The Viscount Always Knocks Twice (Heart of Enquiry Book 4) (23 page)

“I need another minute,” she called.

Jeanne began to speak again. “Monique de Brouet was conceived in hell, but she survived because she was a fighter.” Pride infused the maid’s voice, and she spread her arms as if she were about to take flight. “She inherited her mama’s beauty and grace, the
élan
of her ancestors, and so she became an
artiste
. Revered by audiences wherever she went.”

“She was the greatest acrobat I’ve ever seen,” Vi said.

“The greatest the
world
has ever seen.” Jeanne’s mood changed with shocking swiftness, and she began to sob. “
Comment cela pourrait-il arriver, ma petite?
”

Cautiously, Vi reached out a hand, patting the other’s bony shoulder. “There, there.” When the maid didn’t pull away, she said, “Why don’t you sit a moment?” and maneuvered the weeping woman into a chair.

Then she hurried to the door, pushing the bed away so that Emma and Marianne could enter. The two looked at Jeanne, who was weeping hysterically, too distraught to react to the presence of newcomers.

“How is she?” Em whispered.

Vi widened her eyes and wiggled her fingers by her ears. Her silent way of communicating,
There are bats in the woman’s belfry.

“I have failed her,” Jeanne wailed. “Failed the de Brouets.”

Emma went over. “Of course you haven’t, dear. None of this is your fault.”

The maid went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “We should have stayed in London. I should have stopped her from coming here. But she wouldn’t listen… she never listened…”

“You couldn’t have known something like this would happen,” Marianne said gently.

Those words seemed to trigger some internal lever in Jeanne. The maid’s distress vanished like the floor of the wardrobe. An eerily blank expression took its place.

“You are right.” She smoothed out the handkerchief that she’d crumpled. “I couldn’t have known. How could I have?”

“So you mustn’t blame yourself. Instead, we must focus on the task ahead of us,” Em said.

“Task?” Jeanne said.

Em nodded. “I’m afraid we’ve concluded that your mistress’ death was no accident.”

Vi braced for Jeanne’s reaction, but the other only stared blankly at Em.

“We’re trying to identify possible suspects,” Em went on. “If you could tell us which of the guests knew Monique, especially those who knew her, er, intimately…”

Please don’t say Wick.
Violet tensed, readying to cut in.

“I beg your pardon.” Jeanne drew herself up, her eyes blazing once more. “Monique de Brouet was no light-skirt. She was a fine lady—the daughter of a
comtesse
.”

“Even fine ladies have admirers, don’t they?” Em said.

“
Oui.
But my mistress conducted herself with grace and class, in a manner befitting of her ancestors.” Jeanne’s chin jutted out. “On this, I will never waver.”

Whatever the maid knew, she clearly was not about to betray her mistress’ secrets. Violet exhaled. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

“What about enemies?” Marianne said. “Did anyone wish your mistress ill?”

Fear seized Jeanne’s worn features once more.

“You can tell us,” Em coaxed. “We’ll keep you safe.”

“Safety is an illusion. The darkness always comes,” the maid whispered. “The only way to escape it is to flee.”

Her eyes shifted like those of a cornered beast. Vi was worried that Jeanne might try to make a run for it… but the maid’s expression smoothed once more.

She’s truly addled
, Vi thought with sympathy.

“There were those who envied my mistress’ popularity,” Jeanne said. "Josephine Ashe and Cedric Burns, to name two.”

“Burns, you say?” Vi knew about Miss Ashe’s animosity, but Burns had seemed like an amiable fellow. “He was at the same table as Monique and I that first night. I didn’t notice any tension between the two.”

“My mistress would not squabble in the street with that mongrel.” Jeanne sniffed. “Burns, however, hounded her in private. Wanting to bask in her reflected glory, he proposed that he and Madame Monique perform together… the nerve, thinking he could partner with my mistress!”

“But he has a partner,” Vi said, puzzled. “If he partnered with Monique, what would happen to Miss Ashe?”

“She would be left out in the cold,” Jeanne said smugly. “But my mistress had no interest in Burns. No matter how many times he tried to persuade her, she turned him down flat.”

“Did Miss Ashe know about his proposal?” Emma said.

