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“Great-Aunt Griselda does love to gossip.”
“Are we to expect a proposal after your tryst?” asked Beatrice with a mischievous smile.
“Certainly not. It’s not that I want time alone with him, it’s...” What explanation could she give? “Oh, never mind.”
“You don’t need to justify it—I completely understand. It’s our secret.” Beatrice hopped off of the swing. “I’m off to mislead Mama. I’ll be over to fetch you in a little less than an hour.”
“Thank you.”
“Here.” Beatrice tucked the red rose behind Mina’s ear. “For luck.”
A red rose like the one Rafe had given her, the color of her silk gown. A symbol of her dreams and her destiny.
Beatrice went back to her house and Mina slipped around the back of the other house. She’d like to interview Crankshaw—the man had to knowsomething—and then she’d do another search of the premises.
Crankshaw answered Mina’s knocking. “Madam,” he bowed.
Mina entered the house. “Crankshaw, my name is MissWilhelmina Penny and I want to offer you some explanation for my presence here last evening.”
“Were you here last evening? I didn’t see you here, madam.” He winked at her.
“You can drop the act, Crankshaw.”
“What act? I am the soul of discretion.”
“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” she asked.
“Of course, MissPenny. This way, please.” He led her into a small parlor.
She closed the door. “Lord Rafe may be in some difficulties, Crankshaw. I’m a... friend and I hope to be able to aid him. His Grace and I will be searching these apartments for information today.”
“How might I assist?”
“Can you recall anything out of the ordinary happening in the past weeks? Any departure from routine or unexpected visitors?”
“Madam, Lord Rafe has many unexpected, unannounced visitors of the female variety, and this house is filled with extraordinary objects, the sight of which would make any respectable person blush. For example, there is a lacquered cabinet filled with the strangest assortment of, er, implements, collected from around the globe. And there is the—”
“I’m not interested in Lord Rafe’s customary oddities, Crankshaw.” She knew from previous experience that the servant would divulge every thought in his cluttered mind if left unchecked. “I’m asking you to recall anything different from the routine, from his habits.”
Crankshaw stared at the ceiling for several moments. “No, MissPenny. I can recall nothing except the habitual depravities. Which I never speak of for fear of offending the sensibilities of my audience.”
“Then perhaps you would be so kind as to interview the rest of the servants. Someone might have seen or heard something. Ask them about any remnants of papers in the fireplaces, something Lord Rafe might have burned, any snippets of words or any behavior that struck them as more strange than usual.”
“Does His Grace know about your assistance in this matter?”
“He does.”
“Then it will be my great honor to assist. You shall have your report by this afternoon.”
“You may give the report to the duke.”
“Very good, MissPenny.”
“Now I should like to search Lord Rafe’s study again.”
“Of course.”
He must have a hiding place—all spies did—and it wouldn’t be as easy to find as a false bottom to a desk or a loose floorboard.
