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A ccording to Mrs. Browning, her husband and brother would join them at the hotel later. They had business in the city first. My suspicious mind immediately wondered about the nature of their business and whether it had anything to do with Esmond Shepherd’s demise. If it did, Mrs. Browning gave no indication.

Indeed, she gave little indication about anything except that she was politely tolerating my presence. She’d been reading a letter when I sat down, and I suspected she wished to continue to read it in peace. I wasn’t moving, however. Not while her solitude gave me the perfect opportunity to question her, subtly, of course.

Janet suddenly giggled at something Flossy said, reminding me of how immature she was. Too immature to marry, in my opinion. Her own mother had married young, too, after the man who was now her husband pursued her from the age of fourteen. It was difficult to imagine Mrs. Browning as a girl. She was aloof and serious. It wouldn’t be easy to extract answers from her.

“The gardens at Hambledon Hall will be lovely for the wedding,” I began.

“Autumn is too cold for an outdoor reception. It will be held in the ballroom.” Mrs. Browning returned to her letter.

I wasn’t going to be put off so easily. “Lady Kershaw must be as excited to host the wedding in her home as you are to see your daughter married.”

“I was born and raised there,” she said without looking up from the letter. “It’s only right that my daughter is married at Hambledon.”

This wasn’t going at all well. I continued with my breezy tone, despite my frustration. “If you require any assistance with the arrangements, you should speak to Miss Cotton while you’re here. She assisted Floyd with the planning of an elaborate wedding recently. I’m sure she’d be?—”

“Isn’t that your maid? The dark girl?”

I clasped my hands tightly on my lap in an effort to continue to keep my tone light. “Miss Cotton is my maid when she isn’t organizing major events for the hotel.”

Mrs. Browning looked down at her letter again. “We don’t need anyone’s help, particularly that of a maid.”

“I’m sure the staff at Hambledon are used to hosting grand events. Even though the wedding will be held inside, it must be a worry that the outdoors might not be up to its usual perfection, without a gamekeeper.”

Her jaw stiffened. “A gamekeeper doesn’t garden, Miss Fox. Gardeners do. You may not be a country girl, but I’m surprised you don’t know the difference. You do seem intelligent.”

I had to admit it was a terrible way to broach the topic of Esmond Shepherd’s murder, but broach it I had. I wouldn’t let the effort go to waste. “Speaking of Mr. Shepherd, his family and yours seemed to have a close relationship.”

“The Shepherds worked for us. That is—was—the extent of the relationship.”

“That’s my point.” When she didn’t respond, I continued. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. One of the hotel maids was recently caught in the men’s area at the residence hall. She was dismissed instantly. Now, you could argue that the male staff member should have been dismissed, too, but while management don’t know his identity, he is safe. By all accounts, Esmond Shepherd visited the rooms of the Hambledon Hall female members of staff quite a bit over the years and everyone knew, yet he wasn’t dismissed.”

Mrs. Browning folded the letter in half and pinched the fold between her thumb and fingernail. “I should have known you liked to wallow in gossip, Miss Fox.”

Despite the temptation to ask why she should have known, I stayed silent. I probably wouldn’t like the answer, and besides, silence often forced the other person to fill it.

Mrs. Browning didn’t disappoint. “You shouldn’t believe every rumor you hear. Mr. Shepherd wasn’t as bad as they make him out to be. While he could be charming, and the maids did like him, it never went beyond a little flirtation here and there.”

“The maids and nannies left your family’s employ because of him.”

“Again, just gossip. It’s true the previous nanny did leave after their relationship ended, but not because of Mr. Shepherd. Her brother needed her to keep house for him. I think his wife just died.”

“If they were in a relationship, it didn’t need to end because of her move. Unless she moved far away?” I posed it as a question, to prompt her to offer an answer.

It worked. “She returned to London. Somewhere near Marylebone, I believe.”

Marylebone! Well, well.

“Let me assure you, Miss Fox, that Miss Crippen was the only Hambledon employee of interest to Mr. Shepherd, and there was nothing sordid about their relationship. I believe they were in love, at some point. They must have been.” A defensive note crept into the aloofness. There was a hint of something else in her tone, too: jealousy.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“He must have been in love.” She whipped her thumb and fingernail along the letter’s fold again, repeating the move twice more before realizing she was doing it. She set the letter down on her lap. “So, there you have it. The gossipers were right about the former nanny, but wrong about the housemaids. Mr. Shepherd would never stoop that low.”

“Because he didn’t need to,” I added.

