Page 11 of The Case of the Curate

“Would you mind,” Rupert said, “if I go home? The Bancrofts keep early hours, and I don’t want to disturb the household more than necessary.”

“No, no, off you go,” Remington said as they all began to make their way through the orangery toward the front hall.

“Kemp will show you out,” Chadbon added, presumably to make sure the curate actually left this time.

Rupert threw a somewhat distracted bow in their general direction and didn’t look back. Yet to Kate there was something unspeakably lonely about the tall figure that stepped through the open door. And when he put his hat on his head, his hand still trembled.

“Something very havey-cavey about that young man,” Remington pronounced. “Who the devil is he? Where did Bancroft find him?”

“Wished on him by the bishop, I believe,” Chadbon said. “And there’s no denying Bancroft needs the help till he gets back on his feet, though he wasn’t best pleased to begin with. Mrs. Bancroft is furious.”

“Grande,” the magistrate said, pulling at his lower lip. “Is he related to the Marquis of Winster?”

“Only distantly, I believe,” Chadbon replied. “He says the marquis doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

They exchanged a look that made Kate’s stomach twist in alarm. They were seeking a quiet solution to Dinah’s murder…

“We knew his family,” she blurted. “In Worcestershire, where I grew up.”

Remington’s rather hard eyes shifted to her in some surprise. “Lady Ambrose?”

“Also Lord Hynde’s daughter,” Chadbon said hastily. “You must be exhausted, Lady Ambrose. I am so sorry for all this unpleasantness. Shall I send a maid upstairs with you?”

“No, thank you,” Kate said hastily. “You are very kind.”

She accepted her dismissal this time, though she could not shift her unease as she climbed the stairs. Particularly not when she heard Chadbon murmur to his old friend the magistrate, “Nightcap, Remington?”

They would sort this out between them. Pinning it on the strange and admittedly slightly suspicious new curate probably seemed like a good idea to them. It wasn’t, of course, for any number of reasons. Winster would explode in fury and scatter all the summer’s political plans and negotiations to the four winds. Which would certainly stop Dinah’s murder being swept under the carpet.

And what if Winster never finds out until it’s too late? Rupert was being ridiculously secretive, both about his noble connections and about his reasons for meeting Dinah. He had also kept quiet about Kate’s being there earlier—which she had taken for granted because they had never given each other away and because secret nighttime encounters with Lord Rupert Grande were not good for anyone’s reputation, should they come out. It wasn’t surprising he should defend Dinah the same way, but she wasn’t sure he appreciated the danger he was in.

Throwing off the confines of familial expectations was understandable, yet these bonds came with a protection Rupert surely took for granted. Amidst this alliance of locally powerful old neighbors and political titans, the curate could easily become the sacrificial lamb.

And they would see he went as quietly to his fate as poor Dinah.

*

Margaret Newman sat on the window seat of her bedchamber in her nightgown, gazing out over the moonlit woods and fields. Noah, her husband, was supposed to be in the library, but in truth she had no idea where he was. This jealousy was like a pain, a beast that ate at her.

Once, in her foolish girlhood, she had expected marriage to be one long happily ever after. She had won her husband, she was Mrs. Noah Newman, as she had always wanted to be, and she had even given him a child. It should be enough.

And yet it wasn’t, for Noah had a roving eye.

Her mother had warned her never to notice such things. Men strayed. It had nothing to do with their marriages. A wife always came first. Such had clearly been enough for Mama, but Margaret… Margaret wanted, needed all of Noah. Whenever he looked at another woman, whether it was some comely maid or the vital, deplorably young Lady Ambrose—oh yes, she had seen them flirting at dinner—it hurt her, not just with grief, but with a genuine, physical pain that ran from her heart to her stomach.

On reflection, she thought she was safe where Lady Ambrose was concerned. Noah was new to Chadbon’s circle and he was not yet ready to step on a rival’s toes. No, it was that maid who had caused all this trouble.

They had seen her on their very first visit to Chadbon House in London. Noah had been thrilled to be invited there for dinner, and Margaret had been so happy for him. But, of course, the maid’s undeniable beauty had caught his eye. Margaret had seen his gaze linger on the girl’s lovely figure, observed every unnecessary smile cast, and for her, the evening had been spoiled.

She never knew where Noah was in the evenings, especially when the House of Commons was not sitting. She had frequently tortured herself by imagining him someplace with that maid, even though she knew servants had very little time off. To discover that same girl here, under the same roof, had appalled her to the extent of actually repacking their bags—until Noah had stormed out of the room telling her she was rude, foolish, and unbearable to live with.

She was, of course. That was the hardest part to acknowledge. But she could not prevent the tormenting visions of her husband in one of the unused bedchambers, or even in a linen closet, with the beautiful young maid who was physically everything Margaret was not.

She and Noah had made up their quarrel, of course. And she had genuinely regretted her outburst. She had better ways of dealing with bold maids.

A smile of satisfaction stretched her lips.

And then the sound of footsteps sent her scurrying into bed. Hastily she propped herself alluringly against the pillows and snatched up the book from the night table.