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Mrs. Harkins was at the stove, which made sense, and whatever she was cooking smelled delicious. The rest of the staff had been sitting around the table, including, to his astonishment, Collins, though there was no sign of the boy, and they all leapt up as if he were the grim reaper himself.
“I see you decided to stay with us, Collins,” he said, his voice laconic. “Who untied you?”
“I did,” Mrs. Harkins announced, once meaty hand on her hip. “Everyone makes mistakes. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”
“Well, we certainly know I’m not without sin,” he said easily enough. “Any sign of the boy? Or Scotland Yard? Or my missing wife?”
“No, sir,” Collins said, the perfect manservant once more.
He made no comment. “Mrs. Harkins, I’m starving. Please send a massive breakfast for two up to my room in about an hour, and in the meantime I’ll take coffee and pastry in my library.”
“For two, sir?” Collins questioned.
“Don’t be disingenuous, Collins. Nothing happens in this household that you aren’t all aware of, and you know Miss Russell spent the night in my bed.”
Mrs. Harkins’s look of deep disapproval changed to confusion. “Miss Russell? Where is Mrs. Greaves?”
“Same person, I’m afraid. Our housekeeper hasn’t been completely honest with us. Which makes her fit right in with the rest of you.”
Mrs. Harkins cleared her throat with awful menace, but he wasn’t interested in placating anyone. “In the meantime, everyone keep away from the third floor,” he continued. “She needs her sleep.”
“My lord…” Mrs. Harkins began, and then she trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.
“Yes, Mrs. Harkins?” he said wearily.
“Would you be so good as to tell us what’s going on?”
Normally he would have put them in their place, but he’d never really been a man to stand upon ceremony, and he was the one who’d invaded their sanctuary. Besides, it would be easier to protect Bryony if they had an idea of the danger she was in.
“Miss Russell is the daughter of my business associate, Eustace Russell—” he began, but Mrs. Harkins interrupted him.
“That terrible man,” she said. “Do you know how many people lost their money when the banks failed…”
“I suspect Russell had nothing to do with it. Whoever was behind it murdered him, and seems to think his daughter should be his next victim. Right, Collins?”
Collins shifted his weight uneasily. “I was told to watch her, and send word when she was going out, nothing more. I didn’t figure it was my business, as long as he paid me enough money to send back home.”
“You have a wife and children back there, Collins?”
“No, my lord. I’ve never married.” The man couldn’t help but cast a longing look at Mrs. Harkins’s sturdy figure, and Kilmartyn could practically see her preen.
“Any more questions?” he said acidly. “Or may I retire to my library? And will my servants answer the bell when I summon them?”
“Yes, sir,” Bertie said nervously. “Begging your pardon, your lordship, but it wasn’t my idea to—”
“Bertie,” Collins said in a warning voice, and the young man flushed.
“Never mind, Bertie. Just behave from now on so I don’t have to turf you out. Miss Russell wouldn’t like it.” He gave Mrs. Harkins a speaking look. “Coffee and pastry. I’m…” He froze as he heard the heavy pounding on the front door, and sudden dread washed through him. He knew exactly who would make such an indelicate racket on his front door—he should stay where he was and force the men to use the servants’ entrance.
He sighed. “I believe that might be Scotland Yard again. Perhaps they have word of Lady Kilmartyn. Mrs. Harkins, I’m afraid I’m going to have to make do with a cup of your tea and a slice of your excellent bread. And let Miss Russell sleep another two hours. I expect I’ll be back by then.”
Bertie looked doubtful. “You want I should just ignore it, my lord?”
Kilmartyn gave him a faint smile. “Tempting as that thought is, I’m afraid the gentleman of the Yard are notoriously tenacious. They won’t go away, so I may as well face them. Take them to the library and tell them I’ll be right there.”
“My lord…” Mrs. Harkins paused, and then steeled herself. “Is her ladyship dead?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Harkins,” he said absently. “One can only hope.”