Her lack of a response was telling. It meant she agreed with the statement. If I were to guess, I’d say Mrs. Browning had held some affection for Esmond Shepherd. Yet, while her tone was both defensive and jealous, there was no sorrow in it. She hadn’t been upset by his death.

Had her affection been reciprocated? If so, how far had they taken it?

As if she sensed she’d given away too much, she suddenly stiffened. “The reason I’m telling you this is because gossip isn’t always correct.”

“I most certainly agree, Mrs. Browning. Thank you for putting that particular rumor to bed. I feel so much better now.” I cleared my throat. “There is another, however. Indeed, I’m a little hesitant to even bring it up.”

“Then don’t.”

“It might help explain the close connection between the Shepherds and Wentworths.”

She sighed. “You’re talking about the rumor that my grandfather was Susannah Shepherd’s father.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lady Elizabeth’s head turn sharply toward us. There was nothing wrong with the elderly woman’s hearing.

“Sorry for my impertinence, but is that rumor true?” I asked.

“How should I know? My grandfather didn’t confide in me. I was a little girl when he died. Susannah Shepherd died before I was even born. Whether the rumor is true or not, it no longer matters. It happened so long ago. Susannah Shepherd is nothing more than a name on a headstone now.”

She was also a face in a photograph in Esmond Shepherd’s cottage. A photograph that someone had picked up to study.

“Now it’s my turn,” Mrs. Browning said.

I blinked at her. “Your turn for what?”

“Clarifying gossip I’ve heard.” She nodded at Aunt Lilian, staring blankly at the platter of sandwiches that a footman had brought in a few moments earlier. As hostess, she ought to invite us to enjoy them, but she’d not said a word. “She’s dying, isn’t she?”

“No! She’s ill, but she’ll be better soon.”

Mrs. Browning didn’t look like she believed me. “She and your mother were estranged for a number of years, were they not?”

I saw no reason to lie to her. My aunt and uncle had probably confided in Lord and Lady Kershaw already anyway. “They were, at the insistence of their parents. They didn’t like my mother’s choice of husband.”

“That’s not the entire reason, though. Is it?”

I stared at her. “Pardon?”

“Your uncle was in love with your mother first.”

“What?”

“Sir Ronald loved your mother, but she spurned him for a professor of mathematics. He settled instead for the less interesting sister, since she became the sole heiress to her father’s fortune.”

I clenched my back teeth to stop myself from snapping at her. I was offended and outraged, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of showing it. For one thing, I didn’t want her knowing it could be the truth. For another, I’d asked similarly offensive questions of her. It would be hypocritical of me to be cross.

Flossy and Janet giggled again. The cheery sound was at odds with my dark mood.

I leveled my gaze with Mrs. Browning’s, doing my utmost to keep my features schooled. “I never knew Aunt Lilian in her youth, but I’ve heard she was vivacious and a beauty.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t. I merely said she was the less interesting sister, so I’ve been told.” She picked up her gloves and the letter and stood. “I’m a little hungry.” She joined the other ladies and selected a sandwich from the platter. She didn’t rejoin me, but instead sat with Janet and Flossy.

She hadn’t been wanting or even expecting confirmation of the rumor. She simply wanted to cause offence. That was the difference between us. I was aware my questions would be hurtful, but I needed to know the answers for the sake of finding a murderer. She had asked hers for the sole purpose of offending.

I picked up the platter of sandwich fingers to offer them around. Realizing what I was doing, and that she should be the one offering, Aunt Lilian snatched the platter from me. Unfortunately, she tilted it and the sandwiches fell onto the floor.

“Cleopatra!” she snapped. “Look what you’ve done.”

I went to pick them up.

“Leave it. Fetch someone to clean it up.”

I exchanged glances with Flossy as I left. Hers was full of sympathy, her girlish good humor nowhere in sight.

I met Mr. Hobart as he was heading in my direction. Three room keys dangled from his fingers. “The sandwiches fell on the floor,” I said. “Can you send in someone to clean up, please.”

He signaled to a passing footman and gave him instructions. Once he was out of earshot, Mr. Hobart frowned at me. “Are you all right, Miss Fox? You seem upset.”

I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My aunt is unwell and would like to retire but she doesn’t want to abandon her friends.”

“Then I have good news. Their rooms are ready. I was just on my way to offer to escort them personally.”

“That is a relief. Do you mind if I escort them?” I wanted to return to the sitting room to show my aunt’s scolding hadn’t affected me. To disappear now would be cowardice.

