Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

THE NORWALKS

S he threw open her bedroom door. A lamp on the table near the window cast a warm glow on the other side of the room where Rose sat alone, knitting a blue jacket for a church foundling.

Rose stuffed her needles and the garment into a canvas bag at her side and got to her feet. "Mi lady!" she exclaimed, coming toward her. "I was gettin' that worried for you. Your father expected you hours ago," she said. She wrung her hands in front of her gray dress with white cuffs and collar.

"I've been here all even' waitin'," Rose said.

"Thank you, Rose! There were extenuating circumstances for my delayed appearance," Gwinnie said carefully.

"Your father has been askin' after you every thirty minutes." Rose took the black-and-yellow blanket from around her shoulder, frowning at it. She folded it up and laid it on the settee.

Gwinnie winced. "I understand. But he never told me he was expecting company tonight or that I was expected to join him."

Rose nodded. "I know, mi lady, but he's been in a rare takin'. What kept you so long? We expected you by five o'clock!" Rose said.

Gwinnie drew her brows close together and squeezed her eyes tight. She'd kept her control all evening—now a sudden onrush of tears threatened to fall. "Mrs. Southerland," she began in a cracked voice.

She couldn't hold the tears back any longer. They streamed down her cheeks. She looked up, valiantly sniffing against the emotions that held her, that had her face contorting. She closed her eyes as sadness swamped her.

"What do you mean? Why are you crying?" Rose demanded anxiously. She pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and stepped forward to place it in Gwinnie's hand. She rubbed Gwinnie's back as one would rub the back of an inconsolable child. The irony was not lost on Gwinnie. She needed to explain.

"She's dead!" Gwinnie whispered. She collapsed onto her dressing table chair, then leaned her elbow on the dressing table and covered her eyes as she wept.

"What? No! Oh! Mi lady!" Rose exclaimed. Abandoning maid-to-employer decorum, Rose clasped her in an embrace, her head against Gwinnie's.

Gwinnie allowed herself to accept her maid's comfort. She raised her hand and placed it atop Rose's shoulder.

"Thank you," Gwinnie murmured, as she strove to pull herself together. This wasn't like her. She was stronger than this. She would be stronger. The last time she had bowed to sorrow had been when her mother died, long ago now. She lifted her head up, straightening her spine. She looked in her mirror at Rose behind her.

"She was murdered this evening as she returned home from an errand. And the worst of it?" She laughed harshly. "I don't know if the intended victim was to be her or me."

"What?"

"She said she had to go out for a quick errand and asked Mr. Martin and me to stay until her return. And she asked to borrow my half-cape, as it was downstairs. You know, the gray embroidered one with the hood, and tassel off the back of the hood? The cape that only fell a little past my waist?"

Rose compressed her lips. "Yes. I know it well. It is a favorite of your Sarah Knolls person." She rummaged on the dressing table, then lifted a bottle and held it up before Gwinnie.

Gwinnie nodded. Lavender water. Rose waved it before her. Gwinnie let the delicate, calming scent engulf her.

When her tears ceased, Gwinnie wiped her eyes and nose with her handkerchief. She worked on leveling her breathing. "I said yes, of course, when she asked to borrow it. While short on me, I knew it would be long on her and keep her warm. While she was gone, Mr. Martin and I sat in the parlor discussing random topics. He is an easy man to talk to; however, sometimes I still find it difficult to think of what to say to him." She frowned. "He is very erudite."

"Erudite?" Rose repeated, a curious look on her face.

A slightly watery laugh escaped Gwinnie. "I'm sorry, excuse me. I find him highly knowledgeable and well-read. Most odd, I would think, for a Bow Street Runner, not that I have met many runners," she admitted.

Rose laughed, "I would think that would make it easier for you to hold him in conversation." Rose went to the wardrobe to find a dress for Gwinnie to wear downstairs.

"Yes, so would I. I don't know how to be around Mr. Martin. I believe I am a bit in awe of him," Gwinnie said ruefully.

"Awe?" Rose asked, looking back over her shoulder at Gwinnie.

Gwinnie cocked her head as she considered the word. "He has a beautiful mind, and I think I am too prejudiced to appreciate him."

Rose laughed again as she pulled the dress out. "I think the duke would consider this one of life's lessons, I certainly do."

"To be sure! But as a result, I don't know how to be around him." She relaxed in the chair.

"Well, he is not here now; howsomever, your cousin and her husband and his mother are below. Are you feeling better now? You should make your curtsy."

"Yes, you are correct," Gwinnie said.

She looked at the dress Rose had picked for her. A pale-green, figured satin. Simple yet elegant. Gwinnie approved and allowed her maid to help her into it.

