Page 87 of A Whisper at Midnight

“In what way?”

“Financially. My brother was out of money. There is a fund from which he draws a modest income, but he has borrowed against it extensively. There will be little to nothing for her to inherit, aside from what’s inside this house.”

Though Hadrian didn’t want to continue his association with Beryl once the murder was solved, he did not want to see her suffer. “Were you aware Louis was stealing Beryl’s jewelry?”

Chambers’ brows rose. “Was he really?”

“According to a friend of his, he gave some items, which he showed to the friend, to his mistress. And it appears he sold some items to a pawnbroker.” Hadrian hoped he wasn’t disclosing information he should not. He took the chance in case it prompted Chambers to share more about Louis.

“I hadn’t realized Louis was that despicable. Though I will say that Beryl’s spending habits rival that of my brother.”

Hadrian stared at the man. “Are you saying she deserved to lose her heirlooms?”

“She is not blameless in her own financial situation,” Daniel said blithely. “She can’t think her dowry lasted this long into the marriage, not with the way they spent money.”

Hadrian could well imagine what Tilda would say—that Beryl wasn’t in a position to even know her financial situation. He began to truly understand why Tilda was so careful with her own finances. She had to be.

“What did they spend their money on exactly?” Hadrian asked.

“Fripperies, mostly. They dressed in the latest fashion, and they liked to be invited about town, though I’ve seen their invitations diminish over the past year or two. They also like to entertain. They have dinner parties about once a month. I confess I stopped attending about six months ago, as I could no longer bear to watch their hedonism.”

Oliver Chambers approached them. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time to proceed to the cemetery.”

Daniel glanced at Hadrian. “I don’t suppose you will be coming?”

“I will not.” Hadrian offered them a bland smile. “I don’t think your brother would want me there. I am only here today for Beryl.”

The brothers departed, and Hadrian looked about for Tilda. She stood in the small anteroom before the dining room. Beforehe could make his way to her, a parade of women moved out of the parlor led by Beryl. Mrs. Styles-Rowdon brought up the rear, but she stopped in front of Hadrian.

“You are such a dear friend to our Beryl,” she said. “Fetching her sleeping tonic and mourning accessories and sending lilies for the coffin.” She batted her lashes at him, and he wondered if she was purposely flirting or if that was simply her demeanor. She seemed the type of woman who was always aware of her appearance and its effect.

Hadrian looked past her at the coffin as it was carried foot-first from the parlor. The men carrying it, including Oliver Chambers, passed through the entrance hall and outside. The butler held the door.

Mrs. Styles-Rowdon turned and watched the spectacle with him. She put her hand on his sleeve. Hadrian glanced down at her black glove against his black coat, wondering why she would feel so informal with him.

She took her hand away abruptly. “Will you be going with them? You should hurry.”

“No. As you said, I am a friend to Beryl. Not to Chambers.”

“No, I suppose you weren’t.” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon tucked her hand under his arm and clasped his sleeve. “Let us join the ladies then.”

Hadrian allowed her to tug him toward the dining room where Tilda and the others were standing about. The housekeeper was pouring tea at one end of the table.

Mrs. Styles-Rowdon released Hadrian’s arm, and he exhaled with relief.

“Beryl, your hem is coming loose.” She moved toward Beryl with a slight frown. “I’ll have words with my maid.”

“I’ve pins in my reticule,” Joanna Pollard said, whipping a few from the depths of her bag before removing her gloves and kneeling.

“It’s one of my old gowns,” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon said. “My maid took up the hem.”

Mrs. Pollard looked up, her face pinching briefly. “I could have made you a gown, Beryl. I still can, if you like.” She finished pinning the hem. “That will hold for now.”

She started to stand, and Hadrian moved to help her up. The moment he clasped her hand, a vision rose in his mind. He saw the same blonde woman he’d glimpsed in Louis’s bedchamber, the one who’d appeared to be a maid. Except the vision was odd. It was hazy, as though he were looking through something.

Such as a veil.

Was he seeing Mrs. Pollard’s memory? He was now confident the maid was Martha Farrow. Was Mrs. Pollard the veiled woman who’d visited Martha?