ask a few minutes of your time?”
The unusual request drew a frown to Audrey’s face. Greer began to apologize for the interruption, and Audrey wiped the expression. “Of course you can, Greer. Is something wrong?”
The maid looked over her shoulder as if to be sure no one else was entering on her heels and stepped closer to the duchess. She lowered her voice. “There is someone here to speak to you.”
Audrey’s interest sharpened, but before she could ask who was calling, the maid continued, “It needs to stay mum, Your Grace, as it’s to do with the inquiry. She is waiting for you in the potting shed behind the glasshouse.”
Utterly baffled and intrigued, she nodded and assured Greer she would go as casually as possible.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I think this will help,” she said, holding Audrey’s eyes an extra moment as though to impart weight to the statement.
Excitement rippled through her as she left the main house a minute later, choosing to exit through the ballroom door. No one would witness her leave through there, seeing how the room had been shut up all summer. Outdoors, she made her way around the corner of the west wing, offering a gardener a smile as she passed him. Her limbs trembled a little as she saw the small brick potting shed. Flowering ivy clung to the exterior, almost obscuring the windows. Audrey pulled open the door, and the cool and dim interior took her by surprise. Her first thought was that she should come into the potting shed more often on such hot and humid days. Her second thought was for the woman she spied, tucked behind a stand of wooden shelves.
“Hello?” Audrey said tentatively. “My maid said you wished to speak to me?”
The woman emerged, and Audrey exhaled, recognizing her. “Dorothy? Is that you?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied, bobbing a curtsey.
This was Charlotte’s lady’s maid. Audrey stepped closer, more curious than before. “Dorothy, what is this about?”
She was probably a little older than Audrey, with a plain, round face and a starched white complexion. Dorothy had always been pleasant, and Charlotte had often commended her for her talents with a hot curling iron. With Charlotte’s naturally curled hair, the hot iron would smooth out her ringlets. Audrey nearly smiled, thinking of her friend’s frequent exasperation with her wild red curls.
However, Dorothy looked far too drawn and worried for Audrey to grin.
“I can’t stay quiet any longer, Your Grace, but I didn’t know to whom to speak. His lordship doesn’t want us talking to the Runner or the coroner fellow, so I thought you might be able to pass along what I have to say? I don’t trust anyone else, Your Grace…I’m frightened.”
The maid certainly appeared to be, and with gooseflesh prickling her skin, Audrey checked the windows to be sure they were not about to be interrupted by the gardener or anyone else.
“Please, Dorothy, go on. I give you my word, I will inform Officer Marsden and not tell anyone I spoke with you.”
She nodded and took a shaky breath. “My mistress, she was with child.”
“Yes, I’ve been made aware of that,” Audrey said, wondering if that was all. There was nothing especially frightening about it.
“She didn’t…she didn’t want to keep the baby,” Dorothy said, nearly whispering.
Audrey held her breath, stunned. “Do you mean…” How to say it?Purgewas the first word that leaped to her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter it.
Dorothy nodded grimly. “I was to arrange a meeting with Miss Ida. She’s known to help women like my mistress. There are certain herbs and berries, you see, and…”
