Page 90 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
“You won’t get far in this weather,” I said. “The roads will be turning to muck. Stay the night. We’ve more bedchambers than I can count, most of which stand empty.”
Finch blinked. “I— Right. Thank you.”
“I’ll have Milford show you to a room,” I said, indicating the tray. “In the meantime, enjoy your meal.”
Without waiting for a reply, I left the library and crossed into the front hall, where Milford stood ready with my coat and hat. “Mr. Finch will be staying the night,” I told him as I shrugged into the coat. “See him to a room once he’s finished with his supper.”
“Your Grace,” he said with a deferential nod.
Rain lashed sideways at me as I crossed Grosvenor Square, the wind a howling beast as I sprinted through the deluge. My greatcoat did little to protect me; my topper did less. By the time I reached Rosehaven House, water streamed from my brim and boots alike.
I pounded on the door, breath heaving, hair plastered to my forehead.
Honeycutt opened it with maddening serenity, as though a drowning man hadn’t just arrived on his doorstep. As his gaze swept over my soaked form, the corners of his lips curled ever so slightly.
“Your Grace,” he intoned, drawing the words out like a funeral bell. “How . . . unexpected.”
I shoved my wet hair back. “I need a footman. Immediately.”
“Indeed.” He stepped aside with all the urgency of a man arranging a tea tray. “May I inquire as to the nature of the emergency?”
“I don’t have time to explain,” I snapped, water pooling around my boots. “I’m going to Vale House to retrieve Lady Rosalynd. I need someone with a brain.”
Honeycutt’s brows rose a fraction. “All our footmen have brains, Your Grace. Some even put theirs to excellent use.”
I ground my teeth. “Then fetch me the most excellent one.”
“I shall see what I can do.” He gestured toward the vestibule. “Do try not to drip on the carpet.”
I barely resisted the urge to commit bodily harm.
Moments later, a tall, capable-looking footman appeared at the top of the stairs, already shrugging into his greatcoat. He moved with brisk efficiency, offered a curt nod, and joined me without delay.
As we turned to leave, Honeycutt extended an umbrella with the air of a man bestowing a royal pardon. “You might need this, Your Grace, given the state of the weather.”
“Thank you.”
“I live to serve.”
One of these days, I needed to discover what, exactly, Honeycutt held against me. But not today.
The footman and I descended the front steps two at a time. By sheer luck, a hackney was trundling past along the slick cobblestones. I hailed it, and once we were inside, I gave the cabbie the Park Crescent address.
As the carriage rattled through the rain-slicked streets, I outlined the plan to the footman. He asked no questions—just listened with sharp attention. When I asked him to repeat it back, he did so flawlessly.
Only then did I allow myself to lean back against the seat. The darkness pressed in on all sides, and with every turn of the wheels, a single thought pulsed through me.
Please, God. Let her be safe.
Chapter
Thirty-One
A VISIT TO VALE HOUSE
Earlier that Evening
I’d carefully chosen the gown I’d wear to supper.
