“Why don’t you turn him in?”
She raised her chin. “Because I firmly believe I don’t have to. God will see to my husband. Eventually Calvin will be caught, if he doesn’t mend his ways.”
“And Madame Devereaux?” I whispered.
Hope turned away from me, showing me her straight, inflexible back. “She knew. Of course she knew, the busybody.” She spun back around. Her color had returned, showing an angry, mottled red. “She was a medium, in touch with the spirits. Ha! She was a gossip and the worst kind of meddler. She knew just how many drinks to ply her victims with before she wheedled them with questions. She found out what she needed to know about Calvin up in Providence, and then she came to me with her demands.”
“Money for silence,” I said.
She nodded.
Very low, I asked her, “And did you decide to silence her in another way?”
Her chuckles took me by surprise. “In addition to being impertinent, Miss Cross, you are also highly amusing. Murder Madame Devereaux . . . for Calvin’s sake?”
“For your own sake.”
“Didn’t I just say I’ll leave Calvin’s fate to God? I’ll neither turn him in nor protect him.”
“You’ll profit if he profits,” I pointed out, “but if he falls, you’ll fall with him. Who would put any stock in a temperance leader whose own husband is in the illegal liquor trade?”
Once again, she laughed. “You underestimate me, Miss Cross. As for profits, I have what I need in this life. Greed is not one of my vices.”
Her sensible, sturdy clothing and few adornments lent credence to the claim.
“And should Calvin be arrested for his crimes, I shall be among the first to condemn his activities—not him, mind you, but the turpitude brought on by the demon spirits soaking his mind and his soul.” She took several strides toward me, rousing the fearsome image of an avenging, hammer-wielding Hope Stanford. “Why on earth would I commit murder, Miss Cross, when I have the power of righteousness on my side?”
She didn’t linger long enough for me to answer, but circled me and disappeared into the hallway. My senses were left buzzing, my thoughts in disarray. Yet, as when I questioned her husband and Winty, I found myself believing her.
I, too, turned toward the door; after all, it wouldn’t do to be caught here by Lady Amelia, and I could rely on Brady’s charms for only so long. As I passed the dressing table, however, I stopped, my attention caught by a gilt and ivory box sitting beneath the mirror. What kind of jewels would Lady Amelia have tucked inside? Were they real or paste? I was no longer sure why it mattered, yet, with a quick glance into the hallway, I opened the box and glanced inside.
And gasped at what I saw nestled among necklaces and brooches, bracelets and earrings.
I arrived back in the morning room breathless, my heart threatening to pound its way out of my chest. But the sight of one empty chair stopped me cold. “Where is Lady Amelia?”
Brady and Aunt Alva looked up from their breakfast plates without concern.
“Out walking,” Aunt Alva said.
“Where?”
Brady pointed in the general direction of outdoors. “The gardens, she said. I offered to go with her, but . . .” A corner of his mouth pulled.
“Amelia enjoys a solitary walk in the morning,” Aunt Alva supplied. “She’s done so every day since she’s been here. There’s no harm in it.” Her gaze narrowed on me. “Did you find anything interesting upstairs?”
She referred to my fictional errand in Consuelo’s room. With some measure of truth I shook my head. “Nothing new, but don’t worry. I’ll talk to Jesse today.” I turned to Brady. “We need to be going.”
“Oh, but Brady and I were just becoming reacquainted. He’s told me all about that wretched business with your Uncle Cornelius, and I told Brady he can very well come and work for me instead. I could use a good administrator for my estates here and in New York.”
“That’s very nice, Aunt Alva, but we really have to be going. And . . . and I’d like to say good-bye to Lady Amelia before we do. Wouldn’t you like that, Brady? To bid Lady Amelia a good day?” I shot him a pointed glare.
Shrugging and tossing down his napkin, Brady came to his feet. “I suppose. Aunt Alva, thank you for breakfast.” He leaned down to give her a kiss.
“Well, if you do see Amelia, tell her I’ll be in my office until noon,” Aunt Alva called after us.
“What was that all about?” Brady demanded as soon as we’d stepped onto the veranda and the French doors closed behind us.