"Thank you, Rose," she said when she was dressed. "Wish me luck getting out of Father's displeasure."

"The news you bear will stop the scold, mi lady."

Gwinnie nodded. "I hope so." Then she frowned. "No, that is a selfish thing to say!" She draped a pastel-yellow and peach sheer shawl loosely about her shoulders. "I would wish Mr. Martin to swiftly capture Mrs. Southerland's murderer so we might put her to rest, as she deserves."

"Yes, Lady Gwinnie. That is to be wished," Rose said, bowing her head.

Gwinnie nodded and headed down the stairs.

She tentatively opened the parlor door. Inside, she saw her cousin Helena and her husband Adam, the Earl of Norwalk, sitting next to each other on the sofa. Adam's mother, Lady Norwalk, a woman near her father's age, sat on a winged chair near the fireplace, and her father in the flanking chair. The group appeared to be having an easy discourse.

Gwinnie quietly let herself into the room; however, her stealthy approach did not hide her from her father.

"Gwinnie! Where have you been? I expected you back here more than two hours ago," her father said, setting his drink down on the table next to him and rising to his feet. Adam turned his head to look in her direction, then rose to his feet as well.

"I beg pardon, Father. There was an unfortunate incident at Mrs. Southerland's this evening."

"So unfortunate that you are several hours late in returning home?"

Gwinnie took a deep breath. She looked at her father, her gaze steady as she wondered what was going on behind his dark, unfathomable gaze. "Yes, I am afraid so."

She steeled herself, but he surprised her.

He stared at her for another moment, then nodded. He sat down again. " Hmph . Come, take a seat. Have you eaten?"

"No, Father," she admitted, as she took another of the chairs drawn up near the sofa.

"You've been crying," Helena observed, as Gwinnie walked further into the light.

She nodded. "Before I came down to join you," she said, determined to keep any more tears at bay.

The duke rang for one of the maids. When one appeared, he asked that food be brought for Gwinnie.

Gwinnie started to protest, but the look on her father's face stopped her.

"I invited your newlywed cousin, Helena, and her new spouse, the Earl of Norwalk, along with his mother to dinner tonight. I realize I did not give you any advanced notice; however, I assumed Mr. Martin would bring you home in plenty of time. That did not happen. Now," he said, leaning back in his chair, "what has happened?" he asked, his voice kind now that he, too, could see evidence of her past tears.

Gwinnie clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. She rocked back and took a deep inhale. She turned to her father. "Mrs. Southerland was murdered this evening," she said baldly.

"Murdered?" her father repeated, his bushy, dark brows pulling together. He leaned forward in his chair.

The Norwalks looked between each other, then intently at Gwinnie.

Gwinnie compressed her lips and nodded. Again, taking a deep breath before speaking, she paused. "She had gone out on an errand and was returning home when someone attacked her from the back—" Gwinnie raised her hand toward her neck, "and slit her throat!" she said, her voice wobbling as she mimicked the motion across her own throat. She held tight against the tears.

The Dowager Countess gasped and instinctively raised a hand to her neck.

"Any idea why?" her father asked.

"No." Now that she got the worst out, she slumped in her chair. "And there is worse," she said slowly. "… She was wearing my short cape when she was attacked," she finished with a clipped voice.

The duke shook his head. "That should not be a concern for you. She was much shorter than you. No one could mistake you two," her father assured her.

"But what if an assassin was only given a description of the cloak? It is very distinctive," Gwinnie said, sitting forward in her chair.

The duke considered her statement for a moment, his expression darkening. "You make a point worth considering," he granted, nodding toward her. "However, I can't imagine anyone describing you without mentioning your height. No, I believe the killer murdered whom they intended. The question is why."

"Mr. Martin told me this case falls under the jurisdiction of the coroner's office, that he cannot be involved in the investigation."

The duke sniffed, drawing his brows together again. "True. I take it you do not trust the coroner's office to do a creditable job for the investigation?"

"No, I don't. Mr. Reginald Gedney will be in charge of the investigation, and the sense I received from Mr. Martin is he does not trust Gedney to do a good job."

"I have some knowledge of the man and would agree," her father reluctantly said.

"You could hire Bow Street to investigate under a separate contract," Gwinnie suggested slowly, her eyes bright though she tried to temper her excitement.

Her father looked at her, a half-smile pulling at his lips. "And I take it that is what you wish me to do?"

"Yes, please. I know the Earl of Soothcoor would hire him; however, the earl is at Appleton and word would not get to him and back before tomorrow evening. Bow Street needs to be engaged for the inquiry before the inquest on Monday at The Thirsty Pig."

"The Thirsty Pig? Why there?" the Dowager Countess asked with a laugh.