He handed me three room keys. “They’re not all together, unfortunately. The Brownings are in one of the two-bedroom suites, while Lady Elizabeth is on her own with Lord and Lady Kershaw’s room beside hers. All are ready.”

“I was surprised to hear that you saw to the preparations yourself, to ensure nothing was missed in the rush. Was Mrs. Short not available, or do you not trust her to be as much of a perfectionist as you?”

Mr. Hobart’s eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile. “I felt it was necessary to remind her that I am the manager, and that she answers to me.”

It took me a moment to realize that Mr. Hobart’s pointed reminder was a result of not being consulted before Mrs. Short made her new rule about staff relationships. Always polite and professional, he’d tried to make the point as subtly as possible. I hoped it hadn’t been too subtle for the blunt housekeeper to comprehend.

The footman emerged from the small sitting room, carrying the tray of sandwiches. “Shall I ask the kitchen to send in more, Miss Fox? I asked Lady Bainbridge, but her answer was…unclear.”

“Have them sent to these rooms.” I showed the footman the keys, each attached to a brass fob embossed with the room number. He memorized the numbers then walked off.

Before I re-entered the small sitting room, Mr. Hobart again asked me if everything was all right. “Does Lady Bainbridge require medical assistance? Shall I telephone her doctor?”

“I think she just needs rest.” And not to take more of her tonic, I wanted to add but didn’t.

The Marylebone Guesthouse was located on Wimpole Street, conveniently near Hyde Park, Regent’s Park, the zoo, and the shopping district. I doubted Esmond Shepherd stayed there for its proximity to London’s sights, however. I suspected he chose it because it was close to Miss Crippen, the former nanny.

It took two hours, but I eventually spoke to someone who knew the name Crippen. A waitress cleaning tables after the lunch-time rush at a chophouse told me that a Mr. Crippen often dined there, either alone or with colleagues from work. Hopefully he was the nanny’s brother, the one who’d lost his wife and asked his sister to keep house for him.

“He always orders pork chops with mashed potatoes and beer. He’ll probably be here tonight at around five, since it’s Friday.”

“Where does he work?”

“He’s a clerk in one of the solicitors’ offices near here, but I don’t know which one.”

I thanked her and continued my search for Mr. Crippen, only to stop after an hour. There were two solicitors’ offices in the vicinity of the chophouse. I decided not to inquire at either of them. I preferred not to speak to him at his place of work. I’d return to the chophouse at five.

I told Harry as much when I spoke to him at his office. I’d found myself stopping in Soho after leaving Marylebone. Visiting Harry was a far more palatable option than returning to the hotel.

I found him writing a report. “Have you finished an investigation?” I asked.

“I have. The missing money was located where the shopkeeper left it. He’d simply forgotten it was there. Poor fellow’s getting on a bit, and his mind’s going, so his wife says.”

I took a seat opposite him. “I’m glad it wasn’t theft.” I waited while he finished his report, pretending to read a newspaper but actually admiring him. He drew his brows together as he concentrated and tapped a finger on the page when he couldn’t think of a word.

When he finished, he set the paper aside for the ink to dry. “Is this a social call or do you need my assistance for the investigation?”

“Both.”

The answer took him by surprise. He looked pleased. His face soon fell, however. “Are you all right, Cleo?”

“I’m a little out of sorts. Investigating friends of my family isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. In fact, it’s troubling me that I may discover the killer is one of them.”

“Have you made a breakthrough?”

I told him about my conversation with Mrs. Browning, including her hints of jealousy. “I think she was a little in love with Shepherd. Whether or not she acted on that, I don’t know. I can’t imagine she did. She seems too much of a snob to stoop to swooning over the gamekeeper.”

Harry smiled crookedly. “His lower position could have been part of the attraction.”

“She also told me that the former nanny left the Kershaws’ employ to move back to London to keep house for her brother after his wife died. She let slip that he lives in Marylebone. I’ve spent the last few hours asking after him and finally found out that he often dines at a chophouse after work.”

“I thought you said his sister is keeping house for him. Why is he dining out often?”

“Perhaps she’s not a very good cook. The waitress said Mr. Crippen will probably be there tonight after work. I plan to ask him where I can find his sister. According to Mrs. Browning, Miss Crippen was in a relationship with Shepherd, but its end wasn’t the reason she left Hambledon Hall. I’d like to know if that’s true, and if Miss Crippen has any thoughts on who may have wanted to kill him.”

“You mean beside herself?”

