Page 4 of A Whisper at Midnight

“This is Clara,” Mrs. Chambers said. “I told her to listen for me as I will need her help to undress.” She moved behind the screen, and the maid followed her.

Tilda took the opportunity to look about the room. “Where is your jewelry box?”

“I finally hid it after the garnet necklace went missing a week or so ago,” Mrs. Chambers replied. “I still have some pieces left, and I refuse to allow him to steal any more. I should have hidden it after the first time.” She sounded bitter, and Tilda didn’t blame her.

Mrs. Chambers emerged from behind the screen. She’d removed her gown but still wore her petticoats and corset.

Tilda stepped toward her client and studied her left arm. There were faint bruises around the upper portion. She cocked her head to see the backside, and Mrs. Chambers rotated her arm in response. “Thank you,” Tilda murmured.

The bruises did look like those that would be caused by fingers digging harshly into the flesh. Tilda wrote down her observations then moved to the right arm where she saw similar bruises.

“Are there more?” Tilda asked.

“Not at the moment. I had one on my shoulder when he pushed me, but that was more than a week ago, and it’s faded.” She presented her right shoulder, and Tilda could see a very faint swath of yellow.

“I see the remnants,” Tilda said before recording it in her notebook. “Thank you, Mrs. Chambers. You can dress now.”

The woman retreated behind the dressing screen with the maid, and Tilda walked about the room. “How did those injuries occur?”

“The bruises on my arms came from an argument we had three days ago after dinner. I’d asked if he took my garnet necklace. I’d also asked him about the other jewelry when it wentmissing, but he always said he wasn’t to blame. Still, I wanted to ask him anyway—just to let him know that I know he did it.” She sounded angry and defiant.

Tilda appreciated the woman wanting to stand up for herself but wondered if it was worth the trouble. “Was he violent with you those other times you asked?”

“No. This violent behavior is relatively new.”

“When did that start?” Tilda asked as she wrote in her notebook.

“I suppose in December. He’s threatened me in the past, but he didn’t get rough.”

“Can you tell me what happened with the bruise on your shoulder?”

“I was in his study downstairs. He doesn’t like for me to go in there.” Mrs. Chambers emerged from behind the screen. “He told me to leave and pushed me. I hit the edge of the doorframe.”

Tilda noted what the woman said. “Can you take me to the study and show me where he pushed you?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Chambers started for the door as the maid came from behind the screen. She kept her head down as she walked to the door in the corner and departed.

Mrs. Chambers led Tilda back downstairs to a masculine room at the back of the house. She nodded toward a closed door. “My husband’s bedchamber is through there.”

Tilda nodded before looking about the room. There was a desk, a seating area, and several bookcases. “Where did he push you?”

“Against that doorframe,” Mrs. Chambers said, indicating the doorway from a small sitting room into the study.

Noting the location of the violence, Tilda wrote it in her notebook, then she startled as the door to the bedchamber opened.

A tall, lean gentlemen filled the doorway, his small eyes narrowing at Tilda and Mrs. Chambers. His dark, wiry hair was a bit disheveled, and his stock was crooked.

“What the bloody hell are you doing in here?” the man thundered.

Tilda noted that Mrs. Chambers flinched, but she didn’t move otherwise. This man had to be her husband.

“Why aren’t you at the shop?” Mrs. Chambers asked, her voice tinged with apprehension.

“Who the hell is she?” Mr. Chambers asked his wife, though he pinned his angry stare on Tilda.

Summoning a placid smile, Tilda replied, “Mrs. Chambers has enlisted me to assist her with some refurbishment ideas, and I’m afraid I insisted she show me the library. I do want to ensure I don’t introduce a style that doesn’t compliment the entire house.” Tilda closed her notebook.

Mr. Chambers stepped into the library and moved his attention to his wife. The nostrils of his long, sharp nose flared. “Refurbishment? What nonsense is this? There is no money for that whilst I have invested in this new venture. Nothing needs refurbishment anyway, and certainly not directed by someone in such outdated fashion.” His gaze swept over Tilda with open distaste before returning to his wife. “You are the epitome of wastefulness, my dear.”