Page 36 of Taken to the Grave
Footsteps approached from inside, and after the sounds of locks being slid back, the door opened to reveal a young womanin flowered muslin, a ruffled white cap, and pinafore. She bobbed a quick curtsey before saying, “May I help you?”
She looked to Hugh to reply, but Audrey beat him to it.
“We are here to inquire about the parcel of land listed in theTimes. Is this Mr. Comstock’s residence?” Her voice was tight and sharp. Angry.
Hugh ground his molars. It had been a long time since they’d argued in this manner. A long time since she’d been so damned stubborn. His only wish was to protect her from landing herself in dangerous situations. Why couldn’t she understand that? It had nothing to do with wanting her to change.
The maid’s eyes flared. Indecision stole across her plain features as she looked from Hugh to Audrey. “Oh. Yes, milady, this is Mr. Comstock’s residence, however…” She tucked her chin, which then trembled.
“May we enter, miss?” Hugh asked.
She sniffled and stepped aside, allowing them in. The foyer was trim and neat. No decorative flounces, no touches of femininity. This was a bachelor’s home, much like his own at Bedford Street. And near to the university, he thought it likely Mr. Comstock may have even attended there.
“I’m sorry,” the maid said, touching the back of her hand to her cheek, as if to check for any wetness. Her eyes were red. She’d already been crying recently.
“Perhaps we’ve come at a bad time. Is Mr. Comstock not in?” Hugh asked.
The maid shook her head, more tears forming as her composure quickly deteriorated. Foreboding chilled him as he waited for her to speak.
“Mr. Comstock is…he has died, milord.” Her voice cracked. For the first time since leaving her carriage, Audrey’s deep blue eyes slammed into him. Her lips parted on a gust of breath.
“When was this?” Hugh asked.
“Yesterday morning,” she replied, dabbing at her eyes again.
“What happened?” Audrey asked. The maid started to speak, but then croaked on the first word before it could complete. She shook her head.
“I shouldn’t say.”
Had it been anything natural or blameless, giving the cause of death shouldn’t have been an issue. Not doing so hinted toward the death being scandalous. Hugh calculated his approach. If pressed too hard, the maid’s distress could lead her to show them the door. But if too gently coaxed, they would not uncover any answers.
He laid his hand on Audrey’s back, between her shoulders, hoping to convey that a change of tactic was about to commence. And to go along with it.
“I apologize for our poor timing and our subterfuge, but we have not come to discuss the parcel of land. We came to ask Mr. Comstock about a mutual friend: Miss Bethany Silas.”
Audrey crooked her neck to look at him. The maid cheeks went slack, and her expression revealed that she was cognizant of the name. Shutters quickly descended over that expression, but it was too late.
“I believe you know her,” Hugh said, and then, with a flicker of perception, took another chance. “You met her as Miss Comstock, I believe?”
Blood rushed to the tips of her ears and up her neck. Distress changed instantly to guilt. The risk having paid off, Hugh pressed onward. “But you are not Mr. Comstock’s sister. What is your real name?”
She shifted her afflicted stare toward the door. “I…I think you should leave, milord.”
“You are in no trouble,” Audrey said. “Truly. Our concern is solely for Miss Silas.”
The maid looked as if she might be considering bolting through the door herself in an attempt to escape.
“We know you were with Mr. Comstock the day he took her to Vauxhall,” Audrey said, quickly adding, “However, no one else need ever know you posed as his sister. Surely, you were only trying to help him. How else was he to gain permission to take Miss Silas out for a carriage ride to the pleasure gardens?”
The maid nodded, bobbing her head shakily. “I never did feel right about it, but he said it would only be once or twice, and that Miss Silas wouldn’t be upset once she learnt the truth. He said she’d think it romantic. Clever, too.”
The pleading tone of her voice, and the close knit of her brows, displayed that she knew better now in hindsight.
“What happened once they reached Vauxhall?” Hugh asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know, milord. Once we arrived at the coach field, Mr. Comstock told the driver to take me back here. It was never the plan for me to come along.”
“And did he return later that evening?”
