An Invitation To Murder Read online

  “Then something must connect them. Perhaps you’ll need to do more investigating before you determine what.”

  Although Katherine knew Harriet’s advice was sound, she preferred to have a theory from which to work, to either prove or disprove. She remembered something Lyle had told her about a theory he’d come up with for repetition killings, or as he’d called them, “serial killings”? “What if he didn’t have enough time with Miss Smythe?” Katherine wondered aloud.

  Harriet raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps he ought not to have killed her.”

  “No, I meant he didn’t have enough time when killing Miss Smythe.”

  “She is quite dead, so I would argue that he had enough time.”

  Katherine glared. “Will you listen for long enough for me to explain?”

  With a motion of her hand, Harriet indicated for her to continue.

  “What if Lord Mowbry intended to kill Miss Smythe for whatever slight she did him, but he planned it out to satisfy his vengeance? Who knew they were engaged—it is but a rumor that hasn’t been confirmed. Perhaps he started it himself to cast aspersions elsewhere.”

  She paused, but her maid didn’t contradict her. “If he wanted a certain satisfaction out of it, something might have gone amiss in the execution. It didn’t satisfy him as it should. Perhaps, for that reason, he sought out Miss Rosehill and repeated the murder, hoping for a more gratifying end. She looks enough like Miss Smythe that in the dim light of a garden he could have made believe they were the same.”

  For a moment, Harriet pursed her lips. Katherine forgot to stroke Emma and, as a result, had her hand thoroughly washed clean. She scarcely noticed aside from the wet, smooth feel of her pet’s tongue.

  After a moment, Harriet asked, “Do you believe his urge to be satisfied now?”

  “Considering that he was lurking in the garden again, I would say not. I’m no expert on it, though.”

  “Nor I,” Harriet mused. “But Lyle might know better. If you think you can survive without me for one day, I’ll depart this evening for London.”

  “Bless you.” Katherine got to her feet and wiped her hand on her skirt. “You can take the carriage. I won’t need it. I’m certain I’ll be able to manage dressing and tidying up without you tomorrow.”

  Harriet smirked. “We’ll discover if you are, won’t we? Write a letter to your friend while I straighten Annie for the night, and I’ll deliver it the moment I reach London.”

  Katherine set about her task with renewed energy.

  “Are you ready to go down?”

  Annie beamed, for once seeming delighted at the notion. “I am. Shall we?”

  Katherine narrowed her eyes as her detective instincts buzzed like the insects Annie so admired. “What’s brought about this change? Earlier, you wanted to shut yourself away for the remainder of the party. Harriet can’t have worked magic.”

  With a broad smile, Annie spread her primrose skirts. “I do look fetching, don’t I? Harriet said the color shows off my complexion to my advantage.”

  Katherine crossed her arms. “You didn’t answer me.”

  Annie stepped forward to tug on Katherine’s arm. “I atoned for my past social sins, that’s all. Now I’ll be able to start anew.”

  “Your past social sins?” Her stomach transformed to stone as she spoke the words. “You mean falling into Lord Northbrook today?”

  “And spilling tea, and having him escort me to my room last night,”—she pinned Katherine beneath an accusing stare—“even if that was no fault of mine.”

  Emma nearly squeezed out of the room before Katherine shut the door. Her dog whined and scratched, asking to come with them. But if she came down to dinner, she would steal scraps off everyone’s plates. “How, precisely, did you atone?”

  The force of Annie’s smile nearly set Katherine back a pace. “I gave him the violet-banded elephant moth, of course.”

  “You did what?”

  She must have handed it off to a servant to give to the lord of the house. Oh dear. This might be worse than Katherine had feared.

  Annie nodded. “I snuck up to his room while you were getting ready. I left the jar with the moth and a note, apologizing and directing him on the care of the insect.”

  Katherine pressed a hand to her chest. Was this what it felt like to have palpitations? “You went up to his room?”

  “He wasn’t there. The men retired to the study for whiskey and cards after lawn bowling. I believe they’re still there.” She frowned. “Though they should return to their rooms soon to ready themselves for supper.”

