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Chapter Three
From the breakfastparlor of her home in Half Moon Street, Mrs. Elizabeth Westley could see out the window across her back garden to that of the smaller house in the lane. There was no real need for her to do so. It wasn’t as if she could see Sebastian sitting and smiling at the front of the house. For one thing, she had seen policemen come up and down the lane. The last time, they had left bearing a covered stretcher.
Her chest constricted with grief and guilt and a thousand emotions she had no name for. If the servants or, worse, her husband, found her staring so fixedly out of the window, they would think she was ill. And yet, she could not bring herself to move away. Some movement at the corner of her eye drew her gaze to the right, to the patch of lane that was visible from the window. Someone was walking briskly toward Half Moon Street, and yes, it was Mrs. Tizsa. Or Lady Grizelda, the duke’s daughter who now lived with her Hungarian husband in Elizabeth’s old home.
Elizabeth had been glad it was they who had bought the house when William, her husband, had sold it. They had seemed an eccentric couple but loving, and, of course, it did one’s consequence no harm to have a duke’s family buy one’s cast-offs.
Sebastian had been the one difficulty.
A knock on the breakfast room door made her jump as she turned to face the intruder. James, the footman, entered, bearing a silver tray with a calling card.
Elizabeth stared at it. It said simplyGrizelda Tizsa,without title, just her address,Half Moon Street Lane.
“The lady is waiting, ma’am,” James prompted. “I told her I wasn’t sure you were at home.”
It was tempting, very tempting to deny herself and carry on hiding. But one did not deny oneself to a duke’s daughter without very good reason, and it was imperative she behave as expected.
“You had better bring her ladyship to the drawing room,” Elizabeth said quickly.
She waited, trying to quell the fast beating of her heart until she heard James’s footsteps and the lighter tread of a lady with the accompanying swishing of skirts. By then, she had herself better in hand and even pinned a pleasant, gratified smiled on her face as she left the breakfast parlor and walked along the passage and into the drawing room.
“Lady Grizelda,” she greeted her with courtesy. “What a pleasant surprise! So sorry to keep you waiting. Merry Christmas to you!”
“And to you,” Lady Grizelda said with a quick smile as she returned the curtsey. She wore a warm, flowing cape over a gown that looked to be of good velvet, from what she could see beneath the cape, though it lacked the flounces and frills necessary to make it truly fashionable. In fact, considering her rank, she made very few concessions to fashion. She even wore spectacles, which seemed to gleam malevolently at Elizabeth.
“Forgive my calling so early and uninvited,” Lady Grizelda said brightly, “but a very strange thing happened this morning, and it suddenly struck me that you might be able to help.”
“Of course, if I can.” Elizabeth hoped the smile on her face wasn’t looking too strained. It was very hard to read Lady Grizelda’s expression, perhaps because her spectacles veiled her eyes too much. Elizabeth, having met her only once before, had never decided whether or not she was pretty. She was young and lively, of course, and had a certain though vague appeal, but if His Grace, her father, had thrown her away on a penniless Hungarian refugee, it said little for her charm or intelligence. “Won’t you sit down?”
“Thank you. Believe it or not,” her ladyship said almost apologetically, taking the nearest chair, “I opened my front door this morning to find a dead man propped up against the wall.”
“Oh, my dear!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “How awful for you! Do you know who he was?”
“That was what I was hoping you could tell me,” Lady Grizelda confided. “You see, he is quite unknown to my household, and it struck me that he might be known to yours. I wondered if he had not realized you now lived here.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think so. Both my husband I told everyone about our move.”
“He was quite a tall gentleman, in his late forties, I would say, handsome, with a fine head of greying hair. He was very well dressed, clearly a gentleman of means.”
“He does not sound like anyone I know.”
“Ah, well, it was a faint hope,” her ladyship said, rising to her feet.
Relieved, Elizabeth roused herself. “Perhaps you would care for a cup of tea?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I am expected elsewhere and must not linger. But I thank you for your kindness.”
“His…body is not still at your door, is it?” Elizabeth asked, knowing perfectly well it was not.
“Oh, no, the police took him away. I hope I have not spoiled your day.”
“Of course not. It is you who must have been upset by such a gruesome discovery.”
“I was, actually,” her ladyship admitted. She smiled again. “But it is Christmas, and I am determined to enjoy the festivities.” She walked to the door and paused, her fingers on the handle, and glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t suppose you know the name Cartaret, do you?”
It felt like a knife in the heart. Panic surged.She knows! She knows!But years of dissembling had been good practice, and somehow, she kept the smile pinned to her face. “No, I don’t believe so. Why?”
“I am so forgetful,” Lady Grizelda said vaguely and entirely unhelpfully. “Goodbye, Mrs. Westley. Merry Christmas.”
