Page 28

How to explain? “In many mysteries, what appears to be the main problem at first usually isn’t the problem at all.”

Lillias looked up at her, brow creased. “What?”

Oh, right. Lillias doesn’t speak in fiction. Or mysteries. Grace tried to think of a nonfictional sort of analogy, which never came as quickly as the fictional ones, so to buy herself time, she smiled. “Would you like some tea?”

Lillias gave a small nod, and Grace reached for a cup.

“I wonder if it really is as simple as a conflict over a gambling debt.” Lillias gave a small, weary nod, and Grace reached for the teapot with the utmost care.

The pot still shook enough to make the lid rattle.

She poured the tea quickly, her hand a bit too unsteady.

A few droplets splashed onto her fingers, and she flinched, waiting for the burn.

But the tea was cold.

Grace glanced down at the cup, her brows knitting together.

“And why Mrs. Lindsay?” Lillias asked. “The poor woman had nothing to do with anything but the kitchen.”

A very good question from her sister, which only proved that if given the right incentive, Lillias might think more clearly too. And currently they needed as many good brains at work as possible.

Grace pressed her fingers against the side of the teapot. It was barely warm. She glanced at the clock mantel. “Mrs. James said she’d just left this,” Grace murmured, mostly to herself.

“What?” Lillias asked, before taking a sip from the cup Grace had set before her. “It’s cold.”

With a slight hesitation, Grace lowered herself into the chair next to her sister. Perhaps she should start with the least obvious concerns. “Lillias, how long has Mrs. Lindsay worked here?”

Lillias absentmindedly nibbled on a sandwich, eyes distant. “Tony hired her before we were ever married. She’d worked for his mother before her death.”

Grace paused, taking a sandwich for herself, but the bite barely registered. She was more interested in what came next. “And what about Mrs. James?”

“Mrs. James?” Lillias took a sip of the cold tea and frowned as if remembering it was cold. “She’s only been with me two weeks.”

Two weeks? Grace tried not to raise an eyebrow, but she couldn’t help it. “I see.”

“I know she’s immature and a gossip.” Lillias sighed. “Heaven knows how many times I’ve already had to talk to the woman about sharing information to the newsboy or milkman, but what could I do? We needed help and her rate met my purse’s approval.”

Grace glanced toward the hallway, making sure they were still alone. An idea stopped her. As a housekeeper, Mrs. James had a great deal of access to information in the house. And as a gossip, what would she do with that information? “Where did she work before coming here?”

Lillias shook her head, half listening, half lost in some sort of thought Grace couldn’t decipher. “I was an exhausted new mother with mounting debt and an absent husband. All I needed was someone to help me, and my last housekeeper had left without a word.”

A sudden departure? Oh, Grace desperately needed to write all this information down. She always processed connections better when she looked at all the clues in writing.

The lostness on her sister’s face curbed her immediate need to ask another question or to dash upstairs for her notebook. “That must have been a trying time.”

“It was, along with Father’s disaster,” Lillias answered, her gaze returning to the nearby window, body stiffening.

“Mrs. Dunn, my former housekeeper, had been with me since my first month married. To be treated in such a fashion when she knew very well how much I needed her—it was unforgivable.” A humorless laugh erupted from her.

“But what should I expect. Look at all that’s gone wrong. ”

Lillias didn’t need to know Grace’s concerns about Mrs. James.

Not yet. She’d share them with Frederick and perhaps Detective Johnson, but the last thing Lillias needed was another worry.

So much had happened in such a short amount of time, and unlike Grace, Lillias hadn’t experienced a great deal of drama or suspense through fiction to prepare her for it in real life, so information needed to be given in spoonfuls instead of ladles.

She smiled at her own household references.

Clearly, she’d been reading more of Lady Molly of Scotland Yard to use analogies from the kitchen.

“I can’t understand the difficulties you’ve encountered.” Grace squeezed Lillias’ hand. “You must have felt so alone, but you’re not alone now. We are here to help you, and maybe even start over.”

Lillias’ expression softened, just the slightest flicker of relief. “Starting over sounds like my only choice.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A start.

Grace let out a small sigh, knowing how monumental that one flicker could be for someone like Lillias.

“With that in mind …” She picked up the envelope Mr. Barclay had left with them, pushing aside her curiosity about the photos for now.

