A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,80
back against my pillows and wondering what Bree and Anderley were fighting about now. Based on the shrill tone of my maid’s voice, a pitch I’d never heard her use, it was not a dispute that would resolve itself easily. And yet they had been so amicable and affectionate that morning, their heads bent close together as they strolled to church behind me and Gage in the crisp morning air. The storm the night before had finally blown itself out around three o’clock, ushering in a cold but sunny start to the new day.
The sharp words ended abruptly as the door to the dressing room opened and Bree strode through, her mouth tight with anger. She stumbled to a stop at the sight of me watching her from the bed. I had but a brief glimpse of Anderley through the doorway behind her, his hands clenched at his sides in frustration before the door shut.
Her brow creased in regret. “My apologies, m’lady. I was just comin’ to wake ye when I was . . . distracted.”
I slowly pushed myself upright, turning to sit on the edge of the bed while she bustled about the room, pouring warm water from the ewer she’d brought with her into the basin on my washstand and readying my garments.
“The iris blue satin,” she suggested, laying the gown across the counterpane.
“Yes.” It was next in the rotation of the two ball gowns that still fit me, though in a pinch one of my opera or dinner dresses would do. Crossing to the washstand, I splashed water on my face and then blotted it with a towel as I turned to face Bree. She was feigning absorption with my stockings, but I was not about to let what just transpired pass without remarking on it. “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”
She frowned at the ribbon on one of my garters. “I suppose you’ll find oot soon enough. Mister Anderley managed to charm Mr. Rookwood’s maid into revealin’ why she was so tight-lipped wi’ me.”
My heart sank. Oh, Anderley, you didn’t? And after Bree made it so clear she didn’t want his interference.
She slammed the drawer of the dresser and marched across the room to arrange the implements to style my hair with sharp, precise movements. “She was only too happy to cry on his shoulder and tell him how sad she was, and how frightened that the murderer’d come after her next.”
I perched on the dressing table bench. “Why would she think that?”
“She says she heard the printer and Mr. Rookwood arguin’ the day before he was murdered when she was cleanin’ the outer office, though she didna ken what aboot.” She scoffed, untying the ribbon securing the bottom of my braid with a tug. “Somethin’ I ken I could o’ convinced her to share tomorrow if’n he’d kept his nose oot o’ it like I asked.”
I didn’t dispute this, for I knew well how Bree’s warmth and empathy could convince one to confide in her. After all, it had worked on me, and I had never regretted it. Though I was beginning to regret the romance which had blossomed between her and my husband’s valet, for it was upsetting the balance and easy camaraderie our investigative team had enjoyed since my marriage to Gage. Not that I begrudged either of them finding such happiness, but as it currently stood, their relationship was far from blissful.
“Has Anderley informed Mr. Gage?” I asked as she pulled the brush through my hair, making it crackle.
“Aye. That’s how I found oot.”
Gage had often counseled me not to insinuate myself into our servants’ personal lives, but I couldn’t allow the moment to pass without saying something.
“I do wish Anderley had allowed you to handle the matter as he was supposed to.”
Bree didn’t speak at first, but her strokes of the brush became less forceful. I studied her face in the reflection of the mirror, curious what she was thinking, but she seemed resolved not to divulge it, replying with a simple “Thank you, m’lady.” Whether this was to shelter herself or me, I didn’t know, but I respected her too much to force the issue.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to broach it with Gage. “And what did you say to Anderley when he presented you with this information?” I asked as we waited in the line of carriages delivering passengers to St. James Square.