Cynthia, the valet, and Helena searched the floor. Cynthia pulled up a ruffle and cried out in triumph, holding the key.
‘Huzzah! He must have dropped it when he fled.’
Her joy was infectious, but Helena refused to be swayed. Cynthia was still the lead suspect in her husband’s murder. A fact Helena best not forget, no matter how fetching she looked as her cheeks flushed with pleasure.
Cynthia stood and walked to the safe, carefully inserting the Chubb key designed to work the lever lock. With a clank and screech of metal hinges, she pulled open the heavy door.
‘Oh dear. This might take some time.’
Helena joined her and peered into the small enclosure stuffed tight with ledgers, loose papers, several jewellery boxes, and a painted enamel case. Valiantly, she tried to ignore the warmth emanating from Cynthia.
‘We should wait until Uncle Lachlan returns.’
Cynthia reached into the safe and pulled a ledger free. Several papers fluttered to the floor in its wake. ‘Are you worried I might tamper with the evidence?’
Helena raised her brow in an expression that had sent many a man running in fear. ‘A guilty person is capable of endless treachery.’
Cynthia’s humour died. ‘Then it’s a good thing I’m not guilty.’ She turned to face Helena. They were so close, Helena could count the cinnamon freckles on the bridge of Cynthia’s nose. ‘Look with me, then. How could I possibly embark on treachery if you are watching my every move?’ The sparkle was back. How she maintained such a positive attitude when her world was in tatters mystified Helena. ‘Besides, you said I couldn’t lie to you. You would read my thoughts and know, so what has you spooked?’
You. You have me spooked.
Helena pressed her lips tight to keep the words from spilling forth.
‘Err, should I just head downstairs then if you don’t need anything?’
Both women turned in tandem to the valet. Who they had forgotten entirely.
Cynthia’s cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. ‘Lawrence! Yes, of course. Why don’t you tell Mrs Higgins what has happened, and she’ll get you a cup of tea. When Superintendent MacDougal returns, I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you. But you’ve had a real shock, and tea does wonders for the constitution.’ She turned sharply to look at Hamlet, who flicked his fluffy tail.
What the devil is going on with my familiar and Cynthia?
Cynthia shook her head before looking back to the valet. ‘Brandy can also be quite restorative, I’ve heard.’
Cynthia flipped another page in a ledger full of entries written in her husband’s distinctive script. They were all staggering sums of money. While some were instalments, most were withdrawals. A curious combination of letters was repeated often. DOSD. Hubert owed the mysterious DOSD a very large amount indeed.
‘Bloody fucking hell,’ she muttered. Hardly the words of a lady. But she didn’t feel like a lady at this moment. She felt like a complete dunderhead. Her husband had been bleeding money faster than a sieve. She wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but she feared whatever comfortable living she imagined for her widowhood had gone to hell with Hubert.
Helena looked up from a letter she was reading. ‘What?’
They were both sitting on the floor, with papers scattered around them. Cynthia’s poorly dyed skirts brushed against Helena’s blue ones.
Cynthia shook her head. ‘Even if I can prove my innocence, I believe I’m quite ruined.’
A knock sounded on the door, and her butler ducked his head inside.
‘Superintendent MacDougal has returned. He desires to speak with both of you.’
‘Send him up. He’ll want to see all of this.’
The butler nodded and quietly shut the door.
‘Perhaps these are not current ledgers. They could be old records, and he paid the debts before you were even married.’ Helena shifted so her shoulder bumped against Cynthia’s as she peered at the ledger.
Cynthia tapped her finger on the date of the last entry. The clear script indicated it was penned three days prior. ‘I don’t think so. Well, I suppose if I can’t convince you of my innocence, I won’t have to worry about where to live or what to eat. Newgate will be in charge of my room and board until I hang for murder.’ She laughed, a high and shrill sound. Cynthia was living in a nightmare. She wanted to wake up and return to normalcy. A life where her husband was not murdered. Where she was not facing a prison sentence ending in her death. Where she didn’t risk losing everything if she did survive.
Thunder rumbled outside the window as the afternoon sun hid behind a cloud.
If Hubert was alive, nothing would be different. I would still be in debt. I would still be imprisoned. I would still be facing death, just in slow degrees instead of all at once.
