Lady Violet’s room it was, then.
I abandoned Olivia’s door and skirted Cecily’s—the room inside was empty, and the bed had been stripped; the sheets, I assumed, had been gathered as evidence—to wind up in front of Lilac, directly across from my own Wisteria.
“—cannot believe it,” a voice said from within. I recognized the slightly adenoidal undertones as belonging to Violet. I don’tthink I had heard enough of Olivia’s voice to recognize it, and it definitely didn't belong to Aunt Roz, who may or may not even be here. It could simply be that Violet and Olivia were having a conversation.
But no— “That she would take such a step?” Aunt Roz inquired. “Or that someone would do it to her?”
There was a pause. I imagined Violet and Olivia looking at one another. Then?—
“Either,” Olivia said. It had to be Olivia, since it wasn’t Violet, nor was it anyone else whose voice I recognized. “Ceci wasn’t the maudlin sort. She wouldn’t have offed herself over something like a baby, even if the bloke wouldn’t marry her. “
Violet seemed to agree, because she added, “If she wanted the baby, she would have kept it. If she didn’t, she would have taken steps. There are ways for a girl to get out of a predicament like that these days.”
She sounded very cool about it. Perhaps she had already had to deal with a similar problem of her own. I wouldn’t be surprised, since—judging by the way St George got around—these girls weren’t shy about sharing their favors, and when you do, sometimes there are consequences.
However, something else about Olivia’s assertion had caught my attention, and I hoped that it had caught Aunt Roz’s, too.
And right on schedule, she asked, “Did the father of the baby not want to take responsibility?”
There was a beat. I imagined Olivia and Violet exchanging a glance.
“We don’t know,” Olivia said eventually.
“She didn’t confide in you?”
“She told us when she first suspected,” Violet said. “But she didn’t say anything about who she might be involved with.”
Aunt Roz hesitated. I could feel as well as hear the pause. “My nephew…”
“Oh, no,” Violet denied immediately, while Olivia added, firmly, “That’s ancient history.”
“At least six months old,” Violet added.
“Dead and buried,” Olivia said.
Ancient history, indeed. Although it was the same thing that Crispin had told me—February—so I suppose it was nice to have it confirmed.
Aunt Roz didn’t say anything, but I could sense her relief. “Who else, then?”
“We thought it might have been Reggie,” Olivia said, “but now I’m not so sure.”
“The Honorable Mr. Fish?” Aunt Roz clarified. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the gentleman.”
“The Fishes came here from Normandy almost a thousand years ago,” Olivia said. “Reggie’s family is from Lincolnshire.”
“And he knew Miss Fletcher?”
Olivia’s voice turned snappish. “Of course they knew one another. But I spent all of last evening with him, and he didn’t have a chance to do anything to her. He was never near her drink to put anything in it, and after he went to his room, he didn’t come back out.”
“You kept watch?”
“For a bit,” Olivia said, “until I fell asleep.”
She must have fallen asleep before Cecily stumbled out of bed and into the lavatory, then, I assumed, or she would have come out of her room to see what was going on, as any caring friend would.
“What do you think, Lady Violet?” Aunt Roz wanted to know.
“I spent last evening with Lord Geoffrey,” Violet said. “If Ceci’s problem was his fault, he didn’t act like it.”
