Page 13 of A Murder in Trinity Lane (Rosalynd and Steele Mysteries #2)

Chapter

Thirteen

THE WEIGHT OF WHAT WE KNOW

T he afternoon shadows had grown long by the time I departed St. Agnes.

As the carriage rocked gently through the clamorous streets of London, Marie’s words played again and again in my mind.

Elsie had been taken advantage of—preyed upon by a gentleman in the grand house where she’d worked as a maid.

When she confided she was with child, he cast her aside.

Then she overheard something—something dangerous enough to send her fleeing for her life.

But it hadn’t saved her. He’d found her all the same . . . and silenced her forever.

Upon my arrival home, I was cheerfully greeted by one of our footmen.

Unfortunately, in my mood, I could not respond in kind.

Lifting my skirts, I wearily climbed the grand staircase while portraits of my ancestors watched my ascent with silent eyes.

They’d never faced what I faced now. Never carried such terrible knowledge in their hearts.

As I entered my bedchamber, the familiar hush of the damask-papered walls and the golden hush of afternoon light spilling through the lace curtains offered a semblance of comfort —but not relief.

Not today. The shadows of St. Agnes clung to me still, the image of Elsie’s lifeless body etched behind my eyes.

I longed for a moment’s solitude, a breath of calm before duty came knocking once more.

“Tilly?” I called softly, lowering myself onto the vanity stool, the silk cushion sighing beneath me as I did.

She appeared from the adjoining dressing room, a pile of freshly pressed linens in her arms. "You look pale as milk, milady. Shall I ring for tea?" Tilly was perhaps five years older than me, with intelligent brown eyes that missed little.

“Yes, but a bath first, please. The hottest water you can manage." I began pulling pins from my hair, letting it fall in waves past my shoulders. "I feel as though I shall never be clean again."

Tilly set down the linens and moved swiftly toward the door leading to the small bathing chamber. "Rose salts, milady?"

"Yes, please. And Tilly?" The maid paused, her hand on the door handle. "I'm not to be disturbed once I'm bathing. Not for anyone."

"Of course, milady.”

The sound of running water soon filled the air as Tilly turned the taps in the modern bathroom? one of the improvements Cosmos had insisted upon when he inherited the title. Steam began to curl from beneath the door, carrying with it the promise of temporary peace and the sweet scent of roses.

When I finally sank into the porcelain tub, the hot water seemed to draw some of the tension from my bones, though it could not wash away the memory of what I'd discovered.

The water had grown tepid by the time I emerged, wrapping myself in a thick Turkish towel before donning my deep burgundy wool wrapper.

The April evening had turned chilly, and I was grateful for its warmth as I moved to the window.

My reflection in the glass showed hollowed cheeks and shadows beneath my eyes.

I would need to compose myself before facing my family at dinner.

But first, I had a duty to perform. Steele would need to know what I had learned, though the telling would cost me dearly. I sat at my writing desk—a delicate rosewood piece that had belonged to my mother— and retrieved a sheet of cream-colored paper bearing my personal seal.

I dipped my pen in the crystal inkwell, pausing as a drop of black ink trembled at the nib's tip like a tear I refused to shed.

Your Grace, I began, my hand steady despite the turmoil in my heart,

I talked to Marie, a friend of Elsie’s. Elsie worked in a house of quality, not as a lady’s maid but with access to the household’s private affairs.

She possessed skill with a needle and was trusted with the master’s garments.

Someone in that household preyed upon her, got her with child, and then shunned her.

She left abruptly—fled, more accurately—after overhearing something she would not share.

Yesterday, she received the note we’ve seen, the one you discovered.

I believe someone connected to that house wrote that note.

Not with kindness, but with evil intent.

Whether it was related to her pregnancy or what she overheard, she couldn’t be allowed to live. And so, they silenced her forever.

I had just blotted the final line of my note when a brisk knock came at the door—followed immediately by it swinging open without so much as a pause.

I looked up, entirely unsurprised. “I was under the impression that knocking involved waiting.”

Chrissie breezed in with a grin, her cheeks flushed. “Yes, well. I suspected you might be in need of a distraction. And lo—I was right.”

Setting my pen aside, I folded my hands in my lap. “Should I be alarmed?” In this household, one never knew. It could be an invitation to tea—or a warning that the drawing room curtains were on fire.

She dropped into the nearest armchair with theatrical flair, dramatically clasping her hands. “Cosmos has invited a dinner guest. A special one. I thought it best to prepare you.”

I arched a brow. “Go on.”

“Dr. Nathaniel Vale,” she announced with a sigh. “Botanist. Scholar. Master of medicinal plants and, I fear, dull conversation.”

The name stirred something faint in my memory, though it wasn’t familiar enough to catch hold. “Is Cosmos attempting to bore us into submission?”

“That is precisely what I said when I found out,” she replied. “Apparently, they’ve been corresponding about some plant that resembles ivy but paralyzes you if you so much as sniff it. I’ve already resigned myself to becoming part of the dining room wallpaper.”

I bit back a smile. “And what of Dr. Vale himself?”

“Oh, he’s a second son. The oldest inherited the title. Very proper. He probably polishes his spectacles before speaking.”

“Sounds . . . scholarly.”

“Sounds insufferable,” she muttered. “Cosmos is in raptures. I intend to bring a book to read under the table.”

She rose with a rustle of skirts and moved toward the door. “Dress nicely, by the way. Cosmos wants us to make a good impression, though heaven knows why.”

“Chrissie,” I said gently, just as she reached the threshold.

She turned, her expression softening.

“Thank you for the warning.”

Her face grew more serious, touched with concern. “You’ve had a rather bleak night and day of it. I thought a bit of absurdity might do you good.”

I offered the faintest smile. “It does.”

When the door clicked shut behind her, I turned back to the sealed letter on my desk, brushing my fingertips along its edge. I wondered what Steele would make of it and whether he would agree with me. Well, I would never find out unless I sent it.

I crossed into the adjoining dressing room, where Tilly was already laying out my gown and underthings with her usual quiet efficiency.

“For the duke,” I said, holding out the letter. “Please see that it’s sent to Steele House without delay.”

“Yes, milady.” Tilly gave a small curtsy before hurrying off to find a footman.

Left alone once more, I turned to the mirror—where a rather tired, rumpled version of myself gazed back.

Time to make myself presentable.