Page 116 of Death at a Highland Wedding
I nod. “If we say what we suspect he’s actually done—with Lenore—Ross might not think it a punishable crime, especially since I doubt Lenore will confirm the story. But if he thinks Müller might have killed Ezra, that gets Müller locked up while we continue to investigate.”
“Excellent points,” McCreadie says. “I will have a couple of the grooms assist me with getting Mr. Müller to town.” He rises. “We will do that now, while you rest.”
I don’t really rest. Oh, I’m stuck in this damn bed—doctor’s orders. But I just set it up as my command center, from which poor Gray and Isla are sent to and fro tracking down answers for me.
The maid—Dorothy—left last night. Or we hope she left, and some worse fate didn’t befall her. I presume she was working with Müller. She heard Gray say he’d left a note for me, and Müller must have told her to find some way to lure me outside. She copied Gray’s handwriting from his letter and told Müller to expect me at the bench at midnight.
From there, Müller staged the kitten trap. Getting that kitten back was the first task I sent Gray on. He found it hiding in the bushes, poor thing. It’s cold and scared, but unharmed. Alice is looking after it.
Why was Dorothy working with Müller? We’d need to get that answer from her. I can’t imagine an affair, so I’m guessing blackmail or extortion or even just a hefty bribe.
My fear is that, once Dorothy has served her purpose, Müller did something with her. We have all the remaining male staff out searching the grounds. Her empty clothing chest suggests she bolted, but I don’t want to presume anything.
What about the original note, from Sinclair to Violet? Dorothy said she found Sinclair’s first attempt in the trash. Is that true? Or more staging? Violet has admitted to receiving a note, but she says it wasn’t romantic in nature. Was that the part Dorothy lied about?
I’m working this through with Isla when she says, “We have established that Ezra Sinclair had a predilection for maids.”
“So you think that’s the leverage he and Müller had over Dorothy? She was Ezra’s latest lover? But why would Müller have her tell us about the note?”
“Perhaps that was entirely her doing.” When I still look confused, she sighs, as if my blow to the head did some serious damage. “Dorothy is having an affair with Ezra. She discovers that he left a note for Violet, bringing her out in the middle of the night.”
“Jealousy.”
Isla nods. “By the time she spoke to you, Ezra was dead, but that does not necessarily diminish her hurt, presuming it was a romantic rendezvous.”
“But itwasn’t.I think Violet was telling the truth about that. But what if Lenore was threatening to reveal what he’d done? He could have gone to Violet as a friend. Told her he was being threatened by a young woman he’d spurned.”
“Then Violet learns the truth and kills him?”
“Maybe?” I adjust the pillows behind me. “Lenore toldsomeonewhat happened. Whoever left that note in Duncan’s coach knew. My first thought was her brother, Gavin, but he called her Len.”
“He could have written ‘Nori’ to throw you off his scent.”
I thump back on the pillows. “I’m missing something.”
“Because you are exhausted and injured, and you have suffered a blow to the head. You need to rest.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she’s right. I feel as if the answer is there, flitting just out of reach, and I’m too tired to grasp it.
“Sleep,” she says, more firmly. “We will continue looking for Dorothy, and Lenore will be back later to answer questions.”
I wake to the sounds of jubilation downstairs. That gives me pause. Is Lenore back already? I can’t imagine her mother being quite so loud about it, and I swear I hear multiple voices.
I rise and put on my second corset, grateful that Isla had gifted me with another. Then I rise carefully, wincing at the pain as I adjust my wrapper. I don’t plan to go down—just get close enough to hear who arrived.
I’m making my way toward the stairs when a male voice booms, “Breakfast. That is what I want more than anything. A hot breakfast.”
Cranston?
I hurry halfway down the steps to see Cranston in the hall, Violet fussing over him, Fiona standing back, smiling. James Frye pumps his friend’s hand as if he just returned from war.
Cranston’s gaze rises. “And there she is. My savior.” He bows deeply. “If only you did not need to be attacked to see me freed. I am sorry for that, Miss Mitchell.” He turns. “Mrs. Hall! Please see that Miss Mallory has a proper room to recuperate in and anything she wishes. I owe her a great debt of gratitude.”
“That is very kind,” I say, “but unnecessary. I am glad to see you are free.”
“For now at least. I have been sternly warned that it might be temporary.”
“It is not,” Fiona says. “That odious constable shall not have you again.”
