Page 56 of The Case of the Curate

He shook his head. “She wasn’t stealing it. Neither was I.”

“Maybe you should have picked a kitchen knife.” Though it would still have killed Dinah just as easily.

Lewis looked at her as though she were mad. “Without Cook noticing and raising a rumpus?”

It was almost laughable. Lord Chadbon could have noticed his dagger was missing at any time. That he hadn’t was surely testament to his distraction over this gathering. Or perhaps his staff understood him better than his friends did. Chadbon wasn’t really a serious collector. His little display was merely a talking point that he used to break the ice or show off to his guests and then forgot about.

Kate said, “You can stop worrying. Lord Chadbon has his dagger back. I don’t believe anyone will blame either of you. But Lewis, whom was she protecting herself from?”

“I don’t know,” he said fiercely. “I wish I did. I’d have—”

“Mrs. Thornfield would have put a stop to it,” Kate interrupted.

“If she could,” Lewis said darkly. “But there were people outside this household who wished her ill. She had an admirer, someone she met outside. I don’t know who. But something was going on that worried her. She wouldn’t tell me. Why wouldn’t she tell anyone?”

The hurt in his voice was palpable. There was nothing Kate could say to ease that for him. So she just nodded. “Thank you, Lewis.”

Dismissed, he still hesitated. His expression was uneasy, even downright morose, but behind it was understanding and a hint of hope. Because Kate had asked these questions, not his own superiors.

“If they find out, I’ll be dismissed,” he blurted. “Dinah wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Clever, Kate thought. She held his gaze. “Mrs. Thornfield is not concerned with the dagger, but with the necklace.”

He frowned. “The dancer? I didn’t take that. I told Mrs. Thornfield so.”

She believed him. He had already admitted to taking the dagger, after all. He had nothing to lose. She nodded to release him and he strode out of the room.

Kate continued to sit where she was, her hands clenching and unclenching. Damn, damn, damn and blast it all to perdition.

The dagger being gone before Rupert’s arrival that evening did not prove his innocence after all. It didn’t prove anyone’s innocence, if Dinah had carried it and the killer had simply taken it from her.

*

Overwhelmed by possibilities and annoying facts, Kate went to her room and began to write down everything she knew about the murder, the timing, the weapon, and where everyone had been when it happened.

There was nothing in any of it to prove who killed Dinah. Not even to prove that Rupert had not. What did seem fantastic was that Dinah should carry her employer’s dagger—leaving herself and Lewis open to dismissal for theft—around with her for several hours just in case she was attacked. Who on earth could have frightened her so much?

Everyone else had arrived at the house around the same time and just before Kate did, so she couldn’t even narrow down which of the guests had scared the maid.

It was also possible that Lewis had simply misunderstood Dinah’s increasing worry over her condition. And that Dinah had just forgotten about the dagger in her apron pocket.

Kate thought of the beautiful girl she had first noticed in the Chadbons’ London house, and then in the court dining room, standing in a smart line with the other servants, casting that bold glance at Rupert. It had been mischievous, intimate, almost conspiratorial, but not obviously flirtatious. Rupert, who had very probably been her lover in the past, was helping her to find a viable way out of her current difficulties, namely by marrying her to Jack Irwin the coachman.

What if Irwin was the man she had feared?

Or had she hidden the dagger in her dormitory as Lewis had expected, and someone else had stolen it from her? That would mean the killer was more likely to be a house servant than either outside staff or guest. And in truth, the servants milling in and out of the kitchen, clearing up after dinner, had had easier opportunities to follow Dinah outside to the garden and murder her.

Only, why would any servant do that? Was Dinah blackmailing someone? Neither Mrs. Thornfield nor Lewis, nor any other servant, had mentioned Dinah having more money than she should, or anyone quarrelling with her.

Kate sighed and pushed the paper away from her. She was no nearer to knowing who the murderer was, or even who Dinah was, than she had been on the night of the murder.

Grissy came in then. After her long sleep on the sofa, she had shown no signs of illness from their long, wet walk last night. Still, Kate didn’t have the heart to make her repeat the exercise. She didn’t particularly want to go out late on her own, either. But the need to discuss Dinah further with someone who knew her well—in fact, to discuss the whole messy mystery—was strong. It had to be with Rupert.

“What do you think, Miss Kate?” Grissy asked. “The jonquil muslin or the pomona silk?”

Kate turned to face her. “Do you know, I believe I am somewhat fatigued. I shall send my excuses to Her Ladyship and request a tray in my room.”

Grissy eyed her with suspicion. “What are you up to? You’ve never been fatigued in your life.”