Page 4 of A Murder at Kew Gardens

This morning I had looked.

Just as Honeycutt brought my coffee, a hackney had drawn up in front of Steele House. A gentleman had descended from it. Nicky. After he disappeared into Steele House, I’d sat with my hand on the coffee pot and told myself that if I didn’t move within the next five seconds I would never forgive myself.

I hadn’t moved.

Steele and I had grown close during our investigations. Close enough for friendship to turn into something more. We’d kissed. More than kissed. Touched. And Society had noticed. The Queen feared if we continued along those lines, we would cross a line that shouldn’t be crossed, and she would force us to marry. That was the last thing either of us wanted. So she’d strongly suggested Steele and I stay away from each other.

On the train ride back from Windsor, I’d argued that we did not need to do such a thing. That we could control ourselves. But Steele had capitulated to the Queen’s wishes and said we would need to follow her advice. Furious, I’d told him I despised him. I’d meant it. I still did.

I also still loved him. A damnable thing that.

As difficult as it was, I’d kept my distance through three balls and a musicale at which Nicky had been present. His resemblance to Steele had nearly undone me. I’d stayed away while the season wore its way out, looking for him in every room. But he was never there.

It would pass. That’s what I told myself. It would pass.

Petunia arrived without knocking. “Rosie, Fox says the tortoise has gone again.”

“Fox ought not to have left the conservatory door open.” Where his tortoise was kept.

“Fox says he didn’t. Fox says it was Laurel’s fault.”

“Laurel doesn’t visit the conservatory.” She favored the library more than any other room.

Petunia perched on the arm of my chair. “That’s what I said. She is too sensible. And then Fox said I was a silly baby. That’s when I hit him.”

“Poppet.”

“Only on the arm. It didn’t hurt. Not really.” She didn’t appear the least contrite.

I kissed the top of her head. “Go and tell Mr. Honeycutt about the tortoise. He will find it.”

She beamed a smile. “Mr. Honeycutt is the best.”

“He is indeed.”

When the door closed behind her, I returned to my correspondence but found I couldn’t read a word.

As half past nine passed into ten, I forced myself to do the work. I wrote three replies and somehow managed not to look at Steele House. A small victory.

At a quarter past, a sound came from the hall. A sound I was not used to hearing in my own house. Voices, low and male, more than one, none belonging to a member of my family or any regular visitor. Boots on marble. Honeycutt’s “if you will please wait” in a tone I hadn’t heard Honeycutt use in years.

I was on my feet before I knew why.

I reached the hall in time to see Honeycutt come through from the entrance, his face flushed. “Milady.” He kept his voice pitched for me alone. “Chief Inspector Dodson from Scotland Yard and two constables. He asks to see His Lordship.”

Dodson. An inspector I’d dealt with before. The encounters had not been pleasant. “On what business?”

“He would not say.”

Cosmos was in the greenhouse. He’d been there since first light, engaged in something involving a fern from the Malay Peninsula whose spores, he had explained over breakfast, were either lethally poisonous or entirely harmless and he would know by noon. I’d told him to be careful. He’d laughed and said he had been doing this for fifteen years and hadn’t killed himself yet. And now Dodson was here asking for him.

The Scotland Yard Inspector stood just inside the front door with his hat in his hands—tall, hawkish with gray at his temples, and an unsettling gaze that belied his polite demeanor.

"Lady Rosalynd."

"Inspector."

"Forgive the hour. I have asked your butler to send for His Lordship. The matter is urgent."