“
Je ne sais pas
. But about a month ago, after my mistress turned Burns down for the last time, she went to practice on the tightrope and had a near accident. The rope had begun to fray, you see, and, fortunately, she noticed before it was too late.”

Marianne’s brows arched. “And you think Mr. Burns or Miss Ashe was somehow involved?”

“The tightrope was new. There was no reason for it to fray.” Hostility flamed in Jeanne’s eyes. “It was an act of sabotage.”

“Sabotage?” Vi whispered. “
Thunderbolts.
”

“We will follow up,” Emma said decisively. “Is there anything else you can think of that might be of use in finding your mistress’ killer?”

“
Non.
My mistress, she was an angel. What happened to her, she did nothing to deserve.” Tears spilled down the maid’s cheeks once more. “And now that she is gone, I have but one duty left: to protect and consecrate her memory. To preserve the legacy of Monique de Brouet.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Trudging with Kent and Strathaven toward the field where Wormleigh was said to be shooting, Richard told himself to focus. Worrying about the interview presently taking place with Monique’s maid wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Besides, Violet was there, and he had to trust that she would do her best to manage the situation.

He’d never had someone to share his burdens with before. It made him feel both relieved and uneasy to depend upon another—and a woman, no less. But Violet had proven herself to be loyal and strong in her resolve. God knew he’d butted up against her stubbornness more than once, and as much as that quality had annoyed him, it had also earned his respect.

She was no namby-pamby miss; she meant what she said and did what she set out to do.

Recalling what she’d set out to do beneath the wardrobe made heat surge in his loins. Aye, there were definite benefits to his lass’ willfulness. He liked that her passion was a match for his. He liked that they were learning to walk in step. He also liked how her playfulness contrasted with his own somber nature, how she continually surprised him with her antics.

The plain truth was… he liked
her
.

That she doubted his regard struck him as absurd. He’d proposed to her once (and nearly twice). She was the one balking at making things permanent between them. His past rose in his mind, cautioning him to be wary of feminine vacillation. Although he’d shared with Violet the essentials of his past affaires, he hadn’t divulged the entirety of his failures. Violet didn’t need to be privy to all the humiliating details.

He wasn’t eager, for instance, to share the fact that Audrey Keane had tried to make a cuckold of him. That she’d said yes to his offer while she had been pregnant with another man’s child. That day, when Richard had gone to tell her that he wanted their engagement made public, he’d come upon her with her secret lover—a soldier whose regiment had recently moved from their village.

Audrey hadn’t known if her lover would return for her, and finding herself with child, she’d come up with a contingency plan. She’d strung Richard along, all the while hoping that her true love would come back for her. In a way, Richard didn’t blame her for her act of desperation: he blamed himself for being fool enough to believe that he’d swept her off her feet and that she’d actually wanted to marry him.

After all, he’d overheard the recipient of his first proposal, Lucinda Belton, telling her friends what she truly thought of his looks and manner.

No, he decided, there was no earthly reason why Violet should know that the man presently wooing her had been made a bloody fool not once, but twice. A chill snaked through him, and he couldn’t stop the thought from forming. What if Violet turned out to be like the others? What if she tired of him? Decided she wanted someone more dashing, exciting…

Like hell that’s going to happen.

Then and there he decided there was no time like the present to make his intentions known to her family. Both Violet’s brother and brother-in-law were present, and it was best to stake his claim.
Strike while the iron is hot.

He glanced at the two men walking beside him. He stopped, cleared his throat. “I have a matter to discuss with you both.”

“Can’t it wait?” Kent’s gaze was trained on the figures in the distance. The hunters stood in a line; they were spaced several dozen yards apart, each of them accompanied by a footman bearing a caddy of shooting equipment. “We have to get to Wormleigh.”

“I can be quick. The fact of the matter is… I’d like your permission.” To quell a sudden feeling of panic, Richard clasped his hands behind his back. “To court Miss Kent.”

Kent swiveled. “What did you say?”

“He wants to court Violet.” Strathaven didn’t look overly surprised.

“That’s what I thought he said.” Kent’s brows knitted. “Why?”

“Er, I beg your pardon?”