  Katherine might still have time. “Go down to the sitting room without me.”

  Annie blinked, her eyes round and bewildered. “Why?”

  “Men don’t appreciate moths, Annie. I’m going to get it back. He cannot know you sent it.”

  The poor woman looked close to tears, but Katherine didn’t have time to soothe her, because Lord Northbrook could return to his chambers at any minute. She squeezed Annie’s shoulders. “This will all work out to rights, I promise you.” Katherine didn’t know how she would keep that promise if Northbrook found the moth.

  Her heart trumpeted in her ears as she slipped down the corridor to find the servants’ stair. As a guest, she couldn’t be seen sneaking up the main staircase into the family’s personal living quarters. The rapid beat of her heart made it nearly impossible to hear whether someone approached before she stepped into the staircase.

  She was in luck. The narrow wooden stairs, encased on either side by walls without a single nook or sconce for a lamp, remained empty. Gathering her skirts above her ankles, she stepped lightly and paused near the top to listen further. No sound. However, she didn’t want Northbrook to happen upon her in his room, so she had to hurry.

  The moment she stepped onto the landing, a young woman entered by way of the main stairs. Each froze, startled to find the other. Katherine squared her shoulders and crossed to Miss Young.

  What did the debutante think to accomplish up here? Her matchmaker would never approve. Mrs. Fairchild arranged matches based on strict adherence to the unspoken rules of society. The barest whisper of scandal caused her to withdraw her support, or so Katherine had heard. If not up here at her matchmaker’s behest, perhaps hoping to trap Lord Northbrook into marriage, it was unclear why Miss Young would venture above.

  They met mere steps away from the main staircase. The demure attitude Miss Young had shown thus far was gone. In its place, she glared daggers at being caught.

  Katherine raised her chin and folded her hands in front of her, every inch an earl’s daughter. “I’m afraid you’re lost, Miss Young.”

  “It looks as though you are, as well.”

  “I am not a well-bred young debutante hoping to make a scandal-free marriage.”

  The other woman’s pale eyebrows knit together in outrage. “Then why are you on this floor, Lady Katherine? Do you hope to entice Lady Northbrook into accepting Miss Pickering as her daughter-in-law? I doubt there’s an incentive strong enough to sway her. She is very exacting on the sort of lady she accepts into her family, as well she should be.”

  Katherine didn’t have time to play this sort of game. “Leave, Miss Young,” she commanded. “If you do, I promise I’ll keep this little meeting of ours a secret.”

  Miss Young narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you should be begging me to keep your secret. You shouldn’t be here, either.”

  However ambitious, the debutante didn’t seem to hold much in the way of intelligence, after all. Katherine raised her eyebrows. “In order to expose my presence, you’d have to reveal yours as well. I assure you, my reputation would not be irreparably harmed in the way yours would. My connections run deeper, and the fact of the matter is that I do not aspire to marry anyone at this house party. You do. I will say this only one more time. Leave.” Katherine recalled Lord Mowbry, a shadow lurking in the garden. Miss Young was blond and thin, similar to the other Pink-Ribbon Killer’s vict
ims.

  If Katherine’s theory of the killer wanting to repeat his murder of Miss Smythe over and over again was true, Miss Young could be in grave danger. Katherine added, “In fact, you ought to depart this estate altogether. Trust me, it isn’t safe for you here.”

  Miss Young’s eyes flickered with fear. Her lips parted, and she took a step back.

  Katherine pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not—” threatening you.

  It was too late. Miss Young dashed down the staircase without a care to who saw or heard her. Katherine didn’t have time to run after her.

  She had only been trying to warn her.

  Perhaps this is for the best. After all, if Miss Young was so frightened of her, then she would depart the estate. Lord Mowbry—or whoever the killer was—wouldn’t have another blond debutante to strangle.

  She had no time to stand there worrying about it. Turning on her heel, she searched until she found the room belonging to Lord Northbrook, though she wasn’t quite certain it was his, being that it was currently occupied by a different debutante.

