Page 83 of Never a Duchess
Anne met Lillian’s gaze. “No. I swear it.”
“Did you steal anything from Mrs Rowlands?”
“No.” Anne stared blankly, the single word lacking conviction.
It was most certainly a lie.
“Then we will visit Major Rowlands and take a statement.” What could the maid have stolen? Was it the letter given to a villain in the dark? “We’ll ask him to confirm you stole a letter from his deceased wife.”
Mr Daventry stood. “I shall summon the magistrate. We know you stole a letter. We’re not interested in the theft, Miss Grimes. We care about the truth.”
He made for the door, but Anne cried, “Wait! I’ll tell you. But I can’t hang, sir. My sister is ill and needs me to work, else she’ll not afford the medicine.”
Being as compassionate as he was dangerous, Mr Daventry faced the maid. “Then I suggest you stop playing games, Miss Grimes. We don’t care what you took. We care that it might have something to do with attempted murder.”
Anne thought he was referring to Mrs Rowlands. “You believe the major killed my mistress? Sir, she’d been feeling ill all morning, was frothing at the mouth before she died, jerking in my arms like them devils in Bedlam. But the major wouldn’t let me fetch a doctor.”
Dounreay’s sharp intake of breath said he had witnessed someone he loved perish in much the same manner.
Oh, Lillian wanted to race across the room and hug him tightly.
“We’ll deal with that once you tell us what you stole,” Mr Daventry snapped. “It’s important, madam.”
Anne gulped. “It was the gift Mr Valmary gave to Mrs Rowlands.”
“The gift?”
“A recipe, sir. A list of ingredients he uses in his May Bell perfume. He said it was the most precious thing he owned, and trusting her with it was a sign of true love.”
“Why the devil did you steal it?”
Despite a trembling lip, Anne said, “Becausesheoffered me a hundred pounds. I swear I don’t know how she knew about the letter. But my poor Mary is sick, and there’s nothing I won’t do to help her.”
Silence ensued—a moment to process the facts.
She? Lillian pictured the tussle in the garden. The attacker was most definitely male. “Anne, who offered you money for the letter?”
“You can’t say it was me what told you. She’s been kind and gave me the money in good faith.”
“We want a name,” Mr Daventry barked.
Anne whimpered before crying, “Madame Delafont!”
ChapterFifteen
Covent Garden Theatre
Bow Street
Reminiscent of the night they first questioned the opera singer, Callan stood in the alley with Lillian, hammering on the shabby theatre door. The same stench filled his nostrils. The same need to drag the truth from Madame Delafont’s lying lips drummed in his veins.
Some things were different.
Though Callan had not spoken the words aloud, he had acknowledged his love for the woman beside him. In her arms, he’d experienced the most satisfying night of his life. Once they had finished with the deceitful singer, he planned to take Lillian to his cabin in the woods and let her feast all night on a Highlander.
Avoiding the puddle on the ground, Lillian stepped forward. She gave a huff of impatience and banged on the door. “There’s only an hour until they raise the curtain. We must question Madame Delafont before she goes on stage, or we might not get the chance.”
Lucius Daventry received word this would be the Frenchwoman’s last performance. After the upset with Lord Sheridan, she had decided to return to Reims and abandon England for good.
