He, Ashmore’s butler, had known her mother. Margot cast curious if tired eyes at the man, but Hathaway lowered his gaze, giving nothing away.
“It is not merely about locating those jewels,” Margot said. “It is now about finding who killed him.”
To this Hathaway nodded.
“With that in mind, tomorrow I will need to meet with Ashmore’s lawyer, so I know how his estate is broken up, and what I have liberty to do here.”
“Very good, miss,” Hathaway said.
“I will bid you goodnight,” Margot said. Her feet were dragging, but she made it to the doorway. “I would prefer to conduct any other business I have in another room. Not here.” A note of emotion ebbed into her voice at the final word.
Offering out his handkerchief, Hathaway said it would be done. Turning to the scrap of silk in her left hand, Margot hurried up the stairs, at last at liberty to let the tears stream down her face. Crying for a reason beyond herself, for feelings she could not summarise, for the sheer waste, and what she would never know.
Margot was wokenfrom a reckless and unpleasant dream where she was on board a boat, tossed between the rough sea and the tempting smell of masculine whisky. It had some logic, but only of the kind that made sense in a dream. Then a hand was on her back, a small soft stroke, and she rolled over and looked up into her sister’s heart-shaped face. Elsie was looking down at her, concern nettling her brow.
On the nearby table there was a cup of strongly smelling tea.
Elsie sunk down onto the mattress next to Margot. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Hathaway said the Runners would be here in thirty minutes and I knew you would want to be ready.”
“Thank you.” Margot forced herself to sit up. The restless night’s sleep had not been ideal, but at least she had dozed off. Lifting the cup to her mouth, she took a reassuring gulp. It scalded her tongue and burnt down her throat, but Margot was English enough to be grateful for the sensation—there was something reassuringly familiar about it.
“You are very brave,” Elsie said, “chasing after the shooter.”
“Or foolish.” Of that, Margot had no doubt. She certainly would not write and tell her mother that particular piece of information.
“I arrived in the study,” Elsie said, her expression pained, “as the duke was dying. Ashmore. I held his hand. He told me he was sorry. I think he thought I was Mother.”
The two girls took each other’s hand, their bond unbreakable, despite their differing fathers. She was relieved that the duke had made no mention of the diamonds to her imaginative and curious little sister. She had no idea how Elsie would react, but she had no doubt Elsie would want to know as much as possible. Which would really go against Margot’s wish to shield Elsie from such things. Especially if those jewels were cursed.
“You are my sister.” Margot sniffed. “I am sorry you had to witness such a scene.”
“I am glad I could comfort the poor man. I promised I would look after you. As Mother always has.”
“Well, you already brought me tea,” Margot said, trying to lighten the tone. “So that is an excellent start. I suspect I will require a great many more cups throughout the day.”
“Excellent. Let me start by picking out your clothes for today’s meeting. Hathaway said we are to keep quiet about the death until the investigation is done with.”
Climbing out of bed, Margot proceeded with her toilette, Elsie helping as she had at home. Once dressed in a sombre mauve day dress, as there was nothing in her limited wardrobe that would be suitable for mourning, Elsie helped dress Margot’s dark hair in a simple chignon, and the two of them hurried downstairs. She was pleased to see that Hathaway had confined the two Bow Street Runners to the library, and they were interviewing the various servants of the household. Hathaway ushered Margot and Elsie into the parlour, were there was a tea tray, sandwiches, and a grim-faced young man with fine eyes and an overbite waiting for them both.
“This is Mr. Holt,” Hathaway said, “his grace’s solicitor. He manages the Ashmore estate.”
With a quick bow, Mr. Holt resumed his seat. “I thank you both for seeing me. I know that the duke has set a prevision aside for the elder Miss Keating.” His eyes rested briefly on Margot. “But I understand you are both his goddaughters.”
“Yes, that is correct,” Margot said.
The lawyer continued without much concern on to his next point. “That is perfectly fine, the issue however is that whilst there is money set aside for this household, until Ashmore’s heir is brought to London, I am not at liberty to release this annuity to you, miss.”
“How much is it?” Elsie asked. If the sum was paltry, it might be touching that Ashmore had thought of her, but it would not be enough to set up Margot or Elsie, and definitely not enough to send William to university.
Rifling through his papers, Mr. Holt said, “A handsome sum of five hundred pounds a year. Please note, it is only to the elder Miss Keating, though.”
It was not paltry. Margot swallowed down her sadness. She felt the sum was Ashmore’s way of apologising for all those years of neglect and abandonment. The problem was how she was to receive the sum he wished her to have.
“But we have no way of drawing upon those funds?” Margot asked. “How are we to maintain the staff here, continue whilst the investigation goes on?”
“I think the next duke would approve maintaining this household, however, I do not know if the new duke would agree to the annuity.”
“I am therefore trapped here until the heir arrives?” Margot asked.
