As they reached the entry hall, Charles paused and turned, his expression solemn. “Let’s forget about the soiree. We can leave tomorrow morning for my estate.”
She took a deliberate step back, creating space between them. “No. My mother would be furious if I left so abruptly.”
“I know,” Charles admitted. “But I’d feel much better if you were far away from this place, this village… from Alfred.”
Her brows furrowed as she studied his face, searching for the meaning behind his words. “Why Alfred?”
His gaze locked on to hers, the urgency in his eyes unmistakable. “I used to think highly of Alfred. I truly did. But recent events have made me question if I ever knew him at all.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s been looking into the death of your father.”
“I suspected as much from the newssheet clippings that I found in Alfred’s desk.”
Charles frowned. “That was reckless, Elsbeth. Foolish, even. What if you had been caught?”
Her back went rigid. “Are you truly lecturing me right now?”
Charles glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the corridor was still empty, then turned back to her. “I’m not lecturing you. I’m worried about you.”
His words sounded so sincere, so genuine, but the shadow of fear kept her from fully trusting him. Before she could respond, Alfred’s voice echoed from down the corridor, his words light.
“Why the long faces?” he asked with a polite smile as he approached.
Charles quickly stepped closer to Elsbeth, as though shielding her. “Good evening, Alfred.”
The butler appeared and handed Alfred his top hat and cane. Alfred placed the hat on his head with practiced ease. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said. “There’s some business I must attend to in the village.”
“Mother will not be pleased that you’re missing dinner,” Elsbeth remarked.
Alfred chuckled lightly. “That she won’t. But business is business.”
The moment the door closed, Elsbeth turned to Charles, her voice a low murmur. “We should follow him. See who he’s meeting with this time.”
“No,” Charles responded. “It would raise too much suspicion if we were caught.”
“Then we won’t get caught,” Elsbeth countered.
Charles crossed his arms, his expression resolute. “I have a better idea. While he’s gone, I’ll search his study.”
She shook her head. “That’s a waste of time. I’ve searched his study more times than I care to admit, and the only thing I found were those newssheet clippings.”
“Then why do you think Alfred is looking into your father’s death?” Charles pressed.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But if he’s hiding something, it must be important.”
Charles’s eyes grew distant, as though he were replaying old memories. “I’ve always thought the circumstances surrounding your father’s death were rather suspicious.”
“But the coroner ruled it an accident,” Elsbeth pointed out, though the doubt in her voice was evident.
Charles’s jaw tightened. “It just seemed too convenient,” he said slowly. “That your father would meet his end by being run down by a coach. It never sat right with me.”
A heavy silence followed his words. Elsbeth’s mind raced, her suspicions growing sharper. She finally broke the silence. “Do you think Alfred had something to do with my father’s death?”
Charles sighed deeply, his expression heavy with reluctance. “I don’t know for certain, but I do know he paid the coroner to keep quiet. Why would he go to such lengths if he had nothing to hide?”
The weight of his words pressed down on her, but before she could respond, the ringing of the dinner bell echoed through the manor.
As they turned towards the source of the sound, Elsbeth’s mother appeared at the top of the grand staircase. Her elegant figure was poised as always, but Elsbeth noticed something different. Her mother’s eyes seemed tired, their usual sparkle dimmed, and her steps, though graceful, lacked their usual energy.
Descending the stairs, her mother spoke. “I’ve just been informed that Alfred will not be joining us for dinner. Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”