There would be time for that later. “Mr. Barclay left information about the accounts Mother set up for us.” She rifled through a few pages, deliberately avoiding the distraction of the photographs.

“Here’s an envelope with your name on it.

Well, ‘Lillias Ferguson’ rather than ‘Lillias Dixon,’ but of course Mother wouldn’t have known about your marriage. ”

Lillias took the envelope and glanced inside, a new sheen of tears filling her eyes.

“It’s the information for the bank account,” Lillias murmured, her voice trembling.

“Finally, something good in this disaster.” She tapped the envelope against the table, her shoulders relaxing. “A way to start over.”

Just then, Frederick, Officer Todd, and Detective Johnson reentered the parlor, and Grace felt a knot tighten in her chest at Frederick’s grim expression. “Mrs. Lindsay is resting, but whoever did this is long gone,” he said.

Johnson nodded. “Todd and I will search the grounds and then reconvene to discuss matters.”

“Before you begin your search, Detective, these are the names of the collectors I visited yesterday morning.” Lillias offered him a slip of paper and looked down.

“Please keep this information private as long as you can. I don’t want the socialites of Harrington to know what sort of circumstances my husband and I were in before … his death.”

Johnson looked down at the paper and tucked it into his jacket. “Thank you, Mrs. Dixon. Expect us to reconvene within the hour.” He sent a look to Todd. “Gather a few more officers, and we can cover more ground.”

The two men disappeared toward the front door, with Lillias trailing behind them, no doubt eager to see them out and return to the privacy she desperately needed.

Grace met Frederick’s gaze. “Where is Mrs. James?”

Frederick’s attention sharpened on Grace, and perhaps he was reading her thoughts as he’d done so well in the past. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and turned toward the kitchen, the sound of their footsteps muted by the carpets.

They slipped down the narrow hallway toward Mrs. Lindsay’s room and peered through the door.

The sight before them almost made Grace stumble: Mrs. James, standing over the older woman’s bed, holding a pillow.

Grace’s breath caught, but it wasn’t until her foot shifted on the creaky floor that Mrs. James spun around, eyes wide.

A nervous laugh escaped her as she pressed her palm to her chest. “Oh, good heavens, I thought the assailant had returned.” She dropped the pillow on the bed. “How may I be of service to you?”

“I believe Mrs. Dixon could use some refreshment, Mrs. James.” Grace answered, stepping forward into the room. “As you can imagine, she’s rather overwhelmed by all that’s happened over the last two days.”

Mrs. James’ smile stiffened, and her gaze flicked back to the bed. “But Cook shouldn’t be left alone in her state. I noticed her neck seemed crooked, and I fetched another pillow to make her comfortable.”

“We’ll stay with her until your return.” Frederick answered without hesitation and then unleashed a smile so genuine Grace would have thought he meant it, but for the lack of change in his eyes.

How did he do that? It was so clever. “I’m rather rubbish at anything like making tea or offering refreshments. ”

What a wonderful way to distract her! Oh, her dear husband was so clever. Grace pushed up her own smile. “And I’m not much better. I’ve already made a mess of the tea you brought into the parlor.”

The smile on Mrs. James’ face faltered. She sent a look from Frederick to Grace then down to Mrs. Lindsay, clearly hesitant.

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep a close eye on her.” Frederick said. “No one ever wants to lose an excellent cook.”

Oddly, his statement seemed to break whatever reserve Mrs. James had left. She relaxed, her face softening. “You’re right.” She rounded them toward the door. “I’ll return as soon as I’ve seen to Mrs. Dixon.”

She slipped down the small hallway. Frederick gestured for Grace to take the chair near the bed. “I’ll stay by the door to keep watch.”

“Very smart of you, Frederick. Because I think the walls have ears, but first things first. Just to be sure.” Grace leaned toward Mrs. Lindsay’s still frame and in a loud whisper said. “Someone is trying to steal your favorite cooking pot.”

The woman didn’t even flinch.

“What on earth are you doing, darling?” Frederick studied her as though she had sprouted feathers from her head.

Poor man. She thought her reasoning was quite obvious. “I had to make sure she was really unconscious, Frederick,” Grace explained, “and couldn’t hear us if we spoke about serious matters related to the case.”

He squinted at her, the adorably confused look spreading across his face.

“Cooks always have a favorite pot. My grandfather used to say that a good cook would practically rise from the dead to save it.”