  Does he invite them all to his chambers?

  Miss Burwick, her mouth pursed and her dark hair coming free of its pins to coil over one shoulder, rooted through Northbrook’s writing desk. Whatever she hoped to find, it was certainly not the brown-and-purple moth in its jar, because she didn’t so much as glance toward that. She sucked in her cheeks as she held one of his letters up to the light of a candle resting on the desk.

  It was clear that the remainder of the room—bed, wardrobe, nightstand, trunk, bookshelf—had been submitted to her methodical search, as well. One of the first games Katherine’s father had taught her, from the time she was a toddler, was to memorize the layout of a room in a glance and return a single item he set amiss to its original location.

  Miss Burwick had clearly never been given the benefit of such training, because Katherine highly doubted that Lord Northbrook was such a complete and utter slob. If he were, his staff would see to tidying up for him. The bed was rumpled, the pillows left in a heap where someone had pulled them off to check beneath them. The drawers to the wardrobe were pulled open, the contents mussed, and some of them strewn on a nearby armchair facing the cold hearth.

  When Katherine cleared her throat, Miss Burwick turned a ghostly shade of white. It seemed she’d been too engrossed in her search to listen for another’s approach. She whirled, the fallen locks of her hair whipping through the air. As her mouth thinned, it seemed to exaggerate the sharpness of her nose and chin.

  The moment she registered that the intruder was Katherine and not the owner of the room, her dark eyebrows lowered over her eyes in hostility.

  “Why are you here?” they both asked at once.

  The set of Miss Burwick’s mouth sank into a deeper frown as the color returned to her cheeks. Katherine drew herself up, thinking to handle the young debutante the same way as she had Miss Young, even if she suspected that Miss Burwick was a great deal more intelligent than the bacon-brained Miss Young.

  Footsteps in the corridor cut the interrogation short. Miss Burwick stood paralyzed with fear. Katherine’s expression likely mirrored the other woman’s, and her heart skipped a beat.

  One blink of the eye later, they both leapt into action. Miss Burwick stuffed the correspondence back into Northbrook’s desk and lunged to do the same with his unmentionables.

  Katherine snatched the note Annie had left and crumpled it in her fist as she searched for a hiding place. Under the bed wouldn’t do, because her hips were too wide to fit. The curtains framing the window didn’t quite reach the floor, and the wardrobe was much too small to conceal her height. That left only the gaping arch to the dressing room.

  Katherine and Miss Burwick charged for that sanctuary at the same time. The debutante squeezed in a second before Katherine, using her bony figure to her advantage. Katherine glared as she crushed herself in next to her. In order to avoid being seen through the empty arch, they both had to squash into the corner.

  “Find somewhere else,” Miss Burwick snapped, her voice little more than a hiss. “I was here first.”

  “Hush, or we’ll be found!”

  Now that Katherine was close to her, she estimated she might be only a year or two older, meaning that the woman was nearing the dreaded spinster age. Perhaps that was why her mother seemed so desperate to marry her off. Katherine would have pitied her, had it not been that Miss Burwick had an agenda of her own.

  She ignored the woman’s scowl as she strained her ears for the sounds of someone’s approach. If Northbrook entered with his valet and hoped to make use of the dressing room…

  Well, Mrs. Burwick would have her wish when her daughter was then married to an earl, but what would come of Katherine?

  “Lawks!”

  Katherine had forgotten about the moth until Northbrook’s vehement exclamation. She cringed and held her breath. No shatter of glass hailed that he’d thrown the jar out the window, which would have been her first priority upon finding such a gift. Instead, he started to mutter in Latin, if she wasn’t mistaken. English curses seemingly weren’t potent enough. From the sounds of things, the moth had sent him running from the room.

  As his voice and footsteps faded, she released her breath. Her heart thudded painfully. She shifted to put herself between Miss Burwick and the door. “Now, Miss Burwi—or do you prefer ’Prudence’?”

  The light from the main room didn’t quite reach far enough to illuminate the shorter woman’s face. “Pru.” She spoke the word with as little grace as if Katherine had to pull it from her mouth.