“Why do you wish to woo my sister? Forgive me, but from what I understand, you do not hold her in particularly high esteem.”

Richard’s neck heated beneath his collar. He knew the other was referring to the gossip he’d inadvertently started about Violet all those months ago. In the space of a few short days, his feelings had undergone so radical a change that he could scarcely recall his muddled frame of mind back then. With sudden insight, he realized that his antagonism toward Violet had been directly proportional to his attraction to her. The attraction that he’d tried to resist… and failed.

What an idiot he’d been.

Drawing a breath, he said, “I have offered Miss Kent my sincerest apologies for having spoken carelessly. I cannot excuse my behavior, only say that it was not my intent to give rise to gossip.” He paused, searching for the right words. “My regret over my actions has only grown stronger with each moment that I spend in Miss Kent’s presence. I misjudged her. I can offer no defense but only assurances that, in the future, I will treat her with the respect and admiration she deserves.”

Muscles bunched, he waited for the response.

“Seeing as how she pushed you into a fountain,” Strathaven drawled, “I should think you and Violet could call it a draw.”

“What?” Kent’s gaze shot to the duke. “
Violet
was responsible for that?”

“She confessed all during a sisterly interlude yesterday. Emma told me—she tells me everything,” Strathaven said with a hint of satisfaction. “So, you see, Kent, we might actually owe Carlisle thanks for keeping that scandal a secret and protecting our little sister’s reputation.”

“No thanks necessary. I rather deserved it,” Richard muttered.

“Any man who takes a plunge and still comes back for more… well.” His Grace’s mouth curved. “You have my vote. What about you, Kent?”

The investigator appeared pensive, tension bracketing his mouth. “I will be frank, Carlisle. My middle sister is a unique young woman, not of the usual mold—in fact, she breaks any mold that tries to contain her. Whereas my impression is that you are a traditional sort of man. In a nutshell, my lord, I’m not confident you’ll suit.”

“I will not lie. I have shared those same concerns,” Richard said baldly. “But the fact of the matter is, I am learning that where there’s a will, there’s a means to compromise. And I am very willing, sir, to work toward bridging any differences that may impede my future happiness with Miss Kent.” He decided to lay all his cards down. “I am committed to a future with her; if I had my way, I would be asking for her hand and not merely your permission to woo her. But she wanted more time to further our acquaintance before making any permanent decisions, and I would not gainsay her wishes. So I must satisfy myself today by informing you that my intentions are honorable.”

“Pretty words,” Strathaven murmured. “Come, Kent, take pity. Look at the poor fellow—I don’t think he’s spoken so many words at once in his entire life. I can’t recall the last time I encountered such earnestness… oh wait, I can. When I first met you.”

Kent scowled. “Don’t make me regret accepting your suit, Your Grace.”

“As if you could have stopped Emma from doing what she wanted.”

Impatient with the back and forth, Richard said, “So do I have your permission, Kent?”

After a moment, the investigator muttered, “Aye. If only because you can’t be worse than the brother-in-law I already have.”

“He means Tremont, of course,” Strathaven said, clearly enjoying himself.

Kent scowled. “Now that that is settled, may we recommence with the business at hand?”

“Gladly.” With relief, Richard added, “Thank you both.”

The three of them identified Wormleigh, and, as they approached him, Richard couldn’t help but question the wisdom of interviewing a suspect holding a loaded shotgun. Dressed in hunting tweeds, his belly straining his waistcoat, Wormleigh had his weapon aimed toward the wooded area fifty yards in front of him. A footman stood at the ready with a tall wicker basket of fresh shotguns, a bored-looking tan retriever lounging beside him.

“Lord Wormleigh, may I have a word?” Kent said.

“Quiet, sirrah.” Wormleigh didn’t turn, kept his focus on the copse up ahead. “The beaters are on the move again.”

Richard saw glimpses of the men moving through the dense brush, driving the game out with their sticks and flags. An instant later, a flock of pheasants exploded into flight, their distinctive cries of
kok-kok-kok
muted by the boom of gunfire.

Wormleigh shot. Swore. Grabbed another gun from the footman and shot again.

The birds sailed smoothly on into the horizon.

“Damn and blast.” Wormleigh was red-faced. “I could have sworn I hit one.”