Page 62

FIFTY-THREE

S he had not miscalculated. She walked through the front door of her town house less than an hour later.

As homecomings went, it was not much to speak of. She had forgotten to send word of her impending arrival to Mrs. Dunstan. The silence of the front hall reminded her that the housekeeper was still at her daughter’s house.

The little town house was very still, shadowed and chilled.

“You can put the trunk in the first bedroom on the right, Griffith,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shouldering the trunk, he climbed the stairs with a slow, heavy tread. Like the Websters, he insisted upon acting as if her departure from Slater’s mansion had once again plunged the household into deep mourning.

She took off her bonnet and gloves. Griffith came back downstairs and hovered for a moment.

“Shall I light a fire for you, Mrs. Kern?” he asked. “The fog is getting thick outside.”

“I can deal with the fire, Griffith. Thank you for taking the trunk upstairs.”

“Yes, ma’am. Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be off. Got to find a barber.”

She blinked. “A barber?”

Griffith turned a dull red but his eyes were very bright. “Mrs. Lafontaine gave me two tickets to her latest play. Miss Bingham has agreed to go with me and have a late supper afterward.”

“You? And Matty? Good heavens, I hadn’t realized.” It dawned on her that she had been so caught up in her feelings for Slater and the mystery of Anne’s death that she had not been paying attention. She smiled. “That’s wonderful, Griffith. I know you will enjoy yourselves.”

“Expect so.” He looked around. “You’re sure you’re all right here alone?”

“I’ll be fine, Griffith.”

She closed the door behind him and stood in the hall for a moment, trying to decide if she had done the right thing. She had more or less given Slater an ultimatum. The question was whether he had gotten the message and, if he had, what he would do about it.

Now she was starting to wonder if perhaps she had been too subtle. Slater could be a difficult man to read. What if she had misjudged his feelings for her entirely? Perhaps she believed that he loved her simply because she knew now that she was in love with him.

The possibility that she had created a fantasy for herself was unnerving. That was exactly what Valerie had done. She had constructed a fairy tale that featured a murderous crime lord in the role of the hero.

“Well, one thing is certain,” Ursula said aloud to the empty house, “Slater is not a murderous crime lord.”

Surely that indicated that she was not quite as foolish as Valerie.

She went down the hall to the study, where she turned up the lamp and set her satchel on the desk. She knelt to light the fire. The warm blaze on the hearth took the chill off the small room. She drew the curtains open, allowing the foggy afternoon light to enter.

Valerie’s words of warning to Anne floated through her mind. “The foolish woman thought she was so clever seducing a man who is far above her reach. That’s what killed her in the end, you know.”

Ursula thought about that for a moment. At the time Valerie had implied that Anne was a fool to try to seduce Lord Fulbrook. But what if Valerie had known the truth—that Damian Cobb was the object of Anne’s attempt at seduction?

The question sent a shiver of alarm through Ursula. Impossible. Anne would never have been so foolish as to reveal that she had tried to seduce Cobb with packets of seeds and the secrets of cultivating the ambrosia plant. Anne was too smart. Too clever.

But Anne was dead. She had not been smart enough or clever enough to avoid a killer.

Ursula crossed the room. Crouching, she unlocked the safe and took out the packets of seeds, the small bundle of Mr. Paladin’s letters and the velvet bag that contained Anne’s small collection of jewelry. She carried the items back to her desk and sat down.

For a time she contemplated the collection of damning objects. Then she started to read the letters from Mr. Paladin.