Page 39 of The Case of the Curate

“Of course.”

“When did you last see it?”

“I could not say, my lady. I never noticed it was missing from the study, if that’s what you mean.”

“I understand Dinah was responsible for cleaning His Lordship’s study.”

“Mrs. Thornfield supervises the maids.”

“I am aware. Kemp, who do you think killed Dinah?”

He held her gaze. “The curate, my lady.”

Even though she knew he would blindly follow his master’s lead and the magistrate’s convenient decision, Kemp’s words shook her. She began to understand the full strength of Chadbon’s power here and just what she would face if she tried to shake it. And if she succeeded…

She shivered. Chadbon would cast Gilbert into the political cold. And it would be her fault. Was she really prepared to let that happen?

She was halfway upstairs before she realized that she was. Otherwise, all the idealism both Gilbert and Chadbon claimed to stand for meant nothing. But it was more than possible her investigation would achieve nothing, and that she would have to involve Lord Winster. In which case neither Gilbert nor Rupert would speak to her again.

Chapter Eight

Having seen off the annoying Lady Ambrose—where on earth was the husband to keep the chit in line?—Kemp hovered around the study doorway for the first sign that his master was finished with his pre-breakfast work.

As soon as he heard movement behind the door, he knocked and went in.

Lord Chadbon stood in the middle of the room, stretching. He lowered his arms. “Well, Kemp? What now?”

“Nothing important, my lord. Merely that Lady Ambrose is asking a lot of very detailed questions about Dinah’s death. Questions that could stir up the whole matter beyond what is seemly. She does not believe in the curate’s guilt.”

“Well, she’s a woman—a very young woman—and Grande is nominally a man of God. Plus, I believe his family were neighbors of hers. Her father is Lord Hynde, you know. She has promised discretion, and truly, a mistake would be as much scandal as the murder, if it ever got out.” Chadbon frowned. “You haven’t told the staff that the curate’s been arrested, have you?”

“Of course not, my lord,” Kemp replied with dignity. “But everyone knows Dinah is dead. The funeral—”

“Will be her aunt’s business. I have arranged for her body to be conveyed there. Was there anything else?”

“Well, yes. According to Jack Irwin, the roads are flooded. Your guest won’t get through until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“The devil. I hadn’t bargained on that. Well, Remington will just have to keep Grande for another day. I don’t want them spreading the tale to London that my curate’s been sent to the assizes.”

“Of course not, my lord. There is no doubt that he did it.”

“There isn’t,” His Lordship agreed. “One cannot argue with the evidence.”

“Lady Ambrose can,” Kemp said deliberately.

Lord Chadbon smiled. “No, she can’t, and she won’t. She’s just making sure. And that is like insurance for us. Cooperate, Kemp. But keep your eye on her. I don’t want rumors circulating amongst the staff and the country folk.”

“They’ll notice, come Sunday, that the curate is not there.”

“Hmm. I’ll see if Bancroft can’t make some accommodation. Or, better, just say the man’s gone home for some emergency. Leave it with me. Is breakfast out yet?”

“Indeed, my lord.”

*

Kate was surprised to find several guests already in the breakfast parlor, with Lady Chadbon herself presiding over the table. Everyone seemed terribly concerned about the flooded roads. Miss Nye was all atwitter.

“Oh dear,” she kept repeating. “Oh dear. My brother is determined to return to London—so many commitments, you understand… What on earth shall we do?”