opened. “The cognac is in here, gentlemen.”
“Come now, Cassie—” Delamere urged, as they both turned toward the disturbance.
From a narrow passageway Lord Stanfield entered the library, followed by two rather inebriated acquaintances. A young doxy stood between them. The girl was wearing … pantaloons and a corset.
Stanfield went rigid. “Lady Rosslyn?”
Cassie listed to one side, curious. She wanted another look at the two men hiding behind Stanfield. Yes, she knew both by name, and knew their wives even better. “Lord Bridgerton.” Her gaze moved from one to the other. “Sir Halladay.” The young woman was more likely an upstairs maid than a paid professional.
The light-haired Halladay yanked at his cravat. “I say, this is awkward.” She made a quick curtsy and turned to her host. “Lord Stanfield. Mr. Kennedy has asked me to tell you—” She hesitated.
“Yes, yes, dear, what is it?” Flush from too much wine and—one could only assume—woman, Lord Stanfield wrinkled both brows and dipped closer. “Has there been trouble?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid there is no delicate way to put it. A dead body has been found.”
The stately lord jerked upright in horror. And there were gasps from his gentlemen friends.
Stanfield pivoted. Without a single word of verbal exchange his associates removed themselves from the library along with the female companion.
From the corner of her eye, Cassie slyly observed Delamere’s reaction. She noted a shift in his eyes. Nothing new there. She caught a partial glimpse of the study over his shoulder. Where was the chap she had overheard him conversing with? Firelight flickered into the corners of the room, but not a shadow of movement otherwise. No doubt the younger man was already out the window and down the lane.
Cassie returned to Stanfield. “Two men attempted to carry a man across your roof this evening. Mr. Kennedy and I witnessed the body fall out of their grasp and slide down the mansard onto the terrace. Mr. Kennedy is with the dead man now and wishes for you to send for the Criminal Investigations Department—without alarming your guests, of course.”
“Yes … of course.” First startled, then dazed, Stanfield yanked the closest bell pull. “Good God. What’s the world coming to?”
Cassie stifled a powerful urge to roll her eyes. “Indeed, your lordship.”
Chapter Nine
Z eno led the inspectors upstairs. As with many of the homes in Grosvenor Square, the third floor of Stanfield House accommodated a number of bedchambers. They passed through a formal sitting room in the alcove of the corridor and on to a series of guest apartments. He did not share the note he had received earlier this evening from the victim. He wanted time to study it—let the laboratory run tests. He wasn’t convinced Hicks-Beach had sent the message.
The second suite on the right soon became the focus of the investigation, for it proved to be the crime scene. The room was both expansive and expensively furnished. A bold spray of crimson splashed across a gabled wall, with more evidence ofmurder smeared over the carpet and flooring. A single dormered window remained open, its shutters clapped from a gust of early morning air.
The investigation department’s initial response was stated plain enough by Inspector Pate, a bald-headed man with a great ruff of whisker. “The most obvious scenario is the victim made his way up here for an assignation. Either with another guest or for a quick tumble with one of the maids.”
Zeno waited for the inspector to wink. Ah, there it was, right on cue. While Pate voiced an inventory of the crime scene, Zeno quietly explored the adjoining dressing room and discovered a servant girl cringing in the corner. He coaxed the wild-eyed, trembling maid out of the closet, but she remained too hysterical to offer any coherent information.
There was nothing left to do but wait until she calmed herself. Eventually, they were able
“Come now, Cassie—” Delamere urged, as they both turned toward the disturbance.
From a narrow passageway Lord Stanfield entered the library, followed by two rather inebriated acquaintances. A young doxy stood between them. The girl was wearing … pantaloons and a corset.
Stanfield went rigid. “Lady Rosslyn?”
Cassie listed to one side, curious. She wanted another look at the two men hiding behind Stanfield. Yes, she knew both by name, and knew their wives even better. “Lord Bridgerton.” Her gaze moved from one to the other. “Sir Halladay.” The young woman was more likely an upstairs maid than a paid professional.
The light-haired Halladay yanked at his cravat. “I say, this is awkward.” She made a quick curtsy and turned to her host. “Lord Stanfield. Mr. Kennedy has asked me to tell you—” She hesitated.
“Yes, yes, dear, what is it?” Flush from too much wine and—one could only assume—woman, Lord Stanfield wrinkled both brows and dipped closer. “Has there been trouble?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid there is no delicate way to put it. A dead body has been found.”
The stately lord jerked upright in horror. And there were gasps from his gentlemen friends.
Stanfield pivoted. Without a single word of verbal exchange his associates removed themselves from the library along with the female companion.
From the corner of her eye, Cassie slyly observed Delamere’s reaction. She noted a shift in his eyes. Nothing new there. She caught a partial glimpse of the study over his shoulder. Where was the chap she had overheard him conversing with? Firelight flickered into the corners of the room, but not a shadow of movement otherwise. No doubt the younger man was already out the window and down the lane.
Cassie returned to Stanfield. “Two men attempted to carry a man across your roof this evening. Mr. Kennedy and I witnessed the body fall out of their grasp and slide down the mansard onto the terrace. Mr. Kennedy is with the dead man now and wishes for you to send for the Criminal Investigations Department—without alarming your guests, of course.”
“Yes … of course.” First startled, then dazed, Stanfield yanked the closest bell pull. “Good God. What’s the world coming to?”
Cassie stifled a powerful urge to roll her eyes. “Indeed, your lordship.”
Chapter Nine
Z eno led the inspectors upstairs. As with many of the homes in Grosvenor Square, the third floor of Stanfield House accommodated a number of bedchambers. They passed through a formal sitting room in the alcove of the corridor and on to a series of guest apartments. He did not share the note he had received earlier this evening from the victim. He wanted time to study it—let the laboratory run tests. He wasn’t convinced Hicks-Beach had sent the message.
The second suite on the right soon became the focus of the investigation, for it proved to be the crime scene. The room was both expansive and expensively furnished. A bold spray of crimson splashed across a gabled wall, with more evidence ofmurder smeared over the carpet and flooring. A single dormered window remained open, its shutters clapped from a gust of early morning air.
The investigation department’s initial response was stated plain enough by Inspector Pate, a bald-headed man with a great ruff of whisker. “The most obvious scenario is the victim made his way up here for an assignation. Either with another guest or for a quick tumble with one of the maids.”
Zeno waited for the inspector to wink. Ah, there it was, right on cue. While Pate voiced an inventory of the crime scene, Zeno quietly explored the adjoining dressing room and discovered a servant girl cringing in the corner. He coaxed the wild-eyed, trembling maid out of the closet, but she remained too hysterical to offer any coherent information.
There was nothing left to do but wait until she calmed herself. Eventually, they were able
Similar Books
