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“So you did know Kilbourne at Harrow?” Maximus asked to clarify.
“Why, yes, he was in my house,” Alderney said at once. “But there were many other quite sane fellows in my house as well. Lord Plimpton, for instance. Quite a bigwig in Parliament now, as I understand. Though”—Alderney’s brow knit on a thought—“he wasn’t a very nice fellow at school. Used to gobble rare beefsteak with his mouth half open.” Alderney shuddered. “Surprised he didn’t turn out to be a bloody raving madman, now that I think of it. But there you are: can’t predict these things apparently. Perhaps it was all that eel pie.”
Maximus stared at Alderney for a moment, trying to decide if the man were lying or really as foolish as his words seemed to paint him.
Alderney appeared to brighten at his confusion. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes,” Maximus gritted out, making the man cringe back. “Think: when could you have given that pendant to Kilbourne?”
“Why…” Alderney knit his brows. “Never, as far as I know. I don’t remember even talking that much with Kilbourne beyond the usual ‘Good morning’ and ‘Are you eating your portion of sausage?’ We weren’t really friends. Not,” Alderney hastened to add at Maximus’s growing scowl, “that I wasn’t friendly or anything, but he was the sort who actually read things in Latin, and I was more interested in sweets and smuggling tobacco into the house.”
Alderney stopped abruptly and stared at Maximus rather helplessly.
Maximus closed his eyes. He’d been so sure that here at last was the trail he could follow to find the murderer—only to be stopped by a fool’s faulty memory. Of course, that was supposing that Kilbourne had even been telling the truth. He was a madman, after all.
Maximus opened his eyes, scooped up the pendant, and stood. “Thank you, Alderney.”
“That’s it?” The other man didn’t hide his relief. “Oh, well, glad to be of help. Don’t have such illustrious visitors, as I said, only Cousin Robert, and he hasn’t been by since Michaelmas of last year.”
Maximus halted on his way to the door and slowly turned on a sudden thought. “Who is your cousin Robert, Alderney?”
His host grinned, looking quite idiotic. “Oh! Thought you knew. He’s the Duke of Scarborough.”
ARTEMIS HAD JUST sat down to dinner that night with Phoebe and Maximus at Wakefield House when her world came tumbling down about her ears.
She’d only taken in the dear sight of Maximus frowning over his fish when the commotion began. Armageddon was heralded by voices in the corridor outside the dining room and the hurried footsteps of the servants.
Phoebe cocked her head. “Who could that be at this time of night?”
They hadn’t long to speculate.
The door was flung open to reveal Bathilda Picklewood. “My dears, you should’ve seen the roads! Simply awful, all of them. I thought we would be stuck forever in a mud hole at the turnpike near Tyburn. Wilson actually had to get down from the box and lead the horses out, and I won’t even repeat the language he used.”
Belle, Starling, Percy, and Bon Bon all trotted over to greet Miss Picklewood, while Mignon rumbled from her arms at the other dogs.
“Hush, Mignon,” Miss Picklewood scolded. “Goodness, you sound like a bumblebee! Where did all these dogs come from? Surely you didn’t bring them from Pelham?”
“We thought they’d like the change of scenery,” Phoebe said brightly. “I’m so glad you’ve arrived! We didn’t expect you back for another fortnight or so.”
“Well, I thought I’d pop in to see how you all were doing,” Miss Picklewood said, exchanging a look Artemis couldn’t interpret with Maximus.
The duke’s expression had shut down as surely as a door closing. “I trust your friend is doing better?”
“Oh, much,” Miss Bathilda said as she sat. Footmen scurried under the eagle eye of the butler to set another place for her. “And dear Mrs. White was so sweet. She told me I must come at once, just for a small visit, so that I wouldn’t tire of Bath.”
“That was kind,” Maximus replied flatly.
“Now, dear.” Miss Picklewood turned to Phoebe. “You must tell me what you did today.”
Artemis was quiet, poking the tines of her fork gently into her fish as she listened to Phoebe prattle. Once she glanced up and caught Maximus staring at her broodingly. She couldn’t help a shiver of premonition. It seemed very strange that Miss Picklewood would leave her friend’s sickbed just to “pop in.”
It wasn’t until after a lovely apple tart that Artemis could only pick at that she found out Miss Picklewood’s true intent.
She and Phoebe rose to retire into the sitting room for tea, but the older lady spoke up, halting them. “Artemis, dear, won’t you stay here? I do wish to discuss something with you and His Grace.” Phoebe’s brows knit, and Miss Picklewood addressed her, “Phoebe, Agnes can help you to the sitting room. We’ll be along in a bit.”
Phoebe hesitated, but in the end accepted the arm of Agnes the maid and left the room.
Artemis slowly retook her seat.
