Miss Vernon snorted. “Well, I’m of the ton. You’re here by half. Wasn’t your father a butcher before he assumed the title?”
“Yes, but that’s beside the point.” The redhead glared at her friend. “It wasn’t his fault he had a living before his connection as a distant cousin came to light and he was handed the title.” She tossed her head. “But look at him now. Father is well respected in society, and I have all the pretty things I’ve ever wanted. You can’t have that on a butcher’s living.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Miss Vernon responded with a frown.
William exchanged a glance with Francesca. This silly gossip was rapidly trying his patience.
Miss Vernon continued. “Miss Anderson wasn’t exactly of the ton either, but her father has loads of coin, so she was a catch. So I guess it doesn’t matter where one’s roots are.”
Ah, had there been someone present last night who considered the dead woman a threat? While he thought of more questions, the two ladies prattled on about which shops they intended to visit once they left the crime scene and what useless fripperies they planned to buy, what color of embroidery thread they needed. The noise annoyed William, for he had a job to do.
He cleared his throat. “Ladies, if we could return to the task at hand?” When they both looked at him with varying expressions of confusion and boredom, he continued. “Did either Lord Wainwright or Lord Coxhill seem overly enamored or even possessive of Miss Anderson? Did either of them escort her from the immediate area at any time last night?”
Miss Newton shrugged. “I couldn’t say, for my attention was otherwise engaged.”
“By a certain randy baron,” Miss Vernon said with a giggle. “Mine was too, but with the refreshments table,” Miss Vernon agreed with a bob of her head. “Once snubbed by the two men, we flirted with others. There is simply no time to dangle after a lord who is so fickle.”
He didn’t want to pry any further into the machinations of a young woman’s mind.
“Oh, but later that evening, I did see her talking to Lord Wainwright in the hall,” the redhead added.
“About?”
“I would have no idea, but they seemed quite chummy.”
William frowned. “How so?”
Miss Newton rolled her eyes heavenward. “You know how men are.” When he merely lifted an eyebrow, she sighed. “He leaned a forearm on the wall near her head and stood scandalously close to her, while she tittered and laughed overly much at something he said.” Again, she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, he’s not that witty to warrant such a reaction.”
“Ah, I see.” So there was some jealousy at play, then. Interesting. When he glanced at Francesca, she’d narrowed her eyes but said nothing. How did hearing about her suitor’s antics at an event where she was not make her feel? He’d be sure to ask once away from the crime scene. Perhaps it would give him leverage with his own suit. “Ladies, you’ve been quite helpful, but I do have one last question. Do either of you know a Miss Rutledge?”
The blonde frowned and slowly shook her head. “Not personally. I’ve heard of her though.”
Miss Newton sucked in a breath as her eyes widened. “Is she the other dead woman? The one the papers spoke about the other day?”
Hellfire and damnation.How had the press gotten wind of the murder? This was why he’d wanted to give an exclusive to Francesca so he could control what was written. At least a leak wouldn’t happen again. More’s the pity there were gawkers at the scene, now. “Perhaps.” His chest tightened with annoyance. These women were nothing except emptied-headed vessels in search of their next entertainment. Did they even care that one of their contemporaries was dead, lying on the road discarded like so much rubbish? “We’re not certain at this point, and it’s irresponsible to make wild conclusions.” A muscle ticced in his clenched jaw.
Francesca came forward a step and gently moved him out of the way. “This must be a difficult time for you both,” she said and gave the women a speaking glance that immediately put shame into their expressions. How could she so easily manage people when she’d previously put out an attitude of a wallflower? “Did you see Miss Rutledge at any time last week while in social settings? Or do you know of anyone who spent time with her?”
The ladies exchanged a look. Miss Newton nodded. “She danced with both lords, at least from what I could see, and she favored Lord Wainwright.” The woman shrugged. “He’ll either be the catch of the Season or someone to avoid. Time will tell.”
Miss Vernon nodded. “I heard from one of my other friends that he’d planned to take her driving earlier this week.” She sucked in a breath. “Do you think it was him who murdered her?” Her eyes rounded. “He’s not that sort. Now Lord Coxhill, he’s more passionate and he has a bit of a temper when he can’t have exactly what he wants.”
“That’s true,” Miss Newton said with a nod. “I wonder where he’ll be tonight?”
Oh, dear Lord.Things were rapidly growing out of hand, though that bit of gossip about Lord Coxhill would need to be investigated further. In fact, they both would be. When he glanced at the redhead, a muscle at the corner of her left eye twitched. From the cold, the subject matter, or something else? Perhaps it wasn’t related, and he was merely letting his annoyance take root. “I thank you both for your time, and I’ll ask that you not talk about what you’ve seen this morning. Discretion is needed for the lady’s family and their privacy.”
“Of course, Inspector Storme,” Miss Newton murmured, with one last look toward the body.
Miss Vernon nodded. “We won’t say a word.”
Somehow, he doubted that. How soon would it be before they talked, and the gossip and speculation spread like wildfire through the ton? It was incidents like this that made his tasks more difficult. “If either of you think of something else that might prove relevant, please drop in at Whitehall and ask for me.” After delving into a greatcoat pocket, he procured calling cards and gave one to each of them. “You’re free to go.” Then he put the silly women from his mind.
As they left the area, Francesca turned to him. She stuffed the notebook, pencil, and his handkerchief into her reticule, and for the first time he noticed the sky-blue dress she wore and the dark navy cloak over it. The hue enhanced the color of her eyes, and slightly lifted the pall a murder scene gave him. Really, she made quite a fetching picture, and was a good lot more pleasant than the two women he’d just dismissed.
“I thought your questions were on point.” Admiration pooled in her eyes. “Seeing what you do has given me a whole new appreciation of crime and the solving of it in London.”
The unexpected praise caught him by surprise. “It’s not for the faint of heart.” His breath clouded about his head. “Let’s say our goodbyes and then return you home.” There was much to think about, thanks to the answers the ladies had given.