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T hird Cousin Desmond did not kill Lord Alfred,” I declared.

“Do you want to run after them?” James asked. “Tell Inspector McGregor?”

I nearly did let myself chase whatever police wagon had taken away Cousin Desmond, but I stopped.

Neither Inspector McGregor nor a magistrate would be interested in my thoughts at this moment, and I had no evidence that could clear Cousin Desmon’s name.

My idea that he couldn’t have done it would be dismissed.

No, sensitive Desmond might have to spend a night in Bow Street or even Newgate, though Lord Babcock, if he could, would prevent that.

Desmond was now second in line for the marquessate. If he disliked his older brother as much as Mrs. Morgan said he did, he might not, in theory, stop at anything to become the marquess himself. A magistrate and a high court judge might believe that.

“No,” I said. “I will have to do this another way. Any chance your dad’s delivery wagon is about? I must trundle all our goods back to Mount Street. The sooner, the better, I think.”

James touched his cap. “Right away, Mrs. H.”

He sprang away with the enthusiasm of youth, leaving me pondering as I walked back to the Babcock house.

The news of Desmond’s arrest had reached the kitchen by the time I arrived.

“I never liked him,” Mary said darkly. “He was always cruel to the young master. Calling him a bastard, and all.”

Mrs. Morgan had said the opposite, that Lord Alfred had taunted Third Cousin Demond. I couldn’t be certain which was the truth. A bit of both, I supposed.

If Cousin Desmond had believed the tale that Lord Alfred was illegitimate, that might make Desmond’s motive to kill Lord Alfred even stronger in the eyes of the law. Lord Babcock had apparently been satisfied that Alfred had sprung from his seed, but rumor was a powerful thing.

Tess and I had nearly finished bundling away our things—I had no leisure to sit in a corner and ruminate—when Lady Cynthia entered the kitchen.

“Can you take another pot of tea to Margaret?” she asked. “She is beside herself now that her beloved Desmond’s been arrested so quickly after she lost her brother.”

Lady Cynthia spoke briskly, as though she was becoming rather fed up with the traumatic events in this house. She obviously pitied Lady Margaret, however. Hence the order of tea.

“Of course,” I said. “Tell her not to worry. I don’t believe her cousin did it.”

Cynthia studied me in relief. “I’m happy to hear you say that. Margaret doesn’t need more trouble. I don’t think Desmond did it either. He’s a bit of a weed.”

“Perhaps you ought to go home now,” I told her kindly. “There’s not much more you can do.”

“I’d love to, but I’ll stay on.” Cynthia heaved a resigned sigh.

“McGregor dismissed the other guests, who have all fled. Lord Babcock has shut himself into his study, not wanting to see anyone but his valet. Auntie is already storming home. Apparently, she is annoyed she was in a house where a murder was committed and has no intention of staying any longer.”

As Mrs. Bywater could be trying on her best days, I thought perhaps it was better for Lord Babcock’s family if she went.

“I’ll have the tea ready in a trice and bring it up,” I told Cynthia, then leaned to whisper to her. “Make certain no one eats or drinks anything I haven’t prepared, and eat nothing that has been left unattended for even a moment.”

Cynthia’s eyes went wide. “Do you think the poisoner will strike again? Do they mean to kill everyone in the house?”

“We can sincerely hope not. But please monitor the food and drink after I’m gone.”

“That I will. Good Lord.”

“Thank you.” I returned to my usual tones. “Have you seen Mrs. Seabrook at all?” The housekeeper had been notably absent since announcing Lord Alfred’s death.

“She’s rushing about, clucking, because the upstairs rooms have been left in such a state. She’s busy chivvying the maids to put them to rights.”

I imagined Mrs. Seabrook gave orders like a general in battle. “Up you go. I’ll bring the tray.”

“You are too good for us, Mrs. H.”

I accepted the compliment with modesty, as usual. Cynthia grinned at me then took herself away.

James thumped down the outside stairs and knocked on the door to announce the cart was ready. Tess brightened when she saw him, and Jane and Mary did as well, though for different reasons. The kitchen maids were no doubt noting that James was quite handsome.

“My, my,” Mary said after James had hefted a few crates outside. “Ain’t he a one?”

Her tone was admiring, which told me her attachment to Lord Alfred had been little more than a passing infatuation.

Jane said nothing at all, but the way her gaze fixed on James showed genuine interest. James was a free spirit, I wanted to tell them, not ready to walk out with a young lady, but I held my tongue. Let them have this one refreshing moment in a bleak day.

