Caro was impressed by the girl’s assessment. “While that is most often the case,” she said, “Mary’s husband was in Manchester visiting family the day she was killed. And Mary often kept the shop open late for some of her more loyal customers. The shopkeeper next door heard her welcome someone that night some half hour past the usual closing time.”
Though they would likely have covered the case eventually, Caro and Kate had been encouraged to write about it by Eversham, who’d had the devil’s own time convincing his superiors that Patrick Riley had not, in fact, been responsible for his wife’s death. When he’d tired of arguing with the upper echelons of Scotland Yard, Eversham had asked his wife and Caro to step in. The Yard might be as difficult to maneuver as a cart with a broken wheel, but if there was one force that the political leaders at the top of the Metropolitan Police bowed to, it was bad publicity. The column had kept an innocent man from hanging, and for that, both Caro and the Evershams were grateful.
Maisie nodded her approval. “That makes sense.”
On impulse, Caro said, “Perhaps you’d like to come to one of the salons Lady Katherine and I hold for the more enthusiastic readers of the column. We discuss popular novels, but we also have guest speakers, like experts who teach us how to fight and ways to avoid danger in our daily lives.” She liked this young woman. And she had just the sort of quick mind most suited to the group’s lively discussions.
“Oh, I know all about keeping safe.” Maisie shrugged. “You just make sure to knee ’im in the bal—”
“Yes, quite,” Caro interrupted. “That is a most effective technique. But there are others. The salons are a chance for us to discuss our favorite cases as well. You’d be a welcome addition, I think.”
“You’d have someone like me?” Maisie’s skepticism was back.
“We welcome all women to our salon,” Caro assured her. “We don’t limit our membership by social class.”
“Then if it’s on my free day, I’d like to come,” the maid said shyly.
The sound of the clock chiming made Caro realize she’d been so engrossed in their discussion she’d nearly forgotten her reason for being here in the first place.
“Maisie,” she began, “if you’re still willing, I only have a few questions for you.”
The maid nodded, clasping her hands before her. Though she did seem much more relaxed than she’d been when Caro first asked to speak with her.
“First, do you know where your master was yesterday?” Caro asked. Tate could be the man with the educated accent Mr. Thorn had heard just before passing out.
“Oh, he and Lady Tate were in Brighton visiting her sister. His lordship’s valet brought some of the young ones sweets from a shop there. They got back yesterday around teatime. His lordship went out last evening, but I don’t know where. Her ladyship took to her bed with a headache.” She leaned forward. “She does that a lot. Her maid swears she’s got a delicate disposition, but I think it’s to get away from him. He’s a good enough master, but they don’t get on too good.”
The appearance of a narrow-faced woman interrupted Maisie. Her attire and the chatelaine at her waist marked her as the housekeeper.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Hardcastle,” said the woman with a brief smile. “But, Maisie, you’re needed back downstairs.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs.…?” Caro left the question hanging.
“Mrs. Gooch, miss,” the housekeeper supplied.
“Well, my apologies, Mrs. Gooch, for keeping Maisie.” Caro hoped the maid wouldn’t be scolded because Caro had detained her. “I was lonely since Lord Wrackham and Lord Tate saw fit to abandon me here while they discussed business in the garden. I didn’t allow her to leave. Please don’t punish Maisie for my selfishness.”
The older woman’s manner softened. “I understand, Miss Hardcastle. It’s no trouble. But we do keep to a schedule and Maisie’s needed now. I hope you won’t mind.”
“Not at all. And it looks as if the gentlemen are returning.” To Maisie, she said, “I’ll send a note about the salon.”
The servants were gone by the time Val and Lord Tate stepped through the French doors.
“I hope you weren’t too bored here alone, Miss Hardcastle.” Tate’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Whatever the men had discussed hadn’t improved the earl’s mood any. She tried to meet Val’s eyes, but he gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. What that meant she had no idea.
“Not at all, your lordship,” she told their host. “I enjoyed the artistry of your skilled cook and a nice cup of tea. What more could a woman want?”
Though there were more tea and cakes available, Tate remained standing, moving to the door. As hints went, it was hardly subtle.
“I hope you’ll get in touch with us if you remember anything else, my lord,” she said brightly as she took Val’s arm. “Any small memory you have might be of use.”
“I doubt that will be necessary.” Tate followed them down to the front door, as if to ensure they were actually leaving.
“You drive,” Caro told Val as they stepped down toward the cabriolet.
He looked at her with suspicion. “I thought you wanted to test my driving skills first.”
“Oh, I know you can drive to an inch.” Caro gestured impatiently. “I was deliberately provoking you earlier because I wished to tease you. But now I want to hear everything about your conversation with Tate and don’t wish to be distracted.”
“I’m glad to hear you admit my driving skills pass muster,” Val said tartly as he handed her up into the carriage. “A man must have some proficiencies.”
“You’re proficient at any number of activities and you know it,” Caro retorted, thinking with a flush of how skillfully he’d kissed her last night. But she wasn’t quite bold enough to elaborate on that topic just yet. “Stop fishing for compliments or I won’t tell you what I learned while you were with Tate.”
Val, who’d just taken the reins from the groom stationed beside the vehicle, turned back to her. His eyes were wide—with surprise, but also, if she wasn’t mistaken, approval. “How did you manage that in a room by yourself?”
“The maid,” Caro said impatiently. “I hope you learned more than I did because I suspect Tate might not be the one responsible for kidnapping Effie.”
Chapter Eleven
Why am I not surprised to learn that Tate’s obsession is little more than a pedestrian tale of a man of middle years seeking out the favors of a young woman other than his wife?” Caro asked with disgust after Val had finished sharing what he’d learned. “Did he really think that was too lurid for my tender ears? There was more intrigue in the play we attended last evening.”
Val didn’t respond. He was fairly certain Caro didn’t need an explanation for how fragile the average man’s sense of self-importance could be. Especially when it came to his illicit desires. “At least we know from two sources now where Tate was at the time Miss Warrington and Frank were attacked,” he said, deciding a change of subject was in order. “That was clever of you to question the maid.”