I sat on the edge of the bed watching Anne-Marie finish packing my boxes and trunks. “Were you able to find out any information from the staff about that woman who fell down the stairs?”
“Yes, madame. She was an overnight guest invited by the duchesse. It was a small group of select lady friends.”
“Do we have a list?”
Anne-Marie fished in the pocket of her dress and handed a folded piece of paper to me. I scanned it, immediately noticing Lady Josephine Baudelaire’s name along with three others. “Was the duke here at the time?”
“No. He was traveling in Zulskaya. The lady fell down in the middle of the night when everyone was still asleep. They found her in the morning on the landing, knocked out from the pain.”
“What was she doing going downstairs? All these suites have bathrooms, do they not?”
“Yes, madame. I asked Ruben about it and he said the lady always makes a big to-do about refusing food at dinner in order to keep her figure, but late at night she sneaks downstairs to the kitchen hunting for something sweet to eat. Makes Cook quite angry about it since a whole cake went missing on one of her other visits. Mighty particular about her kitchen.”
"Interesting," I said, lost in thought.
“I think these are ready to go now, madame. Should I get Ruben to take them down to the coach?”
I nodded. Soon young men filled the room, and all the way down the hall, Anne-Marie instructed them on how to carry the boxes. Their voices grew fainter as they drew further away from my room. It became quiet, and the air stilled, heavy with expectation. My nostrils flared, senses on high alert, but I felt, heard, and smelled nothing.
I rose. Only one last thing to check before leaving the duke’s residence for good. Finding the hall empty, I went to the top of the stairs. Sitting on the top step, I checked the lay of the carpet. Nothing that would trip anyone, but my glove’s tip snagged, and I bent to examine the cause.
There was a nail with a head projecting from the baseboard. The painted head blended in color with the wood trim. Opposite from the nail, I examined the top balustrade on the staircase and found a thin line scoring the paint as if something had cut across it. None of the other balustrades showed any such mark. String would be too soft. Wire?
“May I ask what you are doing, madame, examining my carpet?”
Mysir de Archambeau was on the landing, gazing up at me with a touch of irritation in his face. I stood up.
“I thought I dropped an earring here on the night we went to the Nightingale.” Before he could ask any further questions, I got up, brushed off my skirt, and stepped down to meet him. While he didn’t offer to take my arm, I took his. “Where is Jacques? Not here to send me off?”
“Returned to General Somerville.”
We were now in the foyer, and the open front door gave a view of my baggage being packed on the roof of the duke’s carriage. As a sailor’s daughter, Anne-Marie was very explicit on how she wanted the ropes tied and was correcting each footman on how to stack everything.
“I think this is goodbye.” I dropped Archambeau’s arm and held out my hand. Two heartbeats later, he shook it.
“Good day, Madame Chalamet.”
“Good day, Mysir de Archambeau.”
I went out to the carriage and stepped up into the cab. Anne-Marie climbed in after me, snapping the door shut. Yes, it was back to the Crown, to clients, and continuing my private investigation into my father’s murder. But as the carriage pulled away, I cast one look back, my busy mind wondering who had strung a wire across the top of the duke’s staircase and why.
Want more GHOST TALKER?
Elinor’s holiday is ruined when a poisoner targets a royal guest…What's even more irritating? The duke thinks he can solve the case before she can.
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