to George Bascomb, a wealthy businessman. Before the influx of cash from her marriage settlement, they’d only been able to employ a few loyal servants who were willing to work for low wages. A man like Philbrick, whose fortunes had risen and fallen based on the success of his writing, couldn’t have been the steadiest of employers. Even loyal servants needed to be paid.
Perhaps the elder Mr. Green had been given the letters; perhaps he’d taken them in lieu of payment for his services. Either way, she didn’t see that they would be of interest to Valentine, who was wealthy in his own right, thanks to a legacy from his grandmother and some shrewd investing.
“I won’t tell him.” She tried to imbue her tone with all the reassurance she could muster.
Once they’d stepped back onto the street outside the shop, Eversham said wryly, “You were quick enough to give away Lord Valentine’s property. Remind me never to let you act as my broker.”
“Val has more money than the queen.” Kate dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Besides, I promised Green I wouldn’t tell Val. I didn’t say about what.”
Eversham’s laugh was long enough to frighten a nearby horse.
* * *
Eversham accompanied the rest of the party from Thornfield back to the house. He’d hoped to use the opportunity on the way to speak to Val about his relationship with Jones, but that had proved impossible. While he and Kate were speaking to Green, the master of Thornfield had returned to the household ahead of them.
Not long after they set out, Eversham noticed that Barton seemed intent on monopolizing Lady Katherine for the duration of the journey. He could hardly tell the American to desist when the man’s only other choices for conversation were his daughter and the feckless Mr. Thompson. Given the same choice, he’d have chosen Lady Katherine, too. Still, he noted the strained nature of her expression when Barton began to describe, yet again, just how large his house on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan was.
So, he set himself to draw the other man’s attention away from her by peppering him with questions about the nature of American policing, and though Barton seemed frustrated at the diversion at first, his desire to extol the virtues of his own nation in opposition to England was too strong to ignore.
They’d reached the main entrance to Thornfield by the time Barton grew weary of the topic and made his escape, and Eversham watched him go with some degree of satisfaction.
“That was a very nice gesture, Inspector.” Lady Katherine spoke in a low voice that could be heard only by him as they stepped into the marble entryway of the house. “Though I don’t need rescuing. I could have put him in his place easily enough.”
Watching as she handed her pelisse to the waiting servants, Eversham noted the wisps of dark hair along the nape of her neck and, in his mind’s eye, saw himself lowering his lips to them.
What the devil? He shook his head a little, and by the time she’d turned to face him, he’d got himself back under control.
“So, I take it from your silence that you agree with me?” Her eyes were lit with amusement.
Belatedly he realized he’d missed her words entirely.
Get it together, man.
Before he could form a response, however, he heard a high-pitched noise coming from the direction of the staircase followed by a cry of “Katie!”
A petite brunette in a deep purple silk gown and carrying a disgruntled-looking Siamese cat approached them as quickly as her narrow skirts would allow.
“My dear! I came as soon as I read about the murder in The Times!”
It was the lady who had been with Lady Katherine the day they’d met in London. Her writing partner, Miss Caroline Hardcastle.
If she’d seen news of the murder in London, that meant that Darrow would be busy answering questions from the public, who’d been assured the Commandments Killer had been caught. It was perhaps unbecoming of him, but he couldn’t help feeling the man—and Wargrove, too—was reaping what he’d sown.
“Caro, why on earth are you carrying Ludwig around with you like the villainess in a penny dreadful?”
Lady Katherine’s voice, tinged with amusement, brought him back to the scene before him.
Her next words, however, gave him a start.
“Where is Ludwig’s leash?”
As if he’d heard his name and knew he must respond, the cat gave an aggrieved yowl that sounded remarkably like a human baby.
“Hush, dearest,” Caro soothed, and Eversham was unsure