A Brazen Curiosity by Lynn Messina

Author:Lynn Messina [Messina, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781942218210
Publisher: Potatoworks Press
Published: 2018-08-05T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

To say that Beatrice would rather it have been the maid or valet wasn’t entirely accurate, but some part of her wished she was scrambling at that very moment to make convincing excuses to a servant rather than flinching under the duke’s withering amusement.

“Ah, Miss Hyde-Clare, as enthusiastic as ever, I see,” he said wryly. “I trust you are uncovering an incredibly vital piece of information under Mr. Skeffington’s bed.”

Knowing the mockery was well-deserved, Bea patted the letter from Mr. Wilson, which was tucked into her pocket, and reminded herself that she wasn’t wholly without her competencies. “I am uncovering incredibly vital information, yes,” she said, ignoring the hand he offered to help her to her feet. Instead she gave him the candlestick, which he returned to the bedside table.

Almost immediately after, however, he picked the implement up again, carried it over to the window, where the light was better, and examined it with intense concentration. He held it up to his nose for an even closer inspection, and Bea, who had initially found this behavior strange, grasped what he was doing.

Hoping to strike a note of being only a little bit smug, she said, “Incredibly vital information such as the whereabouts of your candlestick, which disappeared from the library the other night.”

“What?” he asked, raising his head to stare at her. “No.”

’Twas an even more unconvincing lie than whatever nonsensical story Bea would have told to the maid or valet. “Tell me, your grace, how can you be sure?”

He considered her for a moment, several seconds of extended silence during which he debated the relative merits of holding to his fiction, a consideration that amused Bea in its futility, for she would not be pawned off. He must have realized this as well, for he decided to answer her simple question with a treatise on the candlestick’s style, weight, material, design and authorship. He spoke for so many uninteresting minutes on the particular nicks and imperfections he’d noted during his limited use of the implement, she’d almost missed it when he mentioned blood on the fluting.

She stiffened in surprise and tried to grab the candlestick to get a better look, but Kesgrave held firm.

“Here, you see,” he said, bending his head close to hers as he pointed to one area in particular, “the smudge. If I had to guess, I would say the blood transferred itself from the murderer’s hand to the candlestick.”

He was right, of course. Just above the petal motif on the flared base was a dark red mark that, in the circumstance, could only be blood.

The finding would indicate that Mr. Skeffington was indeed their killer.

Bea held the thought for a moment to see how satisfying it felt to have discovered the conclusive piece of evidence sitting on the bedside table in clear sight. After a moment, she shook her head and murmured, “No, not at all.”

Kesgrave lifted his eyes, curious and blue, and Bea was suddenly aware of how very close they were too each other.

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