“What makes you think anything new will turn up?” the duke asked.
As Truman explained about the paintings, His Grace listened without interrupting.
“I hope you find them,” he said when Truman had finished, but Lady Penelope suddenly piped up again—this time to contradict her father. “Actually, I’m not sure Daddy would want that,” she said with a sly smile. “Then you’d have no reason to go through with the wedding.”
His Grace shot his daughter a sharp look, and that was enough to shut her up. Sobering instantly, she dropped her gaze to her plate. “Please excuse my interruption,” she mumbled.
“The wine has gone to her head,” the duke explained. “Obviously, joining our two families would be advantageous regardless of whether those paintings are found. I’m merely trying to help the son of a dear friend. You couldn’t do any better than Penelope.”
Then why the rush? What was so wrong with Lady Penelope that she couldn’t make an advantageous match with any one of a dozen or more eligible suitors? She was the daughter of a duke! “Of course,” Truman said. “I appreciate your generosity. Your daughter is a rare jewel.”
“She will certainly do more for you than that poor village girl,” the duke said as if he’d held his true feelings back as long as he could.
For Lady Penelope’s sake, Truman smiled, but no one could do more for him than Rachel. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room so the servants can finish clearing the table?”
The girl who answered the back door at Elspeth’s told Rachel essentially the same thing she’d been told before. Elspeth wouldn’t see her—no need to come back. She was clear and frank, maybe even a little angry that Rachel had returned. But Rachel wasn’t about to leave without achieving an audience.
She pretended to accept her dismissal, but as soon as the girl went inside, she slipped in behind her and found her own way to the room she’d visited previously. Before she could knock to see if Elspeth was there, however, the sound of Elspeth’s voice confirmed that she was.
“Is she gone?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply from the girl Rachel had just spoken to.
The door stood open a few inches. Rachel felt a nervous flutter in her stomach as she stepped up to the crack and peered inside. Elspeth and the girl who’d answered the door seemed to be alone, but Rachel couldn’t be certain. She could see only a portion of the room.
“What does she want?” the girl asked. “Why does she keep comin’ back?”
“What she wants and what she’s going to get will be two different things if she’s not careful,” Elspeth replied.
“What do ye mean by that, mum?”
“It’s none of your business, Milly.” She flicked her hand to shoo the girl off. “Go get me something to eat—and clean up for your shift. I’m hoping for a busy night. I don’t want you looking like an old sow.”
The girl hung her head like a berated child. “Of course not.”
Rachel stepped to one side as “Milly” came out. She could avoid a collision, but she couldn’t avoid being seen.
“What are ye doin’ in ’ere?” the girl cried. “I told ye to go!”
There didn’t seem to be any point in responding. It was obvious enough that she hadn’t listened. Throwing the door wide, Rachel circumvented the prostitute and walked in.
Elspeth had heard the commotion and was halfway across the room. “Rachel!”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Ye need to go. Now.”
“Why? Is there some reason we’re no longer friends, Madame Soward?”
She rolled her eyes. “Ah, innocent to the last. We were never friends, Miss McTavish. We all ’ave our best interests to look out for, after all.”
Maybe she was too innocent, because Elspeth’s words stung. “That’s what I can’t figure. Why is it suddenly in your best interest to keep your distance?”
“Because I want to stay alive. And if ye want the same, ye’ll listen to me an’ get your arse out of ’ere.”
She sounded seriously frightened. “Who are you afraid of? Cutberth? Wythe? Or someone else?”
“Men talk when they drink and screw, Rachel. I know more secrets than ye could ever imagine, and that puts me in a very bad position. If ye give anythin’ away to the earl, I’m the one who’ll get blamed. Ye mark my words.”
“Maybe you’d be better off going to him yourself. Tell him what you know. Do the right thing. Then ask for his protection. He’s a good man—”
She made a sound of disbelief. “As if an earl would ’ave anythin’ to do with me. Unlike you, I know my place in life.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me. It would only be a matter of time before ’e threw me out on the streets. ’E can’t protect me indefinitely. Look at you! ’E got involved just long enough to ruin ye.”
“I know you won’t believe this but I left Blackmoor Hall of my own accord.”
“Ye should never ’ave sided with ’im to begin with, should never ’ave betrayed your own kind.”
“That statement just shows how little you really know. If you’d let me explain—”
“I already know more than I want to,” she broke in.
“Do you?” Rachel challenged. “Do you know that Cutberth and my mother had an affair during the six months prior to her death? Is that one of your secrets?”
This succeeded in surprising her. Rachel could tell by the look on her face.
“That’s ridiculous,” she responded. “What are ye talkin’ about?”
“There’s proof.”
“What kind of proof?”
“Mrs. Cutberth found some letters they exchanged.”
She shook her head. “So that’s how he handled it.”
“What do you mean? Who is he?”
“Just get out,” she said and Rachel knew she’d be sorry if she didn’t. Whatever thin bond had once existed between her and Elspeth had been severed by doubt, fear and expediency.
Truman heard a soft knock, but it was well after midnight. Assuming it was a maid wanting to bank the fire, he didn’t bother putting on a shirt. He answered the door in his trousers and robe.
It was one of his servants—Susanna, the maid he’d assigned to Lady Penelope for the duration of her visit—but she wasn’t alone. The duke’s daughter was with her, dressed in a filmy nightgown, from what he could tell, thanks to the gap in her satin wrap.