While Tess continued to supervise the packing, I prepared a fresh pot of tea, added pastries that would not survive the journey back to Mount Street, and once more ascended through the house.

When I paused on the first floor, I saw Mrs. Seabrook issuing stentorian commands to two maids who rushed about, trying to obey her.

Lady Babcock, Miss Jordan, Cynthia, and Lady Magaret had remained in Lady Babcock’s chamber.

Lady Margaret was crying fresh tears, wiping them copiously on an already wet handkerchief. Her eyes were redder than before, and she morosely regarded the tea I set before her.

When I carried tea to Lady Babcock, she gazed up at me with more resolution than she’d had when I’d left her.

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said quietly. “I’m going to live with my aunt for a bit. She needs looking after, and I will welcome the change.”

“Perhaps that is the best thing, your ladyship,” I agreed.

I was not horrified or disapproving that she’d abandon her husband while he grieved for his son. If Lord Babcock had wanted her comfort, she’d already be shut in the study with him.

I had the feeling I was witnessing the shattering of a marriage. The Babcocks might not shock the world with a divorce, but I wagered they’d begin living separate lives. It was too bad, but I’d experienced a difficult marriage myself, and being on one’s own was infinitely preferable to that.

Cynthia encouraged Lady Margaret to sip some tea. Margaret coughed as it went down, but she managed to swallow then fell limply against the settee’s pillows once more.

I sent Cynthia an inquiring glance, wondering if she needed me to stay, but Cynthia nodded for me to go.

I hoped she’d persuade Lady Margaret to bed and to take something to make her sleep, though not the morphine that was floating about this house. I wondered if Sergeant Scott would search for it, or if he and Inspector McGregor would be satisfied that they’d caught the killer and not bother.

Desmond couldn’t possibly have laced Mrs. Morgan’s tea, I was certain. He hadn’t arrived at the house until shortly before dinner was served today.

Why Mrs. Morgan’s tea had been dosed was still a mystery. Had Mrs. Morgan guessed that Lord Alfred would be murdered, and the murderer wanted to shut her up? But if so, Mrs. Morgan could have passed that information on, either to me when I’d taken her the broth, or later, when she’d felt better.

The effect of Mrs. Morgan’s illness was that she hadn’t been in the kitchen. The morphine might have been intended to make certain she stayed abed.

Had the person thought to poison Lord Alfred and blame the kitchen staff, or whoever took over for Mrs. Morgan, for serving him bad food? Was Mrs. Morgan the sort of cook who’d never let anyone near her dishes?

If so, the poisoner must have been dismayed at my diligence. I too let no one near the food except those I trusted, and as I’d told Mrs. Seabrook, I tasted everything myself.

Was that why they’d risked stabbing Lord Alfred?

In any case, Third Cousin Desmond had not been here to dollop morphine into Mrs. Morgan’s tea.

That left Mrs. Seabrook, Lady Babcock, Lord Babcock, Lady Margaret, Alfred himself, Armitage, and the maids and footmen. I’d think only a physician would be able to get hold of morphine, but I acknowledged that anything could be stolen from anywhere.

I gave Lady Babcock and Miss Jordan one last glance of reassurance and left the room, breathing a sigh of relief when I closed the door behind me. Cynthia would guard the ladies well. I told myself there would be no more murder or attempted murder if we all remained diligent.

By the time I reached the kitchen once more, James and the three maids had finished loading the cart. I snatched up my coat and hat and ascended the outside stairs to find Tess climbing to the seat next to James for the ride home.

Mary leaned on the railings, gazing at James, her expression forlorn.

Jane faced me belligerently. “If ye had any heart, ye wouldn’t go.”

I regarded her with surprise. “My dear Jane, this house already has a cook. I cannot remain where I’m not employed.”

“Then take me with ya.”

I felt sorry for her, but there was little I could offer. “Hiring another kitchen assistant is not up to me,” I said gently. “But I can put in a word for you at my agency if you wish to seek a better place.”

Jane considered this, then softened. “That’d be good of you. Thank you, Mrs. Holloway.”

“Not at all. Now, look in on Mrs. Morgan and make sure she gets well. Also, if Lady Cynthia asks you to help prepare food or drink this afternoon and evening, do your best to assist her.”

Jane looked mystified at this request, but she nodded. The next moment, she amazed me by throwing her arms around me. “I’m so glad you came.”

I returned her embrace, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’m glad I have as well.”

Jane released me and self-consciously brushed tears from her eyes.