"It was the closest place with a room of a size for an inquest. I did not want the inquest to be in Mrs. Southerland's house. It would be too unsettling for the women living there. It is not uncommon for inquests to be held at pubs and inns."

"And who is this Mr. Martin?" the Dowager Countess asked. "It sounds like you know him quite well."

"Is he a suitor?" Helena asked brightly.

Gwinnie laughed lightly. "Not hardly," she denied, but with a slight pang in her chest, she refused to acknowledge.

"Mr. Lewis Martin is a Bow Street agent who is a friend of my brother Aiden. He has helped us on a few occasions in the past year," the duke explained.

"And he is one of the guards you have set on me," Gwinnie said, disgruntled, folding her arms over her chest. "He and Mr. Hargate."

"Why have you seen the need to set a guard for Lady Guinevere?" the Earl of Norwalk asked.

"Please call me Gwinnie, as the rest of the family does," Gwinnie said to him.

"I'll answer for Gwinnie," Lady Helena said, as she looked affectionately at Gwinnie. "Because my dear cousin has never believed she needs looking after."

The duke held up his hands. "One subject at a time. We will start with the death?—"

"Murder," interjected Gwinnie.

"Murder," her father said slowly, "of Mrs. Southerland."

"Should you like us to leave?" the Dowager Countess asked. "We can finish our discussion at a later time."

The duke turned to her. "No, please stay, and you will see why in a moment." He turned back to his daughter. "I have some knowledge of Mr. Gedney, and I, too, would not trust the man. Unfortunately, Dr. Brogan inherited him when he took over as coroner, and as he is considered a senior investigator, he cannot get rid of him unless he does something egregiously wrong. I agree Mr. Martin should investigate."

Gwinnie jumped up a little in her seat, her eyes brightening. "Then you will authorize him?"

"Yes." The duke nodded.

Gwinnie jumped a little again and clapped.

"— In the morning," her father temporized.

Gwinnie slumped in her chair. "Morning? But he should be authorized now before Mr. Gedney makes a mess of everything and…and…I don't know, terrorizes the women there."

"Didn't you say Mr. Martin was there when Mrs. Southerland was found?"

"Yes."

"Then he will be invited to the inquest. Two reasons. First, as an onsite witness, and second, in his role of protecting the facility. I trust Mr. Martin to play those cards appropriately," the duke said.

"But—"

"Inquests are generally held late in the morning or early in the afternoon. I'll send a note to Mr. Martin to come here and talk to us," the duke said, pointing first to Gwinnie and then to himself, "tomorrow morning so we may strategize an investigation before the inquest."

"You'll include me?"

The duke frowned. "Yes, of course. You were as much of a witness as Mr. Martin, maybe more so, but we can't have you get directly involved. We must use Mr. Martin as the intermediary."

"Why can't I be directly involved? If it is about the disguise I use as Sarah Knolls, I've been thinking about that. I'm willing to let that go to discover the murderer."

"Well, I'm not," countered her father, "and that brings me to the second subject that involves you and why I wished you here this evening," he said repressively, "and for the conversation I wish to have with the Dowager Countess of Norwalk and of course her son and wife."

"What is that, Your Grace?" the Dowager Countess asked. She was a regal-appearing woman, but without the haughtiness usually associated with a regal appearance.

"Arthur, please," the duke said, smiling at her. "I believe if we are all going to be working together, I'd rather it be on a first-name basis than with any infernal formality," he said gruffly.

The countess lifted one well-formed, dark eyebrow. She turned her head slightly, then nodded. "All right, Arthur, and I am Charlotte."

Gwinnie had only briefly met the Dowager Countess of Norwalk and her son, the Earl of Norwalk, her cousin's husband, during the Ellinbourne wedding in Surrey last month. There had been so many people about, and during the social events, her quartet provided the music, so she hadn't had the opportunity to socialize. Not that she wanted to socialize, for it always brought well-meaning observations that she should be married next. And sly questions as to any suitor waiting to ask for her hand.

The duke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together save for his pointers which he kept straight, touching at their tips like a church steeple.

"Charlotte and I have been in communication for several months now, as we share an interest in technology. I am fascinated in how things work and what benefits they can bring to our nation and our lives. She has a financial interest in inventions. She wants to determine if they are worth investment and promotion."

Lady Norwalk nodded. She tilted her head slightly to listen closely, for the duke was not talking particularly loudly.

"I have shared information with her, and she has shared information with me. We see the potential for working together, and with her Gentleman's Trade Club— which, by the way, I believe is a clever use of our well-educated second, third, and fourth sons, rather than them becoming wastrels."

"And I hope in the future, our daughters as well," the Dowager Countess said.

The duke looked toward her and nodded. Then he turned back to them to continue. "You recall the Luddite riots."

