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Chapter

Twenty-Nine

A HOUSE REMEMBERS

J ulia sat on the edge of a chaise, wrapped in a delicate shawl, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She didn’t look up when I entered, didn’t stir when I crossed to her side. Only the fine tremble in her fingertips betrayed that she was aware of me at all.

I sat beside her and took her hand gently. “Julia, darling, what is it?” I asked, though I already knew. Dodson’s arrival, she had to have heard of it. Word must have traveled like wildfire up the stairs to her room. The threat of arrest had taken its toll. But she needed to say it, to give shape to the fear hollowing her out.

At the sound of my voice, her chin quivered. “They’ll take me away,” she whispered, barely audible. “They’ll take me, and I’ll lose everything.” Her hand curled protectively around her stomach. “I’ll lose my child.”

A tear traced down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb. “You will not be moved, Julia. You are staying here in Rosehaven House. Steele and I saw to that.”

“They’ve posted police officers downstairs,” she said in a strangled whisper.

I couldn’t very well deny it. She already knew. “Two constables. They’re here to keep you safe, not drag you off. You needn’t speak to them, or even see them at all.”

She gave a shuddering breath. “But how will I manage? I need to eat. For the baby’s sake, if not for my own.”

I reached for her hand again, wrapping it firmly in mine. “And you shall. Every tray of food, every need, will come straight to you. All you have to do is rest, Julia. You must regain your strength. Let me carry the weight of this. You’ve carried enough.”

Her hand closed over mine with more strength than I expected. “I didn’t kill him, Rosalynd.”

I met her gaze, unflinching. “I know you didn’t.”

The tension in her body eased as she drew a steadying breath, the kind one takes when hope, however faint, begins to return.

The journey across Mayfair to Walsh House passed in silence. I sat in the corner of the carriage, my thoughts racing with the one question that refused to be stilled.

Who had killed Charles?

It had to be someone with access to Walsh House. Steele was right about that. Only such a person could have tampered with the tea packet Julia had sent. Of her innocence, I had no doubt. She simply didn’t have it in her to commit murder.

And yet, there was one fact that could condemn her.

She had access to foxglove.

Cosmos had told me he encountered her during her garden walk on Saturday morning. Upon their return, he’d shown her the specimen in his study. If Dodson ever learned that detail, it would be more than enough to justify a second warrant—this time with damning evidence in hand. And if that happened, I feared we wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Which meant I needed answers—and quickly. Somewhere inside Walsh House lay the truth. I intended to follow the trail wherever it led.

Walsh House wore its mourning like a shroud. The windows, though curtained, seemed darker than usual, the once-pristine facade dulled by soot and shadow. The brass knocker had been removed from the front door, in keeping with custom—a silent emblem of death within. But without it, there was no dignified way to announce myself.

I hesitated only a moment before raising my gloved hand and rapping firmly on the door. The sound was inelegant, far too loud in the still evening air—but effective. Within moments, the door swung open, and a harried footman blinked out at me.

“Milady,” he said, startled, and stepped back at once to admit me.

I crossed the threshold into a house heavy with silence. The air inside was thick with the scent of extinguished fires and fading lilies. Every footstep felt too loud, too alive. Grief clung to the walls—but so did secrets.

I intended to draw them into the light.

“Is Mr. Anstruther at home?” I asked.

“Yes, milady,” the footman replied, lowering his voice instinctively. “He’s in the steward’s office.”

“Fetch him, please. Tell him I’d appreciate a word. In private.”

The young man bowed and disappeared down the corridor.

Moments later, Mr. Anstruther appeared, his step brisk despite the weight of mourning that hung in the house. His expression registered surprise, then something gentler—recognition, perhaps, or quiet approval.

“My lady,” he said with a respectful nod. “I trust Lady Walsh is ... managing?”

“She’s resting. I’ve come on her behalf,” I said softly. “And I need your help.”

He hesitated only a moment before nodding. “This way, if you please.”

He led me through a narrow passage and into a small sitting room off the servants’ hall, modest but tidy, with the faint scent of polish and pipe smoke still lingering in the air. He closed the door behind us.

“Before we begin,” I said, lowering my voice, “who is currently in the house?”

“Only the household staff, my lady,” he replied without hesitation. “The family solicitor departed earlier this afternoon, and the physician has already seen Lady Lucretia. She’s taken to her chambers and hasn’t spoken with anyone beyond her maid.”

“No other visitors? No one calling under false pretenses?”

“None,” he said with quiet certainty. “No one’s crossed the threshold who doesn’t belong.”

I nodded. “Good. Then we may speak freely.”

He waited, hands clasped behind his back, patient and ready.

