Page 74 of Honor Unbound

“Do you know if any of Mrs. Trent’s garments have gone missing these past days?” Marie’s stomach twisted. Lady Mary should never have sent her on this errand. She was making a hash of it. How did one get information from a person without making them suspicious?

“No.” Edith blinked. “Why should they?We’recareful.”

Marie narrowed her eyes. There was no need for that tone. Not when she had just bought the other maid a week’s worth of sweets.

“Clothes will go missing eventually.” Marie took the bite out of her voice and tried to sound encouraging instead. “It’s bound to happen. Especially during a move. Are you sure there isn’t anything missing?”

Edith turned the remains of her tart in a circle with her fork. “I’m sure I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“What about ruined?” Subtlety wasn’t Marie’s strength, she realized. Directness was all she knew. “Has Mrs. Trent ruined any of her gowns in the past days? Stained, perhaps?”

“Is this about blood again? I told you I don’t have any special cleaning tricks for removing blood from garments.” Edith frowned. “What is happening at your house?”

The back of Marie’s neck went hot. “What? Nothing. I’m only trying to learn if Mrs. Trent has lost a gown or coat in the past days. Is that such an unusual question?”

By the look Edith gave her, Marie supposed it was. She leaned forward and planted her elbows on the table. “Mrs. Trent’s husband and another man associated with her have both been murdered. If she’s responsible, then anyone involved will be in trouble. If you or any of the other servants help cover up her crime, you could hang, as well.”

Edith’s face went white. “Hang? Why, I never…” She fumbled with her gloves and reticule, standing. “I haven’t done anything wrong, and how dare you suggest otherwise.” She stomped outof the bakery, leaving Marie to ponder the efficacy of directness over subtlety.

Marie counted out the coin for the bill and placed it on the table but didn’t yet leave. She still had half a cup of chocolate to drink. Besides, the alternative was going home to report on how little she’d learned.

The door opened and a tall, elegant man stepped inside. When he caught sight of her, his eyes lit up. “Miss Murphy. How enchanting to meet you here.” He strode to her table and sank down on the chair next to hers.

She should have left when she’d had the chance.

“Mr. Randall.” She shifted away from him. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, procuring my own cup of chocolate, of course.” He waved at the man behind the counter. “Two more chocolates, please.”

Marie held up her hand. “No, I don’t want—”

“George is being dreadfully dull.” Randall leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankle. He ran his finger down his slightly hooked nose. “He wants to help his sister with her move. An admirable impulse, I suppose, though his idea of helping is to yell at the servants to repack everything they’ve already packed and mind the corners as they carry the trunks out of the house. He’s got them so unnerved, they’ve already dropped two trunks and knocked over the hat rack.”

“That’s a brother for you.” Marie swallowed, the back of her throat burning. Her own brother had been much the same—always trying to help her but more often than not getting in her way. Now she could only long for his interference.

She never knew when a wave of grief would sneak up on her. It had been years since her brother’s death, but one hint of a memory could make her eyes overflow. Realizing her brother would never get to meet Brett was like a dagger to the heart. Shecleared her throat. Now was not the time. “How long have you and Mr. Platt been friends?”

“Ever since Eton.” Randall hooked his elbow over the back of his chair and turned his body toward Marie. “I was there for him when his elder sister went and died from consumption. He stuck with me when thepaterwent and lost all our money in reckless speculation. He’s a good chap.”

Platt did seem to be an attentive brother, a character trait Marie approved of. Though that could work against the man, as well, if he loved his sister so much he was willing to kill for her.

Randall leaned closer, giving Marie a whiff of his sandalwood cologne water. “And what about you, pet? Are you a good girl?”

His smile was much too knowing. His eyes too devious.

Marie scooted her chair away, the legs squealing as they scraped against the floor. “That I am.”

Randall tsked. “We could have a fine time together. I know the gatekeeper to Vauxhall Gardens. A midnight swim perhaps?” His gaze flicked to her bosom. “Or we could explore Astley’s Amphitheatre after closing with no one to bother us. I know ever so many night guards who will let us roam.”

She frowned. “If we went after it was closed, there wouldn’t be any performance for us to see.”

Randall ran his finger down her arm. “We would make our own performance.”

“You’re a bold one.” Marie jerked her arm away, wondering if he knew she was married if he would act the same. She pressed her lips together. “I suppose you think because I’m only a maid you can speak so freely to me?”

“I wouldn’t want to speak so to any gentlewoman.” He raised one shoulder. “They tend to be so dull. Not adventurous at all.”

Marie stood. “Nor am I. I’m quite dull. Tedious really.” And she was beginning to understand Mr. Randall was the type of man who abhorred the humdrum above all else. It would beexhausting trying to entertain him all the time. She pitied any woman who tried.