Page 44 of A Murder at Kew Gardens

The Truth Comes out

The study door struck the bookcase behind it and rebounded.

Rosalynd stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with indignation. That particular expression was not new to me. Usually it appeared just before something exploded.

How much had she heard? I made the calculation the way I make all unpleasant calculations, quickly and without flinching. The corridor. The shut door. The footman would have admitted her—no one born could have stopped her—and the stairs took half a minute at her pace. Long enough. She had heard the worst of it. The set of her chin confirmed my conclusion.

For perhaps three seconds nobody moved. Then both Finch and Graves came to their feet.

"Right," said Graves briskly. "I'll be going."

"An excellent idea," said Finch.

"No," I said.

Both men stopped.

"Sit down. We are not done."

"Your Grace," Graves began. "I believe a strategic withdrawal would be best."

"Sit. Both of you."

Finch resumed his seat. Graves followed with considerably less enthusiasm. Both angled their chairs fractionally out of the line of fire. Neither looked at her.

At that precise moment Milford entered, remarkably close to discomposure. In his years of service Milford had been discomposed twice: once when lightning struck the stables at Thornburn Abbey, and once when a Cabinet minister had taken ill. This afternoon made a third.

"Your Grace, I do beg your pardon. I was below stairs and—" He glanced toward Rosalynd. "Milady, I apologize for not being there to greet you."

Rosalynd folded her arms. "Quite all right, Mr. Milford." The warmth she spent on my butler was pointedly unavailable to his employer. And then she turned to me. "His Grace was just about to explain the nature of his discussion with Mr. Finch and Inspector Graves."

Three faces turned to me with identical expressions of polite expectancy. I have chaired committees with less coordination.

"Not here, I won't." I turned to Milford. "See to Finch and Inspector Graves, and whatever you do, don't let them leave."

"Er, yes, Your Grace." He was probably wondering how he would keep an enquiry agent and a Scotland Yard inspector from leaving.

I left him to the problem. A man does not rise to Milford's eminence without resources.

"Since we're staying, Mr. Milford," Finch said, "I wouldn't object to another bottle of ale."

Milford's shoulders relaxed.

"And perhaps another helping of the beef," Finch said.

Graves stared. "You cannot still be hungry."

"I work better on a full stomach."

Milford did not so much as blink. "Very good, Mr. Finch."

The man could have taken tea through a bombardment.

I glanced at the termagant who was still breathing fire at the threshold. There was no salvaging the session’s secrecy. There remained only the question of venue, and I preferred my disasters private. "Lady Rosalynd and I are going to enjoy a private discussion in the library." I gently took her elbow.

"Steele—" She'd asked me not to touch her.

But I was not in the mood to comply. "Library. Now."