Page 24 of A Devil in Silk
When the men left, Lord Rutland crossed the room in three purposeful strides and crouched beside Clara’s chair. Heavens,he smelled divine. Who knew sandalwood could spark heat in someone’s blood?
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice tight, his eyes scanning hers with fierce concern. “They had no right to bring you here, not without a shred of evidence. Someone will answer for it, I swear.”
“It’s merely procedure.” She managed a smile. “By all accounts, they have evidence against me, though it must be fabricated. I never left your side last night.”
“If you’re guilty, so am I,” he growled.
“Mr Daventry seemed confident this was all a terrible mistake,” Olivia interjected. “Is it true his agents often help those who can’t afford to hire them?”
The marquess was quick to answer. “If you need help, Miss Woolf, you only need ask.”
She dismissed him abruptly. “I was enquiring for a friend.”
Mr Daventry returned with the inspector and Signora Conti.
The Italian housekeeper entered the office in a flurry of agitation, brown eyes bright with indignation, tugging her coat tightly across her chest. “Che vergogna. Trattare una donna così!” she mumbled.
“I agree. It is a damned disgrace,” the viscount said, moving to stand behind Clara’s chair as if to shield her from the next blow.
The marquess rose and offered Signora Conti his seat.
She hesitated, then sat with a brusque nod of thanks.
Mr Daventry addressed her in Italian. “Fidatevi di me per fare la cosa giusta. Ma vi prego, tenete a freno la lingua.”
Clara understood a little of what he’d said. Something about trusting him to do his job and minding her errant tongue.
Mr Daventry turned to the matter at hand. “It appears Miss Nightshade kept a journal, which was found at the emporium.Inspector Mercer has someone comparing the handwriting with letters found in her apartment.”
The inspector nodded. “Most of the pages were torn out, except for the blank sheets and the one that mentioned you, Miss Dalton.”
“Me?” Her pulse fluttered in her throat. She had never met Lavinia Nightshade. Why would the famed medium write about her? “What did it say?”
Inspector Mercer removed the folded sheet from his coat pocket before looking at those packed into his office. “Perhaps you’d rather we spoke about this privately.”
Her heart thumped in her chest. “I have nothing to hide, Inspector.” Except for the truth about her accident, but Lavinia couldn’t know about that. “These men are my brother’s friends and are like family.”
The man peeled open the folds. “Do you know why Miss Nightshade recorded details of your family history?”
Every muscle in Clara’s body stiffened.
“Probably because she was pretending to speak to the dead,” the viscount snapped. “I suspect she had a record of every person in attendance. I gave our names when I purchased the tickets from the clerk at The Arcane Emporium.”
“When was this?” Clara said, surprised he had given her name when she’d only agreed to accompany him the night before. The lord was far too presumptuous.
“A week ago.”
The inspector cleared his throat. “Miss Nightshade wrote:Convince Miss Dalton her mother is present. Frighten her and reveal that her mother hid a terrible secret.”
“Surely that supports the theory Lavinia Nightshade was a fraud,” Clara said. “The warning was so vague, I can scarcely recall it.”
That was a lie. The panic in the medium’s voice had sent a cold ripple down her spine. The suggestion that someone killed her mother was ludicrous. Yet thoughts of her father crowded her mind. Could he have done something unlawful, something to explain his explosive rage?
“Miss Nightshade said strange things to everyone in the audience,” Lord Rutland said. “She accused us all of being sinners.”
“I’m told you accused her of being a charlatan.”
“I believe she was.”
