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Chapter Twenty-Four
“Where is she likely to be?” Chastity asked as she followed Charlotte up the servant’s staircase, toward the rear of the house.
“Mrs. Cooke will have her doing the ballroom floor today I think.” Charlotte paused, a hand to the wrought iron railing and grimaced. “I’ll be in trouble for not being here this morning.”
“Maybe I can smooth things over for you,” Chastity suggested.
“I keep forgetting you’re a real lady. Mrs. Cooke is going to die when she finds out.”
Chastity only hoped the woman did not hate her forever for her deception. Especially if she did end up in Valentine’s life for good.
“It won’t be long.” She jerked a thumb behind them. “Did you see Lane’s face? I do not think I have ever seen him so astonished.”
“Come on, we had better find Rose before she makes an escape.”
They hastened through the house toward the ballroom, cutting through the corridors and passing several servants. Some did not even seem to recognize her, but she supposed they would not be expecting to see a maid in an elegant gown anyway.
Tom emerged from the dining room and paused at the sight of them. “What’s the hurry?” he said to Charlotte. “Do not tell me Mrs. Cooke is in one of her bad...” His voice trailed off when he spied Chastity. “Here, what is going on? Chastity?”
“Not now, Tom,” Charlotte huffed. “We are off to catch a murderer!”
“Murderer?” Tom echoed as they hurried in the direction of the ballroom.
There would most definitely be some explaining to do after this. Tom did not have the quietest of mouths and could be counted upon to spread gossip within a moment’s notice.
Charlotte shoved open the heavy door to the ballroom and came to a standstill so sharply that Chastity slammed into the back of her. She took a few steps back and followed her gaze. On her hands and knees and humming a wistful tune, Rose scrubbed the parquet floor as though she had not just been crying over the murder of her lover.
“Good Lord,” Charlotte murmured. “She must be addled in the head.”
“Maybe,” Chastity murmured.
Grief could be odd, she knew that much. John never deserved her sorrow, yet she had cried over his foolish death. She could not imagine how she might feel had he died at her own hands.
“At least she has not run.”
Charlotte glanced back at her. “We should be careful.”
Chastity eyed the cloth and bucket. Rose had slender arms and a skinny frame. She hardly appeared threatening or likely to kill them with either the rag or the bucket, but her investigations had taught her to never make judgements. The only time she’d failed to stick by that rule had been with Valentine. He was not the rude, arrogant man she had thought him to be.
“Oh, there you are.” Rose eased to her feet, smoothed her hands down her apron, leaving damp streaks, and put her hands to her hips. “Mrs. Cooke was furious and threatening to dock your pay.”
Chastity stepped around Charlotte and motioned for her to take a step back. It was not as though she dealt with murderesses all the time, however, she’d certainly come across many a vengeful woman and hoped she could persuade Rose to talk.
Rose’s brows furrowed. “Chastity? Why are you dressed like that?” She blinked a few times. “How is your mother?”
Chastity shared a look with Charlotte. To imagine this woman as a murderer was a stretch indeed. She approached slowly, hands held out. “I want to speak with you about Julian.”
“Julian?” She scrunched the cloth up in a fist so tightly that her knuckles whitened. However, her expression remained serene. “What might I have to say about him?”
“Like perhaps about the fact you were lovers.”
“We were not lovers,” she said firmly. “Why would you even—?”
“And you murdered him!” added Charlotte.
Rose gasped. “I certainly did not.”
“He crossed you in love and you killed him for it.” Charlotte folded her arms. “I heard you crying over him, Rose.”
