Page 60 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

“He must have. Lady Treloar says the painting that was brought to her had poorly rendered hands, and the style matched several of the Bunbury forgeries.”

D.I. Hobart stroked his whiskers in thought. “He says he didn’t paint forgeries for anyone and I believe him. He also continues to deny stealing the Quornes’ painting on March thirtieth, and now we have Chapman giving him an alibi for that night anyway. Smith did admit that the theft gave him the idea to steal the painting off the wall of the Bunburys’ library in retaliation for Lady Bunbury stealing McDonald away from him.” He looked to me then to Harry. “The upshot is, he continued to deny murdering McDonald and I believed him. I don’t want you to give up on him yet.”

Harry shrugged and shook his head, but finally agreed. “The problem is, I don’t know where to look next.”

Nor did I. All the evidence pointed to Reggie Smith being the murderer, but if D.I. Hobart believed him innocent, then we had to continue to investigate. We needed absolute proof, one way or another.

After leavingD.I. Hobart at Scotland Yard, Harry and I decided to drive to Upper Brooke Street. He would talk to Lady Bunbury, and I would remain in the cab, out of sight. I didn’t envy him at all, but I would have liked to see her reactions to his questions. He was going to confront her over Annie’s claim that she saw Lady Bunbury arguing with Ambrose McDonald on the night of the ball.

I watched as the butler let Harry into the house. That was already further than I expected him to get. A few minutes later, Lady’s Bunbury’s face appeared in the drawing room window. Her gaze arrowed down to me.

I flattened myself against the back of the seat, out of sight.

A few minutes after that, Harry opened the carriage door. He instructed the coachman to drive to the Mayfair, then climbed inside and sat beside me.

“Well?” I asked. “What did she say?”

“They were both there, Lord and Lady Bunbury. They didn’t say anything.”

The carriage lurched forward, causing me to shift in the seat and my knee to bump his. “Nothing at all? What was their reaction when you mentioned the argument with McDonald?”

His arm rested on the windowsill. His fingernail scraped the wood, drawing his attention.

“Harry?” I prompted.

He lowered his hand to his thigh. “They both looked surprised that I knew about it, then Lord Bunbury became hostile. He ordered me to get out. I asked who painted their forgeries and neither responded. Again, both looked surprised that I knew. Lord Bunbury then threatened to send for constables, so I decided to leave.”

I could tell by the way he wouldn’t look at me that there was more. “And?”

He heaved a sigh. “And as I exited, Lady Bunbury vowed retribution.” He shook his head, slowly. “I’ve made it worse.”

“Not you, we. Anyway, we knew it was a risk, but one we had to take. We had nowhere else to turn.”

“We still don’t.”

The Druitt-Poores’ball wasn’t as grand as the Bunburys’. For one thing, their ballroom was smaller, so not as many could fit inside. In every other way, I felt a strong sense of having previously experienced the evening before. I danced with the same gentlemen, I had the same conversations with the same ladies, and the refreshments were the same. Even Miss Hessing’s plight was the same. She tried to separate herself from her mother only to be reeled back in by that domineering parent. She melted into the wallpaper, and those men who did see her, snubbed her. At least no one neighed as they passed her this time. And once again, Floyd rescued her by asking her to dance. Afterwards, she was asked two more times by other gentlemen. I considered it a triumph. She considered it greed.

“They’re only doing it because they saw Floyd dance with me,” she said. “They think I must be someone important if he is paying me attention.”

I looped my arm through hers. “You are important.”

“I’m wealthy. That’s not the same thing.”

“There are many girls from wealthy families here. They could have their pick considering there is a distinct lack of men.”

Her gaze tracked around the room. “I suppose…”

I squeezed her arm. “Have you told the gentlemen that your mother is keen to stay in America if you happened to find an English husband?”

She laughed softly. “It’s not an easy thing to drop into a conversation. If a man does show more than a passing interest, I will be sure to try.” She eyed her mother, standing a few feet away with a gaggle of ladies who’d spent all night talking loudly, sometimes over the top of one another. “She acts as though I am not even here, but whenever I move away, she crooks her finger and beckons me to her to tell me some piece of gossip or other. Honestly, it’s like I’m connected to her by a piece of string.”

“You could always pretend you don’t notice.”

“I couldn’t.”

“If you don’t look her way, she can’t admonish you for not doing her bidding.”

“She can and she will. The only time she doesn’t mind me going off is when I’m dancing.”

---