There were murmurs of yes and nodding heads in the room. He nodded as well.

"They were only the beginning. The forerunners of dissatisfaction and fear with inventions and new technology. And who can blame them?" he asked, spreading his arms wide. "Unscrupulous industrialists are looking for ways to speed production and decrease expense, and they see the only expeditious way to cut expense is to cut their skilled craft workers and offer machine employees half their skilled workers' wages." He shook his head. "As much as I love inventions, it tears at me to see a gleeful waste of talent and resources. Unfortunately, people like me are seen as at the forefront of destroying lives."

"No," protested Gwinnie.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid it is all too true, and it is why I receive threats against my life for what I do."

"Threats, Your Grace?" the Earl of Norwalk asked. He frowned and slowly turned his head to look at his mother. She sat stoically listening.

"Yes, threats, very pointed threats. But lately, the threats have taken a particularly nasty turn. The missives I have received have suggested retribution toward my family is not out of the realm of possibility. In fact, Gwinnie was mentioned as a target, as she is the only one in town with me at the moment, and that they should know this is worrisome."

"Me? Why should they threaten me? What have I got to do with industrialization?"

"You don't, not in any active way. However, you do in the manner of being my daughter. That is the nature of the threats received and that I have shared with Mr. Martin and Mr. Hargate."

He looked at the Dowager Countess. "I am concerned, Charlotte, that you will also receive such threats."

The Dowager Countess compressed her lips, silent for a moment. "I already have," she finally admitted.

"Mother!" exclaimed the earl.

The duke grimaced. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything other than have the same interests as I."

"Have they threatened any others in your family? Your son, your daughter-in-law? Her expectant child?"

She shook her head. "Not really, not in specific terms."

"But in pointed inference," the duke said.

She shrugged. "I suppose you could call it that." Her lips and eyes tightened.

"Mother! Why didn't you tell me?" objected the Earl of Norwalk. "You can't go around hiding things like this from me. I am not my father!" he finished, practically yelling.

She closed her eyes, a crease appearing between her brows. "It all seemed so farcical."

"Your Grace, what do you suggest I do to protect my family?" the earl asked.

"At this time, all I can tell you is to remain vigilant. As I must divert Mr. Martin to investigate Mrs. Southerland's death, or Gwinnie will give me no rest."

Gwinnie winced. What her father said was true.

"Mr. Hargate will continue his investigation. As a solicitor, sometimes these rebels will talk to a solicitor. I will also ask him and Mr. Martin if they know of anyone we might bring into our circle for protection."

The duke straightened in his chair. "At this point, I'd rather keep it quiet. It has occurred to me that this could all just be threats as well, threats without teeth, as they say. Or maybe a competitor is striving to drive me away from something I am considering, so he might get to it first."

He spread out his hands to shrug. "Frankly, I don't know. There may be more to it than I can ever imagine. What I do know is I do not wish to be chased away, but neither will I endanger my daughter nor any of my family."

Gwinnie stood, her mind in a whirl. "I'm sorry to leave you all now, but I desperately need to think. The murder, the threats…this has been a great deal to take in. If you'll excuse me?" she asked, knowing she was rudely running away. So many emotions swirled inside her, trying to overwhelm her. She refused to let that happen.

"Of course, my dear," said the Dowager Countess.

"Take care of yourself," her cousin Helena said to her.

"I will. That is why I need to leave. So much happening…"

"I will send that note to Mr. Martin tonight and see you in the morning," her father promised.

"Thank you." She curtsied to them and left the parlor.

Gwinnie touched her hand to her head and closed her eyes for a moment before going down the stairs to the music room. She grabbed a candle from the entrance hall and went into the dark room. She spent so much time in this room, she knew its layout without the need for the candlelight; however, she took it to light a branch of candles set on a sideboard along the wall. She walked toward the little stage in the center of the room where her quartet practiced. They'd be practicing again soon, with the season approaching.

She'd left her violin in here the other day, something she seldom did. She took her violin out of its case and ran her hands over the smooth surface. She removed the bow from the case lid and set the instrument's base under her chin. She tightened her bowstring, then drew the bow across one string and then another, to check for its sound, making minor adjustments to the pegs as she did so.

She knew she was being rude not to visit with her cousin and her new husband. Helena had always considered herself a misfit, as Gwinnie did. At least she had been able to find her ‘fit.'

Gwinnie let her thoughts go. She took a deep, cleansing breath and began playing, letting the music fill her, overflow, and then cradle her… It calmed her body. She played mindlessly at first, bits and riffs from one composer to another, then found herself playing Bach. Mrs. Southerland always liked Bach.

Feeling the music, Gwinnie smiled as she allowed one lone tear to roll down her cheek. She played on.