  “Very well. Pru. I retrieved my reason for venturing here.” She held up the note, which the woman had undoubtedly read, given the eagerness with which she had searched through Northbrook’s correspondence. “Why, pray tell, are you here?”

  “The same reason as you. My mother sent Lord Northbrook an embarrassing… letter.”

  Although Katherine’s shadow obscured the other woman’s expression, her instincts clamored for attention. Lie. If she’d found the letter, why hadn’t she taken it? Why search his desk last? No, she must have been here for a different reason. Katherine’s detective instincts stirred to life, demanding that she discover what that reason was.

  Pru snapped, “Are you waiting until we’re caught here? I intend to go down to supper before the gathering notices my absence.”

  Tarnation! Katherine didn’t have time to question her here. Nevertheless, she refused to let the matter lie. She would find a spare moment with Pru Burwick.

  As she turned to retrieve the deuced moth from the desk, she found it missing. Lord Northbrook must have taken it, most likely to throw it away.

  But no problem, she had the note. The paper crinkled as she clenched her fists. Even if Northbrook was upset over the mysterious gift, so long as Annie didn’t volunteer that she had put it there, it shouldn’t reflect poorly on her. Although why Katherine cared, she had no idea.

  When she’d first accepted the matchmaking job, it was only to get an invite, but she had to admit that Annie had grown on her. She doubted the awkward girl was going to land Northbrook, but she hated to think that the girl’s chances at another husband might be ruined because of her odd interest in insects.

  She didn’t have much time at all to escape the confines of the family quarters. She and Pru parted ways quickly and quietly in the corridor, Pru to descend the main staircase, whereas Katherine chose the servants’ stair once more.

  It ended in the corner of the guest wing, on the men’s side. After peeking down the corridor to make certain that she was alone, Katherine strode with purpose toward the wide staircase in the center of the wing. She passed the chambers of the bachelors in attendance and had nearly entered the span of hallway containing the married couples’ rooms when a door clicked open behind her. She turned in time to see a man backing out.

  Mr. Greaves.

  She’d already passed the end of the bachelor section, and the first
room afterwards belonged to Lady Reardon and her husband, but since Lord Reardon couldn’t make it… what business could Mr. Greaves have in there?

  Katherine fought the beginnings of a blush, for all the good it did her. She tried not to show her discomfort at her flaming cheeks.

  She knew why a man would emerge from a married lady’s room. To think, only yesterday Lady Reardon had viciously declaimed the Duke of Somerset for his bedroom activities, when it seemed she engaged in that sort of thing as well. This hypocrisy was precisely the reason Katherine preferred not to associate with polite society.

  Greaves turned away from the door and toward the stairway. Apparently, Katherine’s presence startled him, because he jumped, nearly knocking over the marble bust of Caesar that stood between them. “Lady Katherine.” Greaves steadied the bust.

  She dipped her knees as he gave her a shallow bow. “Mr. Greaves.”

  He cleared his throat. “Err… umm… I was just checking on something,” he muttered.

  “Indeed.” Katherine skirted around him, relieved to see Harriet approach from the staircase with Emma on a leash.

  “I thought you’d left,” Katherine told her friend as Greaves skulked off down the hall.

  “Emma needed one more walk before I do. It turned out to be a lucky thing, wouldn’t you say?” Harriet slid her eyes in the direction from which Mr. Greaves had just departed. “Would you like me to escort you downstairs?”

  Among other things, Harriet never ceased to worry. She was probably concerned that Greaves might be the killer and strangle her right there on the stairs.

  “Thank you, but I’ll meet with no danger on the stairs.”

  Although Harriet didn’t look convinced, she didn’t argue. With a frown, she warned, “Promise me you’ll stay with Annie while I’m away. Or have you forgotten that there is a murderer yet to be apprehended?”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be careful,” Katherine promised.

  It was the best she could manage. After all, in order to catch the Pink-Ribbon Killer, she might need to take a risk. For the time being, she assured herself she was safe.