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Authors: TASHA ALEXANDER
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to guess what the criminal mind might try next.”
“I think we ought to go to Richmond at once,” I said, rising from the table. Inspector Manning pushed his plate away and stood up quickly, almost knocking over his coffee. “There’s no need to stop eating, Inspector,” I said. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
“I couldn’t, madam,” he said, but I would have none of it. I rang for the maid and instructed her to see to it that he had whatever he wanted, and then I left him there, embarrassed but obviously pleased with his breakfast.
T he drive to Richmond was a short one. Mrs. Francis herself opened the door for us, was delighted to meet Cécile, and welcomed us into her house, which, though modest, had been beautifully furnished by someone with excellent taste. We followed her into a small sitting room that was bathed in darkness and extremely hot, the curtains closed as demanded by the customs of mourning. Before I could launch into the story of my extraordinary night, Mrs. Francis announced her own surprising news.
“The police have just left—they’ve arrested my maid. She’s poor Stilleman’s widow. They’d been married less than a year.”
“Stilleman?” I asked.
“David’s valet.”
“What evidence do they have against her?” I sat down and pulled off my gloves.
“Apparently she was having an affair with the gardener and David caught them.”
“So why isn’t the gardener arrested?” Cécile asked. “His motive would be as strong as hers.”
“Thomkins was away visiting his sister when David died, so they don’t consider him a suspect.”
“Have they determined the cause of death?” I asked.
“Nicotine poisoning, but they don’t yet know how it was administered.”
“Is there no possibility that Thomkins planted it before leaving to visit his sister?”
“That I do not know. But I am convinced that Jane is being wrongly accused. I know this girl well—she would never have killed my husband, let alone hers. You must help me, Lady Ashton.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what I could do.”
“Find the truth, as you did when your husband was killed. Please. I’ve no one else to turn to.”
“I’m sure that the police—”
“As far as they are concerned, the case is closed as of this morning.”
“We would never leave an innocent woman to sit in jail,” Cécile said, giving me a pointed look. “Waiting to hang. C’est horrible . The guillotine is far less barbaric.”
“Having one’s head severed is less barbaric?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It is quicker, chérie . Much quicker.”
“This is all too awful. Please, Lady Ashton. I cannot bear to see her wrongly accused, or to think that the person who killed David will not be punished.”
How could I deny her? “I shall try, Mrs. Francis.”
“That is all I can ask. Where will you begin?”
“Before we go any further, I need to give you this.” I handed her the box that contained the pink diamond.
“Is this David’s?” I nodded. “But how—”
“Last night someone broke into my house and left it with a note asking that I return it to you.”
“It is stunning, though I don’t understand why it was returned to you.” She fingered it carefully, then walked over to a window and opened the curtains to examine the stone in the light. Her pleasure was so evident that I could not help but wonder why her husband had not given it to her himself. Her smile disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and she started to cry. “I’m so glad you’re both here. David didn’t like to entertain and guarded his privacy fiercely. Now that he’s gone, I find myself quite without friends.”
Cécile took her by the arm and marched her back to a chair. “You have us. What is your Christian name, Madame Francis? I cannot abide formality.”
“Beatrice,” she said, drying her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. du Lac.” Cécile shook her head. “Cécile. Thank you. I never
“I think we ought to go to Richmond at once,” I said, rising from the table. Inspector Manning pushed his plate away and stood up quickly, almost knocking over his coffee. “There’s no need to stop eating, Inspector,” I said. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
“I couldn’t, madam,” he said, but I would have none of it. I rang for the maid and instructed her to see to it that he had whatever he wanted, and then I left him there, embarrassed but obviously pleased with his breakfast.
T he drive to Richmond was a short one. Mrs. Francis herself opened the door for us, was delighted to meet Cécile, and welcomed us into her house, which, though modest, had been beautifully furnished by someone with excellent taste. We followed her into a small sitting room that was bathed in darkness and extremely hot, the curtains closed as demanded by the customs of mourning. Before I could launch into the story of my extraordinary night, Mrs. Francis announced her own surprising news.
“The police have just left—they’ve arrested my maid. She’s poor Stilleman’s widow. They’d been married less than a year.”
“Stilleman?” I asked.
“David’s valet.”
“What evidence do they have against her?” I sat down and pulled off my gloves.
“Apparently she was having an affair with the gardener and David caught them.”
“So why isn’t the gardener arrested?” Cécile asked. “His motive would be as strong as hers.”
“Thomkins was away visiting his sister when David died, so they don’t consider him a suspect.”
“Have they determined the cause of death?” I asked.
“Nicotine poisoning, but they don’t yet know how it was administered.”
“Is there no possibility that Thomkins planted it before leaving to visit his sister?”
“That I do not know. But I am convinced that Jane is being wrongly accused. I know this girl well—she would never have killed my husband, let alone hers. You must help me, Lady Ashton.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what I could do.”
“Find the truth, as you did when your husband was killed. Please. I’ve no one else to turn to.”
“I’m sure that the police—”
“As far as they are concerned, the case is closed as of this morning.”
“We would never leave an innocent woman to sit in jail,” Cécile said, giving me a pointed look. “Waiting to hang. C’est horrible . The guillotine is far less barbaric.”
“Having one’s head severed is less barbaric?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It is quicker, chérie . Much quicker.”
“This is all too awful. Please, Lady Ashton. I cannot bear to see her wrongly accused, or to think that the person who killed David will not be punished.”
How could I deny her? “I shall try, Mrs. Francis.”
“That is all I can ask. Where will you begin?”
“Before we go any further, I need to give you this.” I handed her the box that contained the pink diamond.
“Is this David’s?” I nodded. “But how—”
“Last night someone broke into my house and left it with a note asking that I return it to you.”
“It is stunning, though I don’t understand why it was returned to you.” She fingered it carefully, then walked over to a window and opened the curtains to examine the stone in the light. Her pleasure was so evident that I could not help but wonder why her husband had not given it to her himself. Her smile disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and she started to cry. “I’m so glad you’re both here. David didn’t like to entertain and guarded his privacy fiercely. Now that he’s gone, I find myself quite without friends.”
Cécile took her by the arm and marched her back to a chair. “You have us. What is your Christian name, Madame Francis? I cannot abide formality.”
“Beatrice,” she said, drying her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. du Lac.” Cécile shook her head. “Cécile. Thank you. I never
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