“Indeed.”

“What if Crippen declines to tell you anything about his sister?”

“I’ll use my persuasive charms on him.”

Harry grinned. “Poor chap doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Will you come with me? If you don’t have any plans already, that is. I don’t want you to change anything for me. I can manage a suspect in a chophouse alone.”

He leaned forward. “Cleo, I don’t have any plans tonight. I will happily dine with you.”

My spirits momentarily lifted before flattening again. “I’m afraid I can’t stay to eat. I have to dine with my suspects at the hotel restaurant at eight. My interrogation of Mr. Crippen will be brief. I simply need to find out where his sister lives.”

He sat back. It could have been my imagination, but he seemed a little flat now, too.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I wish I could stay, but this is important to the investigation, as well as my family.”

He smiled again. “It’s important to keep your uncle happy. Anyway, it sounds like a jolly evening ahead for you with a few of your suspects in one place.”

“I do enjoy a good meal with my interrogation,” I joked. “Although I’m not sure if I’ll be able to ask too many questions at dinner. It will depend on who I’m seated next to.” I pulled a face. “I hope it’s neither Mr. nor Mrs. Browning.”

He clasped his hands on the desk and twiddled his thumbs. “So…that’s the business side. Now for the personal.”

“Pardon?”

“You said this was also a social call.”

“Did I?” I murmured.

Harry got up and rounded the desk then sat on the edge near me. “Something’s the matter. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He tilted his head to the side and regarded me with an earnest, unwavering gaze that disarmed me altogether. He didn’t need to speak another word.

“I can’t explain it,” I said. “I feel…odd.”

“Are you ill?”

“Nothing like that. Aunt Lilian was a little terse with me earlier, but I was feeling this way before that, so I can’t blame her. I suppose the best way to describe it is that I feel unbalanced.”

“I see. Is there something I can do to help balance you?”

“I doubt it. It must just be this case. That’s the only explanation for it.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Well then. We should solve it as quickly as possible so you can return to normal.” He pushed off from the desk and indicated the door. “Shall we make our way to the chophouse?”

I watched as he plucked his hat and jacket off the stand then opened the door. He indicated I should go first. I frowned as I passed him. There was something about him, something…curious. He didn’t smile or frown. He didn’t even watch me. Yet, like my emotional state, I couldn’t put my finger on what had changed.

But something had changed.

The chophouse was packed with men dressed in business suits who must work in the nearby offices or perhaps even at Whitehall, enjoying beers and meals at the end of the working week. The only women there were waiting on tables, so I felt a little out of place. The waitress I’d spoken to earlier recognized me and pointed out Mr. Crippen, sitting alone in a booth by the window, enjoying an ale and reading a newspaper while he waited for his meal to arrive.

I slipped onto the seat opposite. “Mr. Crippen?”

He lowered the newspaper. “Yes?” He was a young man, no older than late twenties, with a thick crop of brown wavy hair and a clean-shaven jaw. His hazel eyes were wide, but that could have been because he was surprised to be addressed by a stranger, and a woman at that.

“Forgive the intrusion. My name is Cleopatra Fox, and this is my associate, Mr. Armitage. We’re private detectives investigating the murder of Esmond Shepherd, the gamekeeper at?—”

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!” His panicked gaze flicked between Harry and me.

For a moment, I thought he’d try to run off. Harry must have thought so, too, because I felt him tense beside me, ready to take up the chase if necessary.

“Nobody is accusing you of anything,” I assured Mr. Crippen. “We just want to talk.” I shelved my question about his sister and followed my instincts instead. His response piqued my curiosity in a slightly different direction. “Why do you think we’re here to accuse you of murder?”

Mr. Crippen swallowed heavily. “No reason.”

“You were arguing with him in the woods before his death, weren’t you?” When he didn’t respond, I lied. “I saw you.”

My gamble paid off. He gave in. “We did argue. But that’s all. I said my piece and left him alive and well.”

“Did you stay at the Red Lion in Morcombe?”

He nodded. “I decided not to stay the extra night. It was pointless. So I caught the next train back to London.”

This was the man the Morcombe police were accusing of murdering Esmond Shepherd. Except he wasn’t a poacher. He was a solicitor’s clerk. As I suspected, the poacher never existed.

Sergeant Honeyman may have been wrong about many things, but Mr. Crippen was a suspect. Not only was he in the vicinity at the time of the murder, but his sister had been in a relationship with the victim. He’d also been angry enough to argue with Shepherd.

Angry enough to kill?