Page 40 of A Murder in Mayfair
His attitude had undergone a drastic change since the last time I saw him. Maybe he’d had a change of heart after branding Julia a murderer. I doubted it. More than likely, his cousin had talked some sense into him. It simply would not do to call his stepmother a murderess when there was no evidence to suggest such a thing. Never mind tossing Julia from her home while she was expecting a child was bound to cause a huge scandal. His honor would be besmirched before he even assumed the title.
But that did not seem to matter to his wife, who quickly turned on him. “You’re a weakling, Charles, in more ways than one. I never should have married you.”
Charles shifted uncomfortably. Edwin murmured something about needing to speak with the family solicitor and deftly ushered his cousin and Lucretia out of the room.
The moment the door closed behind them, Julia’s composure crumbled. She sank onto the settee and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I slipped beside her, wrapping an arm around her as she trembled beneath the weight of it all.
“I’ve tried so hard,” she gasped. “To keep up appearances. To keep things running. And now—now it’s all unraveling. The house, the lies, the debts. All of it.”
“You don’t have to do it alone anymore,” I murmured. “You have me. And you will get through this.”
She turned her face toward me, tear-streaked and pale. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that. Will you attend the inquest with me? It’s scheduled for Tuesday.”
“Of course, I will,” I said, pressing her hand. I would need to send a note to Steele. He would want to be there.
“I’d like to search Walsh’s study,” I said carefully. “Perhaps there’s something there that might point us toward the murderer.”
Julia shook her head, her voice edged with weariness. “Inspector Dodson combed through it last night. He claimed there was nothing of interest.” She paused, then added with quiet certainty, “But I wasn’t surprised. My husband never kept anything important there. His ledgers and confidential papers were always locked in the hidden safe in his private quarters.”
“You didn’t share that with Dodson, did you?” I asked, keeping my voice low, though my pulse had begun to race.
Julia’s mouth tightened. “No. I don’t trust the man.”
“Neither does Steele,” I said, relieved. “You did the right thing by holding it back.” I hesitated, then added gently, “Do I have your permission to explore Walsh’s rooms?”
She nodded, though the motion was slow and burdened. “I hope you find something,” she murmured. “Anything to stop this madness.”
“I’ll tell you if I do,” I promised. “Do you know the combination to the safe?”
Her gaze lifted to meet mine, and for a moment, something fragile and aching shimmered in her eyes. “Our wedding date,” she said softly. “He was hopeful then. He believed in us. But as the years passed without a child, that hope soured. He became distant. Cold. But he never changed the numbers. That’s what I’ll remember. That once, at least, I meant something to him.”
Her voice trembled at the end, and I wanted to believe her memory was enough to tether her to peace. But the truth pressed heavily on my chest. The man she’d married may have once been kind, but the one who’d died had been cruel, controlling, and worse. I’d seen the bruises, even if she hadn’t spoken of them.
If Dodson ever learned of them—if he suspected that those bruises told a motive—he would not hesitate to use them against her.
Chapter
Sixteen
ROSALYND QUESTIONS THE WALSH HOUSE STAFF
After searching Walsh’s quarters and finding much more than I expected, it was time to question the staff. Of course, I would need to start with the butler. Nothing happened in that house he did not know about. Approaching him, I asked, “Would it be possible to have a few words with you, Mr. Anstruther?" I asked. "And afterward, Lord Walsh’s valet?"
A flicker of hesitation crossed his face—gone almost before I could mark it.
"Of course, milady. Shall we speak in the library?"
The house seemed to absorb sound as I followed him down the corridor, the thick carpets swallowing my footsteps. Every room we passed felt emptied of life, stripped bare by fear and suspicion. Walsh’s death had left more than grief behind; it had sown seeds of uncertainty that were already taking root.
Anstruther closed the library door behind us, the click of the latch unnervingly final.
He stood at attention, hands folded before him, a picture of proper dignity.
"I know these are difficult days, Mr. Anstruther," I began gently. "But anything you might recall could help resolve matters quietly."
He inclined his head. "I will assist where I can, milady."
"Tell me," I said, "did Lord Walsh have any... unpleasant encounters in the days leading up to the ball?"
