Page 27 of A Murder at Kew Gardens

“I am not. But my mother is.”

Across the room stood Lady Redmayne, speaking to Lady Pembury while keeping one eye firmly upon her son. The poor man had been dragged here by his mother who was eager to find a bride for him.

Before I could provide further comment, Lady Pembury called the room to order. The music was about to begin.

A rustle of silk, a scraping of chairs, and the resigned movement of gentlemen toward their seats followed. And somewhere in this room, I hoped to find a thread that would lead me to the man who had set Crane upon Claire.

Mr. Bellweather seated himself at the pianoforte with the gravity of a man about to announce a national tragedy. He lowered his hands, and the first chord emerged.

With a suffering sigh, Chrissie closed her eyes and more than likely prayed for providence. Alas, her prayer was not answered as a second chord soon followed.

The piece lurched between violence and melancholy before ending in a triumphant final chord, followed by Mr. Bellweather holding his hands aloft.

The company dutifully applauded.

“I believe,” Chrissie whispered, “that he has killed the poor thing.”

“The piano?”

“Chopin.”

I tightened my lips to keep from laughing.

Still, Chrissie noticed. “Do not laugh. I am in mourning.”

Mr. Bellweather rose and bowed deeply while a lady in the front row dabbed her eyes.

“She must be related to him,” Chrissie murmured.

Once the applause faded, Lady Pembury declared that refreshments would be served before the next performance.

The company rose with remarkable speed and headed toward the refreshments table.

“Oh, thank heavens,” said a familiar voice.

A young lady in pale blue had suddenly appeared beside us.

“Eleanor!” Chrissie exclaimed.

Miss Eleanor Fairchild seized both of her hands. “I thought I saw you. Mama has been admiring Mr. Bellweather's interpretation of Chopin. I can endure no more of it.”

“You have my deepest sympathy,” said Chrissie.

“Come and rescue me.”

Chrissie glanced at me.

“Go on,” I said.

“You're certain?”

“Perfectly.”

She leaned close. “If the violin appears, I may never recover.”

“Then I shall send for a physician.”

She smiled and allowed herself to be carried away by her friend. Within moments the pair had disappeared into a cluster of young ladies near the tea table.