Page 135 of The Marriage Method

Bricket Lodge was situated on the edge of the river. A sprawling mansion of fairly new construction in comparison to grand estates like Northwick Hall. The gaudy fretwork and excessive embellishments marked it as the residence of a wealthy tradesman rather than the ancestral home of a member of the gentry.

Miles bypassed the front of the house in favor of the kitchen yard at the back. A young groom in his shirtsleeves was washing his face at the pump. He sprang up when he saw them drive in and trotted forward to take hold of the horse’s bridle.

“Are you stopping, sir?” he asked Miles. “Shall I water your horse?”

“That depends,” Miles said. “Is Mrs. Virtue at home today?”

“She is, sir,” the lad replied.

“Excellent.” Miles jumped down from the gig. Coming around to the other side of it, he lifted Nell out of her seat, setting her feet gently on the ground.

Warmth radiated through her at his touch. But this wasn’t the time to indulge the sensation. Marshaling her thoughts, she collected her cane. She couldn’t put her weight on it yet, but it bolstered her confidence to have it with her.

Miles offered his arm and Nell took it, accompanying him to the back door. A scullery maid answered their knock. She admitted them into the warm kitchen and, on learning the purpose of their errand, immediately hared off to fetch Mrs. Virtue.

Nell and Miles were left standing there, amid the smoke from the fire and the steam from the pots boiling on the stove, subjected to the curious stares of the cook, the kitchen maid, and a stray footman enjoying a cup of tea at the work table.

The housekeeper appeared in short order. She was an older lady. Approaching sixty, if Nell had to guess. Her gray hair was tucked under a cap, and her black stuff dress was neat as a pin. She looked them over with an air of reserved civility. “Ma’am. Sir. How may I help you?”

“My husband and I are visiting from London,” Nell said. “We have a private matter to discuss with you. If you might spare us a moment alone?”

Mrs. Virtue pursed her lips. She was too well-mannered of a servant to question them about their business here in the kitchen, with the other members of staff craning to hear. “Indeed,” she said. She gestured to the slate-tiled hall. “My apartment is through here.”

Nell and Miles followed her into the housekeeper’s room. It contained a small table, an iron bedstead, and two horsehair chairs. The starkness of the furnishings was softened by a lace tablecloth and a vase of fresh flowers.

“I don’t know what this is in regard to,” Mrs. Virtue began after shutting the door. “But—”

“I am Miles Quincey, editor in chief of the London Courant,” Miles said without preamble. “I have reason to believe that you spoke to a reporter of mine some months ago. A man by the name of Lawrence Cowgill. He was a guest here at the time.”

Mrs. Virtue’s face betrayed a flash of alarm. “I’m sorry but I—”

“He paid you, I presume,” Miles said.

The housekeeper blanched. For a servant to sell secrets about their employer was a betrayal of the worst kind. “You can’t be saying that, sir.”

“No one knows but my wife and me,” Miles said. “We’d prefer to keep it that way.”

Nell stepped forward. “All we ask,” she said, “is that you tell us exactly what you told Mr. Cowgill.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Mrs. Virtue returned. “I’d have thought he’d have printed it by now anyway. I looked for it in his column for two months straight. If he—”

“Cowgill is dead,” Miles said bluntly. “He was murdered.”

Mrs. Virtue’s jaw went slack. She staggered backward, sinking into one of the horsehair chairs. “Murdered?” she breathed. “Heaven help me.”

Nell perched on the edge of the chair opposite her. “You had suspicions about something, was that it? Something that happened at Northwick Hall?”

Mrs. Virtue nodded mutely.

“Did it involve Miss Fawn-Purvis’s elopement?” Miles asked, coming to stand beside Nell.

“She didn’t elope,” Mrs. Virtue replied sharply. “She had no one to elope with. She was going to London to see a solicitor.”

Nell pulse quickened. “For what purpose?”

“Something had upset her,” Mrs. Virtue said. “She told me she needed to speak to someone impartial, but quiet-like, without anyone else knowing. She’d written to him, she said.”

Nell leaned toward her. “Do you know why she—”