“We both did, Your Grace,” he replied, rising from his chair. “There was no man in the room. However, several things were amiss.”
Levi frowned. “Such as?”
“Miniscule concerns… a small amount of water in the wash basin, wrinkles in the coverlet. Nothing a careless maid couldn’t have caused.”
“Tell him about the temperature,” Mrs. Grove said, scooping a mound of rosemary from an open box.
Shifting his attention back to Mr. Northcutt, Levi lifted his eyebrows.
“The window was open,” Mr. Northcutt said, glaring at Mrs. Grove. “Once I closed it and relit the fireplace, the chamber warmed quickly.”
Beside Levi, Mansfield shivered with excitement. An examination of that chamber would definitely be requested this evening… especially if the exorcism failed.
“Lennox!” Beaufort’s terrified voice ricocheted down the corridor.
A moment later, Beaufort dove into the kitchen, his sweaty, round face devoid of color. Behind him, Warwick appeared, stumbling through the doorway, tripping over Beaufort, and crashing to the hard tile with an explosive curse. His cane slid across the floor.
“We saw him,” Beaufort said, trembling as he peeked over his shoulder at the empty hallway. “We saw Mr. Philbert.”
CHAPTER FIVE
EVELINE/HELENA
One hundred pounds! How would she collect one hundred pounds by midnight?
Not only did Helena not possess that large amount of money, but she also didn’t know anyone who’d willingly part with that sum without explanation, and the reason for her need was something she couldn’t share. Ever.
However, she couldn’t allow this mysterious person to publish the truth of her identity in the morning’s paper. If Miss Webb or her sister learned that Helena had lied to them for the whole of their brief acquaintanceship, neither of them would forgive the deception.
Then she’d be trapped in Wiltshire—waiting for Humphrey to find her—without a friend or any means of escaping the financial prison she’d placed herself in after spending most of her funds letting the residence. Or, her brother, Ernest, would discover her, drag her back, and demand she wed Humphrey… And she’d be forced to admit she sold Humphrey’s ring to fund her escape.
Of all of Humphrey’s faults, his lack of compassion would ensure a most violent death for Helena when she confirmed the betrayal.
She swallowed, her eyes sliding over the letter vibrating in her trembling hand. She recognized the writing but couldn’t deduce who was responsible for the threatening missive. Scooting closer to the fireplace, Helena leaned down, squinting as she studied the words in the fire’s flickering light.
The flames reached out, brushing against the edge of the paper, and ignited the corner of the parchment. Helena screamed and dropped the letter as the rapidly moving fire singed her fingers. However, instead of fluttering to the hearth, the letter floated into the fireplace and, within seconds, was reduced to charred ash.
“I suppose that was for the best,” she said, her gaze locked on the flames. “The discovery of that letter would’ve resulted in an investigation.”
She chewed her lip, then spun in a slow circle, inspecting the items in her chamber. Nothing she possessed was worth enough money to meet the blackmail demand, which left very few options—the least repugnant requiring her to cheat at cards, and the most requiring her to steal directly from her guests.
Neither option was ideal.
“Miss Rowe!” Mrs. Hawkins entered the chamber without knocking, drawing a terrified shriek from Helena.
Mrs. Hawkins offered an apologetic curtsey. “I heard a scream.”
Placing her hand over her racing heart, Helena collapsed into a nearby armchair. “I dropped something into the fireplace by accident, and when I tried to retrieve it, I burned my fingers. You must have heard me yell. I apologize. I don’t know where my head’s at.”
“Allow me.” Mrs. Hawkins took Helena’s hand, clucking as she inspected the light red burn marks staining Helena’s shaking fingertips. “I know an important social event such as this can be overwhelming for a young woman, but I have something that will help.”
She pulled a small, brown bottle from a pocket of the white apron tied around her waist, uncorked the top, and waved the opening toward Helena.
“What is it?” Helena inhaled a deep sniff as the bottle slid under her nose.
“Laudanum. For your nerves.” Mrs. Hawkins gestured for Helena to lean her head back.
Helena complied, parting her lips as Mrs. Hawkins tipped the bottle and poured a mouthful of the bitter liquid into Helena’s mouth.
