Page 63 of The Rum and The Fox

“Oh, I got plenty of ‘em,” Formby chuckled. “But nought I can prove, just a feelin’ in me gut.” The inspector fell quiet, frowning for a moment, apparently considering something. He stood abruptly and walked to the door, opening it for them.

“Well, away with you, then, don’t be offended if I hope never to see any of you again.”

Ash snorted and took Keziah’s hand once more, for which she was absurdly grateful.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Ash said, his tone dry. “I can’t tell you the dreams I have had about what I want to do with that wretched notebook of yours.”

With that, he inclined his head to the inspector and guided Keziah out of the room.

***

Inspector Formby watched as the Duke and Duchess of Chartley left the room, with Frankie and the maid scurrying behind them. Only the dowager duchess remained, as he’d suspected she might. A sudden flash of inspiration had hit him like a lightning bolt and he was almost ready to laugh at the sheer audacity of it. There was no way of proving a thing though, and they both knew it. He refused to admit he was glad of it.

“Not such a fool as I perhaps thought, inspector,” she said, a rather knowing smile at her mouth as she held out one elegant, gloved hand.

Mr Formby stared at her for a moment, and then took her hand with care, raising it to his lips. “You know,” he said, his voice low. “The first time I ever saw you, I thought to myself, now there’s a duchess.”

The dowager gave an unladylike snort, but from the glint in her green eyes, the remark had not displeased her.

“Oh, but just wait, inspector,” she said, her voice low and confiding. “From what I’ve seen so far, I think my new daughter-in-law may even out-duchess me.” She winked at him before turning and walking to the door.

“That, your grace, is just about the most terrifying thing I’ve heard in some years.”

Lady Margaret’s laughter echoed around the station, and the inspector could only smile as he closed the door behind her.

***

The carriage ride home was quiet, the atmosphere rather strained. Strange, Keziah reflected. They were free of the death sentence that had seemed to press against them all like a knife blade held to their throats, and yet the sense of unease lingered. There was tension in the air, an unspoken sense that all was not yet as it ought to be.

Keziah swallowed, shifting in her damp clothes and shivering.

“We should do something for Frankie,” she said, clinging to Ash’s hand, terrified that he might withdraw his at any moment. She was being foolish, she kept repeating that to herself, but she had the sense that Ash was withdrawing from her and she could not account for it. All she knew was that the idea terrified her.

“Yes,” he said, nodding, though he didn’t turn and look at her. “I was thinking an apprenticeship of some kind. I shall speak to him and see if anything is of interest. Watchmaking, perhaps?” he added with a wry smile, though Keziah felt her heart lurch at the sadness of his expression.

“Yes,” she agreed, trying to sound cheerful. “He’s certainly good with his hands.”

They both chuckled, but it was a rather desultory sound.

The journey was a short one, and soon the carriage had completed its ponderous journey through the city, drawing up outside the duke’s residence on Royal Crescent.

The wind whistled over the Crescent Fields from Beechen Cliffs, and Keziah shivered harder as it cut through her clinging skirts.

“Come along, before you catch a chill,” Ash chided, guiding her inside as Grant opened the doors to them. He turned back to help the dowager down, and Keziah watched as Grant fussed around her.

“Oh, do stop being such an old woman, Grant,” the dowager scolded, though not unkindly.

Grant took this without comment, merely observing, “If you grace would like to retire to the yellow salon, I shall have tea brought forthwith, and perhaps a glass of Madeira, to keep out the chill.”

Lady Margaret acquiesced to this with a smile as Grant hustled one of the footmen off to fetch her shawl and another to see the fire did not want for attention.

“The staff are devoted to her,” Keziah observed, realising that she was surprised by this.

“Yes, they are. She’s really not such a tyrant as all that,” Ash said, watching Keziah’s gaze as the older lady followed Grant to the salon. “Well, no, that’s a lie, she really is, but … In truth, she really is rather kind and fiercely loyal under that rather terrifying exterior.”

“Very deep down?” Keziah queried, cocking an eyebrow.

Ash laughed and nodded. “I admit, I sometimes forget it’s there myself, but … it is.”