Page 58 of The Damsel
“I need to speak with Lady Dane, immediately. It is important.”
The footman held a hand out to accept his card. “I will see if my lady is in. Wait here.”
He closed the door and left Robert on the doorstep, where he began to pace, too anxious to stand still. Back and forth, he tread the short distance from one end to the other, counting the seconds that passed him by. Before long, the man reappeared, holding the door open wide.
“Right this way.”
He was ushered into a drawing room, the contents of which temporarily took him aback. He’d heard rumors of the Widow Dane’s eccentricities, but had not expected this. Erotic art and sculptures filled a room adorned in decadent shades of black and red. The woman herself sat in an armchair with a cup and saucer in one hand, her probing gaze affixed upon Robert.
“Thank you, Timothy,” she said, dismissing the footman with the wave of one hand. “Mr. Stanley, do make yourself comfortable. Can I send for tea or other refreshment? I assume you’ve just arrived from Suffolk.”
He lowered himself onto a loveseat across from her, bracing his elbows upon his knees. “No, thank you. Forgive the intrusion, but I’ve come to London looking for Cassandra. I was told she might be here.”
“She was here last night, actually. I offered her the use of one of my guest rooms, but she declined.”
Robert bit back a string of epithets. Yet another stop that yielded nothing, more time wasted. But then, this woman was a close friend of Cassandra’s. Maybe she could help shed some light onto the things he did not know.
“I need your help. I know the two of you are good friends, and perhaps she might have said something about her plans. I am worried about her … she left Suffolk in quite a state.”
Lady Dane sighed, setting her cup aside and clasping her fingers together in her lap. “I must confess to being concerned myself. In truth, I am glad you’ve come, Robert … May I call you Robert? We are connected by our mutual connection to Cassandra, so formalities are not necessary. ”
“Of course.”
“Then you will call me Millie. Now, about Cass … she turned up here last night, and she was quite agitated. She wanted to talk to me about Sir Downing.”
It was just as he and Randall had suspected. Robert leaned forward a bit, hanging on to Millicent’s every word.
“It is not common knowledge, but there has been much gossip about the man and his wife. I’d seen her bruises myself, and the poor woman was terrified to death of Sir Downing. But what is to be done in a world where a woman is nothing more than the property of her husband?”
“I have reason to believe Cassandra thinks Lady Downing’s fall down the stairs was not an accident. Would you happen to have any information in that regard?”
She nodded, the clasp of her hands tightening until they began to shake. “Servant gossip has made its way here. My footman, Peter, reported having heard that Sir Downing and his wife quarreled right before her death. There was a great deal of noise—crashing furniture, shouting, a woman’s sobs. Reportedly, she took a valise and left their bedchamber in tears, determined to be free of him. Where she intended to run, I do not know—her mother’s home, perhaps. All anyone knows is that a moment later she went tumbling down the stairs head over heels. The poor thing broke her neck and died on the spot. The servants did not see the fall, but a chambermaid claims she noticed Sir Downing on the landing a moment after she fell.”
Dread seized him, his stomach twisting at the image she painted. “Do you think he pushed her?”
Millicent raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “A man who abuses a woman the way Sir Downing did is capable of all sorts of atrocities. As a woman who has lived with such a man, I can tell you I feared for my life every hour of every day.”
Robert studied the Ravishing Widow, seeing something in her he’d never noticed until he’d gotten close enough. Beneath her allure and the confidence she wore as a second skin was a vulnerability—a sadness that rested just beneath the facade. It was no wonder she and Cassandra were such good friends—they had much in common.
“Did you tell Cassandra about all this?” he asked.
“I did,” she replied. “And soon after, she left. I tried to stop her, to get her to tell me what this might be all about. But, she was determined to leave. I’ve been wondering what she’s up to ever since.”
He ran a hand over his face and sighed. Having his fears confirmed brought him no comfort. He knew Cassandra must have taken rooms in a hotel as Randall suggested, and could be preparing to move against Sir Downing even now.
“I believe she means to confront him.”
Millicent gasped, one hand clutching at her throat. “My God. I … I never thought of that, but I believe you may be right. Ever since the trial she has spoken often of her distaste for injustices against women. She is angry, and with good reason. We have so few tools with which to defend ourselves, and it enrages her to know there are others like her out there—more women who have been hurt but can do nothing about it.”
Rising to his feet, he gave a slow nod, his mind racing as he thought of what he’d have to do next. If Cassandra was determined to ensure Sir Downing paid for murdering his wife, she would not stop until she’d seen it through.
Millicent rose as well, hands clenching her skirts. “Will you try to stop her?”
“I will,” he declared. “Someone must. If Sir Downing will harm his own wife, then Cassandra will be no different.”
She nodded her agreement. “You should know that she can defend herself. My own footman gave her lessons in warding off an attacker with both her fists as well as weapons.”
“It is not her ability to fend for herself that worries me. Anger has made her irrational, and I fear it could get her killed. I cannot allow that to happen. Thank you for your help. I will report back when I have news.”