“I need to know what happened yesterday after the tea packet arrived,” I said. “Who received it? Who handled it? Was it opened or moved? And most importantly, who brewed the tea and who was in this house between the time it was delivered and the moment it was served?”

Mr. Anstruther gave a slow nod, clearly sorting through the sequence of events.

“The parcel arrived just after noon,” he began. “I had just brought brandy to the study for Lord Walsh and Mr. Heller when the doorbell rang. I answered it myself. A footman dressed in Rosehaven livery handed me a small brown-paper parcel, addressed to Lord Walsh in Lady Julia’s hand.”

Of course, he would recognize it—he’d served her long enough to know.

“I took it straight to the study. Mr. Heller was seated near the hearth; Lord Walsh behind his desk. I placed the parcel before him and mentioned it was from Her Ladyship. He thanked me and set it aside without opening it.”

“Did either of them touch it?”

“Not that I saw. I left the room shortly after.”

“And then?”

“That’s less certain,” he admitted. “I didn’t return to the study again until just before four, when Lord Walsh retired to his chambers. By then, the parcel was gone. I assumed he’d taken it upstairs or passed it along to the staff.”

“Who found it next?”

“Cook told me it was brought to her by Elsie—the second housemaid—just after six.”

“And did Lord Walsh give it to her directly?”

“No, my lady. She found it in the morning room, sitting on a side table. It had been unwrapped but was still sealed. A note was pinned to it: ‘ To be used exclusively for Lord Walsh’s tea .’”

“Did you recognize the handwriting?”

“No, milady. I’m not familiar with His Lordship’s hand.”

I frowned. “So between noon and six, the packet vanished from the study, reappeared in the morning room, and was then brought to the kitchen?”

“Exactly so.”

I noted the sequence carefully in my small notebook. Then looked back to him. “Who brewed the tea?”

“Cook. Lord Walsh called for tea this morning while working in his study. He hadn’t had any the day before—only brandy with Mr. Heller, then burgundy with his supper. For breakfast, he requested coffee.”

“So the tea made from the packet was brewed only once—this morning?”

He nodded. “Just before ten. Elsie brought it up on a tray.”

A silence fell between us as the implications settled. Six hours unaccounted for. And a tea packet that changed hands without a witness.

“Thank you, Mr. Anstruther. I’d like to speak with Cook now.”

“She’s in the kitchen, my lady. It’s nearly supper. She’ll be hard-pressed to leave her post.”

“Of course.”

He led me down the hall, where the warm scent of yeast and rosemary greeted us. We found Cook at the long table, rolling pastry with firm precision. She looked up as we entered, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Lady Rosalynd,” she said, her surprise softened by concern. “I reckon you’re here about the tea.”

I nodded. “Tell me everything.”

She leaned back against the table, arms folded. “Elsie brought it in. I didn’t open it right away—just slipped it into a caddy to keep it fresh and set it on the shelf with the others. When I opened it this morning, it looked fine. Crushed leaves. Smelled herbal. Not unpleasant.”

“But it could’ve been tampered with.”

She hesitated. “Aye. Could’ve been. Easy enough to open the parchment, sprinkle something in, and wrap it up again. Wouldn’t take two minutes.”

“Did anyone else touch it?”

“Not that I know of. But it wasn’t locked up. We don’t treat tea like it’s diamonds. Anyone could’ve reached it between the time Elsie handed it over and when I brewed it.”

I thought of the narrow staircases, the servants’ corridors, the familiar rhythm of a household in motion. Trusted routines. Familiar faces. Too trusted.

“So the suspects are limited to those within the house,” I murmured.

“Or visitors,” Mr. Anstruther reminded me gently.

“Yes. Indeed.” I turned to Cook. “The tea—has it all been taken?”

“Yes, milady. That inspector—Dodson—took it.” Her look made clear what she thought of him.

I thanked her and asked to speak with Elsie, who confirmed what had been said. With that done, I made my way back toward the front entrance. It was nearing seven. My family would be wondering what had kept me away so long. But I had one last question.

“Mr. Anstruther,” I said, as he helped me into my coat. “Do you happen to know Mr. Heller’s address?”

“43 Duke Street.” He hesitated. “You’re not planning to go there alone, are you, milady?”

“No,” I said. “But I intend to share that information.” After a moment’s pause, I asked, “Was he notified of Lord Walsh’s passing?”

“I sent a footman early this afternoon, but no one was at home. We left word that an urgent matter required his attention.”

I stepped into the growing dusk, the weight of unanswered questions heavier than before. My trusted coachman waited at the curb. I climbed into the carriage, and the door closed with a soft thud.

As we rolled back toward Rosehaven House, I leaned into the shadows, reviewing every detail I had gathered.

A vanished tea packet. A visiting cousin. A note no one could verify.

And a house full of people. Maybe one with something to lose.