Page 50 of Death at Fournier Downs
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Cassie is despondent after finding a body. I’ve found three now, in total, and I can’t recall being so affected.”
In addition to Charlotte and Ida Smith, Mr. Bernadetto, the theatre manager at the Theatre Royal, had been killed in the spring, and she and Hugh had come upon the newly slain body. She had swooned from the blood, but had recovered quickly, and the discovery had not given her any lasting distress. Wasn’t that a bit odd?
Philip poured a brandy for himself and one for her as well. He then joined her on the sofa, sitting on the cushion next to her.
“There is nothing wrong with you.” He handed her the snifter. She accepted the offering but didn’t want it. Her stomach was in a knot, and she lamented even the small glass of ratafia she’d had at the picnic.
“Finding a dead body would affect anyone, but she is especially young and sheltered and impressionable,” Philip went on. “I should have brought her up to London more often.”
He had said this a few times over the course of the summer, but Audrey was at least thankful Cassie had not arrived at Michael and Genie’s home on Grosvenor Square until May. She hadn’t been in London when Philip had been arrested. Audrey would not have been able to move as freely as she had to investigate the murders of Miss Lovejoy and Mr. Bernadetto had Cassie been there for Audrey to chaperone and care for. Again, the stymied longing to be out there doing something to find answers for Charlotte’s death, and Ida Smith’s, grew hot in her chest.
She sipped her brandy, pondering whether Gendron had yet managed to force an answer out of his stable hands. One of them had delivered a summons for Ida Smith the morning of her death. There were over a dozen maids employed at Fournier House who might have wanted a meeting with the midwife and herbalist. The stable hand might have kept quiet to protect her identity. Or perhaps the stable hand had delivered the message for one of his own family members, or for another employee’s family member. Any number of young women might be the one who’d been seeking Ida’s herbal tincture.
Audrey and Philip sat in companionable silence while she mentally shuffled through the maids, but it was a pointless exercise. The only two women she knew well in the house were Greer and Cassie. Greer was far too busy during the day to run off to the ruined cottage. And Cassie…well, the idea that she might have needed Ida’s assistance was easily dismissible. She was a debutante, and a sheltered one at that. Of course, there were a few handsome footmen, but Cassie paid them no attention whatsoever.
Besides, Cassie could not have been meeting with Ida. She had been with Audrey at the time. She’d found Cassie riding along the wooded path...
Her next sip of brandy went down her throat in an awkward gulp as she recalled Cassie’s startled reaction when Audrey had come upon her. But now, she also recalled her sister-in-law’s sharp tone when asking about the ruined cottage and her alarm at hearing the place had been mentioned at the inquest—a complete fabrication on Audrey’s part. She’d been acting overly eager as they’d closed in on the small clearing, riding ahead and raising her voice to a near shout. It had not fazed Audrey too much at the time. She’d been focused on not revealing the reason why she wanted to be there—because of a vision.
But now…
She cleared her throat and lowered her brandy as a chiming tone filled her eardrums.No. It was absurd. Impossible. But as she stood and excused herself, telling Philip she was going to check in on Cassie, her nerve endings practically crackled.
Audrey took the stairs, and the closer she became to Cassie’s room, the more her suspicion took root. Her reluctance to socialize this summer, her insistence that she stay put to care for a brother who no longer needed it, her changeable moods, her reluctance to go to London for her introduction to society…
She knocked upon the bedchamber door and waited, but no answering call came.
“Cassie?” She pushed open the door and peeked in. The bedroom was empty. “Cassie, are you in here?”
Walking deeper into her room, she peeked into the boudoir, but found no one. Turning from the boudoir, she leaped and let out a gasp at the sight of a figure in the bedchamber entrance.
“Your Grace? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ruth, Cassie’s lady’s maid, said. She entered the bedchamber with a few pieces of laundered and folded items.
“It is fine, Ruth. I was looking for Cassie. Do you know where she is?”
The maid frowned. “I haven’t seen her since she left for the picnic, Your Grace.”
“She wasn’t feeling well and needed to come back here. She said she was coming to her room to rest.” But apparently, she had not.
Ruth lowered her eyes and walked past Audrey, into the boudoir to deliver the linens. Something about the maid’s expression and posture—the pinch of her brow, the intentional avoidance of Audrey’s eyes—gave her pause. Like Dorothy had, Ruth would know the truth about her mistress.
“Ruth, I need to ask you a difficult question,” Audrey said as the maid came back into the bedchamber. She went still, her attention still pinned to the carpet.
“I think you know what it is,” Audrey said.
Ruth pressed her lips together as if trying to hold back some confession. Audrey felt a twinge of sympathy for her—her loyalty was torn between her mistress and the duchess, a woman of superior rank. However, now was no time for sympathy. Audrey required answers. The truth. And that required a blunt question:
“Did you arrange a meeting between Ida Smith and Cassie? Did you ask a stable hand to deliver the message to Miss Smith at Haverfield?”
The maid’s shoulders dropped. She shuddered on an exhalation. “I am sorry, Your Grace, Lady Cassandra asked for my confidence.”
Audrey’s stomach plummeted. She swallowed, her throat going dry.
“I understand, however, I need your help now, Ruth. Is she…expecting?”
When the maid bobbed her head, a surge of dizziness took Audrey down to the edge of Cassie’s bed. “She has…she has missed her monthly?”
