Page 5 of Honor Unbound

“Why would the son of a casual acquaintance, a dead one at that, come to you as he’s dying?” Jane rubbed her swollen knuckles. “It makes no sense.”

No, it didn’t. Or at least it didn’t make any sense yet.

I scratched behind Southey’s ear. I could leave the matter up to this magistrate. Sir Kelsey wasn’t dull-witted. He had as good a chance as any to figure out the truth. And chances were he wouldn’t appreciate any outside assistance.

I stared out the window. My street never had much activity, but there were some early risers going about their day. Everyone who walked past stopped to stare at my front porch. It would take a bit of effort to scrub the blood from them, I supposed.

A man had been stabbed. A father. And as he’d bled to death, he’d felt impelled to stagger his way to my house, with a letter addressed to me.

Yes, I could leave the matter to the magistrate, but everyone needed a bit of help now and then, magistrates included. It would only be proper for me to pay a condolence call on Mr. Trent’s widow, especially as her husband had died at my door. There was nothing interfering about that.

And if she happened to tell me anything of import to discover who killed her husband, well, Sir Kelsey would have to welcome that.

Chapter Three

Brett

Brett Burton gazedaround Lady Mary’s kitchen, his chest tightening. All the servants and the mistress of the house were crammed within its four walls. Brett had been welcomed into the household as the new under-butler and had found his new coworkers a genial bunch. He hadn’t realized they were soft in the head, however.

“I know the butler for Lord Evans. He lives only a couple of houses down from that poor soul.” Mr. Stavers raised a cup of tea to his mouth, the hot liquid sloshing toward the rim as his hands shook from age. “I can ask him what he knows about the Trent household.”

The footmen arrayed behind him nodded.

“And I’m friends with the groom of the Winchesters who live next door to the Trents.” Ernest, Lady Mary’s driver, leaned past the redheaded maid to pluck an orange from a bowl of fruit. “I’ll have a chat with him.”

Brett cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but why are we asking questions of the Trent neighbors? And what sort of questions?”

Silence descended. A horse out on the street neighed.

Mr. Stavers cleared his throat. “Excuse him, milady. He is quite new.”

Brett had been in Lady Mary’s employ for only two weeks, but if he’d worked at that house for two years, he still would have found this conversation perplexing. When he’d applied forthe position, he’d been warned that Lady Mary was eccentric. A widow whose husband had been taken from her too early. Who’d lost a bit of her sense from sitting in her house all alone for so long. After he’d met her, he thought the rumors unfounded. Perhaps he’d been wrong.

The redheaded maid, Miss Murphy, caught her toe on the bench leg and stumbled. She frowned as she ran her palms over her wide hips. “I don’t think ’is time in service makes much difference. It should be obvious to anyone what we’re doing.” She scowled at him before reaching into the fruit bowl and picking an apple. “We want to find out why the dead man wanted Lady Mary.”

He eyed the maid more closely. She was a lovely creature, all curves and creamy skin. For some reason, she’d seemed to take an immediate dislike to him, however. “Won’t the magistrate tell us that?”

“You trust Bow Street to give us answers?” She rolled her eyes as she dug her teeth into the apple. “And people think I’m the bumpkin,” she muttered around her bite.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, dear.” Lady Mary slowly pushed up from the kitchen table. Despite her white hair, his employer had always struck Brett as robust. Finding a body on her doorstep seemed to have drained a bit of her vigor.

Southey jumped from his position at her feet and shook, his bell ringing.

“I welcome any information you can gather,” Lady Mary said, “but if you are inspired to do it out of concern that I’m somehow implicated in that man’s murder, you don’t have to worry. The magistrate assured me I wasn’t a suspect.”

Her lady’s maid, Jane, smothered a chuckle that turned into a hacking cough. She was almost as old as Stavers, and Brett admired Lady Mary’s loyalty in retaining her servants so long.

Lady Mary shot her maid a look from the corner of her eye as she walked to the counter. She poked among the detritus of the meal the cook was preparing. “Now I know this has been an upsetting morning, but I think it best we all go about our day as usual. I, for one, have some correspondence to attend to. Thank you all for your assistance this morning.” She picked a discarded bone with bits of meat clinging to it and tossed it into the corner of the kitchen. Southey darted after it. “That might give me an hour of peace,” she muttered as she swept from the room.

Jane rose slowly and tottered after her mistress. “You underestimate how fast that dog can chew a bone clean.” Her voice trailed off down the hallway.

Miss Murphy shot him another glare, then hurried after them. When she passed in front of Brett the scent of apples and rose water followed in her wake.

The other servants began filtering out. Stavers seemed content to remain sitting and resting his bones. As he had no pressing duties, Brett decided to follow the women who held the most promise of diversion. He’d never worked for a house where a murder had occurred.

“…never makemecoffee. And I pay you.” Lady Mary’s voice was cantankerous as it drifted through the open door of her library.

“You don’t pay me to make your coffee, only to bring it to you.” Jane huffed. “And unlike some, he’s up early, working hard.”