Page 7 of The Case of the Curate

“Marjorie?” he exclaimed, striding to block their view of the body. “My dear, you should not see this! Go back to our guests and reassure them. When Remington comes, I’ll see if this can’t all be hushed up. All will be well, I assure you.”

Not for the maid, it won’t be, nor for her family, ever again… Kate blinked as Chadbon’s fierce gaze shifted to her and seemed to pin her.

“Lady Ambrose, I must ask your discretion and your care of my wife.”

“Of course,” Kate murmured, slightly taken aback by the man’s priorities. She cast a last glance at Rupert, who, rising stiffly to his feet, seemed unnaturally slow and dazed as he moved away and folded himself onto a wooden garden bench. What on earth had happened here? What had he seen?

She turned reluctantly away from the scene, guiding Lady Chadbon back through the orangery, where Her Ladyship took a deep breath and freed herself from Kate’s hold. Instead, she linked their arms and patted Kate’s hand.

“Goodness, that was quite a shock. I am so sorry you had to see that.”

“The poor girl. So young… Is her family local?”

“They’ll be looked after, of course. Lady Ambrose—Kate—you do understand how damaging this could be for everyone, don’t you? For the girl to die here is bad enough, but for her to have done so in such a way could leave this house and all within it under a cloud of speculation. That can only be damaging to our causes, our party, and indeed the country. Chadbon is right—discretion is the only way forward. Please, follow my lead and say nothing to anyone of this.”

Kate stared at her. “Ma’am, you cannot keep a murder secret!”

“The law will be followed,” Lady Chadbon said sharply, then more gently, with another pat of Kate’s hand. “Of course it will. But don’t be naïve, my dear. You must know appearance is often more important than reality. If the scandal rags sniff out an opportunity, they can easily turn this tragedy into some lurid melodrama that might take us all down—including your husband, though he isn’t even here.”

It was a timely warning, Kate supposed, although in that moment, she felt the same kind of rebellion against Lady Chadbon’s words as she had once against her mother’s laws of propriety, which were also largely a matter of appearance over substance. She supposed she could live with this too.

They emerged from the orangery into the hall, where Lady Chadbon summoned the housekeeper to her side. “Get the servants safely to bed, reassure them, and impress upon them the necessity of silence. Their positions depend upon it. Poor Dinah collapsed and will, of course, be taken care of. Thank you, Mrs. Thornfield.”

So that was the maid’s name. Dinah…

In the drawing room, conversation stopped when they entered.

“Anything wrong, Lady Chadbon?” Sir Colin Nye asked in concerned tones.

Lady Chadbon smiled. “A minor domestic accident. One of the maids collapsed. The servants are taking care of it. Would anyone care for a game of cards before we retire?”

The offer drove several more people toward bed. After all, they had a full day’s negotiations on many issues to get through tomorrow, during strolls and meals, shooting parties and billiards games, and snoozing…

And Dinah would still be dead with a blade in her heart.

Why was Rupert still in the house? More to the point, where was the murderer? Was anybody safe in this house? In this neighborhood?

Sleep was out of the question for Kate, but she nevertheless bade the remaining company goodnight. And then, when the footman had closed the drawing room door firmly, she flitted silently downstairs once more.

In the hall, Kemp was admitting a visitor, a bluff old gentleman of perhaps sixty.

“Mr. Remington, sir, our thanks for turning out so late. You have been very quick—”

“The boy caught me at the end of the road. On my way home from Caldicott’s… What’s to do, Kemp?”

“Let me take your hat, sir,” the butler said evasively, “though you may prefer to keep your coat on until you’ve seen His Lordship. This way, if you—”

Kate interrupted without a qualm, all but flying down the last few stairs and hurrying across to the newcomer, who blinked at her in understandable surprise.

Kate thrust out her hand. “You must be Mr. Remington, the magistrate,” she said confidentially. “I’m Lady Ambrose.”

Courtesy compelled him to bow over her hand, although he cast Kemp a glance that pleaded for enlightenment.

“One of Her Ladyship’s guests, sir,” the butler murmured.

“You will have your hands full handling the servants, Kemp,” Kate said, “I’ll take Mr. Remington to His Lordship.”

“Very civil of you, my lady,” Remington said, half bewildered, half gratified. He even offered his arm, which Kate accepted with aplomb.