Page 46 of Mischief at Marsden Manor

“I’m so sorry, Serena,” Lady Violet said, patting Serena’s hand, not without a vicious glance my way, while Francis muttered, “Sorry, Bilge, old chap.”

Bilge nodded, and kept patting his wife’s shoulder, even as he scowled at me. I was about to apologize again, but before I could, a voice intoned my name from the doorway behind me. “Miss Darling?”

I turned on my chair. “Oh. Constable Collins. How good to see you again.”

Collins looked uncomfortable. “If I could have a word with you, Miss Darling?”

“Of course,” I said, and made to push my chair back. Wolfgang got there first, and pulled it out for me. I gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

He clicked his heels and smoldered. As Constable Collins shut the door behind me, I could hear the voices start up in the dining room again.

I smiled. “What can I do for you, Constable?”

Collins shifted from one foot to the other, looking awkward. He’s a young man, even younger than me, and he was clearly feeling out of sorts. “It’s about what you said in there, Miss Darling.”

I nodded encouragingly.

“About the young lady being dead…”

“Yes, Constable.” I took pity on him. “As I’m sure you noticed, the consensus seems to lean towards natural causes.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“I’d like to,” I said. “Nobody likes to contemplate murder, do they?”

Except for those of us who enjoy a good detective novel, of course.

“Then why?—?”

“The teacup in her room last night smelled of spearmint,” I said.

Collins eyed me. “Pennyroyal.”

“That was the assumption I made.”

“We assumed she would have done it to herself,” Collins said. “Many girls do, when they find themselves in the family way.”

He sounded practically blasé about it. I didn’t think it happened that often, but perhaps I was traveling in the wrong circles.

Or perhaps the women in my circles—like the Hon Cecily—had other ways of dealing with the matter when it happened.

“Lord St George didn’t believe she would have done it herself. We talked about it this morning, after we learned what had happened. He spoke to her last night, in her room, after theparty. I don’t know what she said to give him that impression; you’d have to ask him.”

Collins nodded. He had pulled out his little notebook, and was scribbling in it with the ubiquitous pencil stub that every policeman seems to carry in his pocket. “And how did Lord St George seem?”

I could see the trap clearly, so it was easy to step aside and avoid it. “He was shocked, I suppose. Or surprised, at least. A bit pale, if I’m honest.”

“Aside from that?”

“He told me that it was none of his concern. He hadn’t been intimate with Miss Fletcher in a long time.”

Constable Collins blushed, and so did I. He cleared his throat. “What happened then?”

“We heard steps on the staircase from downstairs,” I said, “and we didn’t want to be seen talking together— This is his engagement party, you know. His fiancée is the jealous sort.”

Collins eyed me. “Is that so? What did you do?”

“We stepped into my room and finished our conversation. When we opened the door to the hallway a few minutes later, Dominic Rivers was standing out there.”