Chapter 36
Only a handful of noble London houses were grand enough to stand alone, surrounded by their own extensive gardens. Most of those were ducal residences such as Marlborough House and Devonshire House.
And then there was Lindley House.
A massive pile situated on several acres overlooking Hyde Park, it had been built a hundred years before, in the days of Queen Anne, for Ashworth’s great-grandfather, who’d been a great favorite of Her Highness. Like Marlborough House, it had been designed by Wren and built of red brick with stone quoins. And it occurred to Sebastian as he mounted the house’s broad front steps that when the current Marquis died, this grand house would pass along with his titles and the rest of the vast Lindley estates to a tiny infant who might not even be related to that long, august line of Ledgers.
Sebastian’s knock was answered by a liveried footman who ushered him into a withdrawing room and then went off to ascertain whether Lady Ashworth was receiving. He returned to report apologetically that, according to her ladyship’s abigail, Lady Ashworth had slept poorly the night before and was now resting. Sebastian didn’t believe a word of it, but on the off chance it might be true, he asked to speak with her ladyship’s abigail instead.
To his surprise, a young woman of about Stephanie’s own age appeared to drop a nervous curtsy and said, “You wished to speak to me, my lord?”
“Do I take it her ladyship actually is asleep?” said Sebastian. He couldn’t imagine Stephanie allowing the girl to speak to him if she were awake.
The abigail looked confused. “My lord?”
She was a small thing and slim, with a childlike nose, pretty brown eyes, and dark, close-cut curls. Discovering the color of her hair was the main reason Sebastian had asked to see her. He said, “What’s your name?”
“Elizabeth, my lord. Elizabeth Holt.”
Sebastian gave her a friendly, encouraging smile. “How long have you been with her ladyship, Elizabeth?”
“Three years, my lord.”
“So since before her marriage?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“When was the last time her ladyship saw Lord Ashworth?”
At the sudden, unexpected shift in topic, Elizabeth Holt sucked in a quick breath that jerked her chest. Stephanie had obviously warned the girl at some point to be very, very careful what she said to anyone. “My lord?”
Sebastian gave her a look that had once commanded men in battle and said, “It’s a simple question, Elizabeth. I suggest you answer it. And don’t even think of trying to pretend you don’t know, because I will find out. You do your mistress no service with your evasion.”
She laced her fingers together and held her hands tight against her ribs as if finding it difficult to breathe. “A week ago last Monday, my lord. In the evening.” It came out as a whisper.
“He came here?”
The girl nodded, her eyes wide with panic.
“And the Marquis? Did he see his son that evening as well?”
“Oh, no, my lord. Parliament was sitting.”
“How long did Ashworth stay?”
She hung her head. “Not long, my lord.”
“Did he and Lady Ashworth argue?”
At that she looked up, her face pale and stricken. “I don’t think I should say, my lord.”
“I’m afraid you must.”
She hesitated a moment and then nodded, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“About what?”
“I didn’t hear, my lord.”
He suspected that was a lie. But he knew by the stubborn tilt of her head that she would tell him no more.
It didn’t matter anyway. He already knew the answer.
“You think Ashworth went to Lindley House that night to accuse Stephanie of being unfaithful to him?”
Hero asked the question as they sat in the drawing room after dinner, Hero drinking tea while Devlin nursed a glass of port by the fire.
“That, and to demand to know if the twins were his,” said Devlin.
Hero was silent a moment, then said, “Do you think they are?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
She let out a long, troubled sigh. “It’s such a delicate subject for anyone to broach. Who told him, do you think? About Firth, I mean.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably Cotton. But it could have been anyone.” He turned his head, suddenly alert.
“What is it?” she asked, watching him. “Tom?”
He shook his head. “He already reported in.”
“No luck finding Ben King?”
“Not yet.”
“Then what do you hear?”
“Someone’s on the front steps.”
“But I don’t—,” she started to say, then broke off at the sound of the front-door knocker. “Your hearing is unnerving.”
“Still?”
She gave a low laugh. “Still.”
They listened to voices in the hall below; then Morey mounted the stairs with a note on a salver. “From Sir Henry Lovejoy, my lord.”
Devlin broke the seal and quickly glanced through the missive as Morey bowed himself out. “Ah. They’ve found Ashworth’s missing housemaid, Jenny Crutcher.”
Hero set aside her teacup and went to stand beside him. “Please tell me she’s still alive.”
“She was as of this afternoon. She’s staying with her aunt—a widow named Travis—in Kennington.”
“Kennington? Why?”
Devlin handed her the note. “According to the Bow Street constable who interviewed her, she left Curzon Street because the Viscount’s murder frightened her.”
“You say that as if you have reason to doubt her.”
Devlin glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. Too late now to pay the elusive woman a call. “Someone was having hysterics the morning after Ashworth’s murder, but according to the butler, that was the second parlor maid, Alice. Not Jenny. He said Jenny was made of sterner stuff.”
“So why did she lie?”
He met her gaze. “Interesting question, isn’t it?”