Page 57 of The Case of the Curate

“They don’t know that, and you’re not to tell them. In fact, it’s up to you, Grissy, to make sure no one else comes in here all evening.”

“How do I do that?”

“You’ll have to stay in here, of course.”

“What if Lady Chadbon comes to see how you are?”

“Tell her I’m asleep.”

Grissy glowered. “Miss Kate, you are not a child now! You are a married lady, and you cannot go gallivanting across the country alone, and certainly not to visit Lord Rupert Grande! In prison!”

“It’s only Rupert,” Kate muttered, oddly uncomfortable. “And for goodness’ sake, don’t Lord him in public! I can slip out while everyone’s at dinner and the servants are all busy and hopefully be back before everyone retires. It’s obviously perfectly safe around here—why else would the magistrate keep the key to his prison hanging up outside the door?”

*

Marcus Otteridge was looking forward to dinner, largely because he would see young Kate Ambrose again. She was decidedly pleasurable to look upon among all the frumpy, Friday-faced old women one normally met at such affairs, and her mix of innocence and sharp intelligence intrigued him.

“Ready, my dear?” he said eagerly to his decidedly Friday-faced wife, who glared at him from her refection in the looking glass.

“Ready to watch you make a fool of yourself over a girl who could be your granddaughter? No!”

“I have no idea to what or whom you refer,” Otteridge said in his parliamentary voice.

“I won’t put up with it again, Marcus,” she warned. “You’ve already endangered everything, including your career, your party, and our standing in Society. The next time, you’ll be caught and be made a laughingstock. You’ll ruin everything you ever wanted. Everything you ever promised me.”

“I still have time to be prime minister,” he said with dignity.

“Chadbon has twice your standing. You merely cling to his coattails. And there are others in line before both of you.”

“I am quite happy to let Chadbon do the hard work to make our wing of the party more prominent, and to win the votes that will put us in power. When the time is right, it will be I who is the trusted leader.”

Jane snorted. She had only developed the habit in the last five years or so, and he found it almost unendurably annoying. “Why the devil would they trust a lazy sot like you, who cares more about ogling other men’s wives than promoting their policies?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Otteridge said grandly.

“Bah,” Jane said. “Just don’t make a fool of yourself. Recall, if you please, that she is married to Gilbert Ambrose, who, as well as being young and charming, is considered quite the up-and-coming man. He could hurt you, Marcus, and you know it. And you know she’ll never look at you.”

That was unnecessarily unkind. Otteridge knew no such thing and neither did Jane. “Don’t be waspish,” he snapped. “It ill becomes a woman of your years and standing to display jealousy of a woman young enough to be your granddaughter.”

At this turning of her own words against her, her grumpy face mottled with rage. She jumped up from the dressing table stool and strode toward him like some ancient Fury.

“Who is waspish? You should be afraid of her, you silly old fool! She’s asking questions all over the house about the maid who collapsed and disappeared. Yes, that maid! And you can bet Lord Chadbon put her up to it. If anything gets out, Marcus—”

“Hold your tongue, you old harridan,” he growled. “Or you might find you walk into a door. Again. Now get out of my way. I’m going down to dinner.”

*

Lady Chadbon did indeed look in on Kate before the evening meal.

Doing her best to wilt on the sofa, Kate made to rise as Her Ladyship swept in.

“No, no, don’t get up,” Lady Chadbon exclaimed, pressing her back onto the sofa. “I just came to see how you are?”

“Oh, please don’t worry. I am not ill, just so tired suddenly that I will be poor company and less use.”

“Poor child. We have put too much upon you with this business over the maid. But to be frank, my dear, no one expected you to be this thorough.”

“Oh well,” Kate murmured. “If a task is worth doing… What is the news of the floods?”