A young maid entered the room with tea and a tray laden with sticky, tempting baklava. Mary had at least one servant looking after her then, but the quietness of the large building was unsettling. At home, one could always hear the footsteps of servants or the jingle of the housekeeper’s chatelaine.
Clem willed away another grumble of her stomach and waited for Mary to pour the tea and set the pastry upon a delicate plate. The older woman watched Clem take a bite, eyes glinting. The desire to close her eyes and savor the sweet flakiness was only outweighed by the need to groan. She opted for a groan and Mary nodded approvingly.
“The best in the country. My cook isGreek,” she announced, as though it was some great secret.
“It is delicious, Mary,” Clem said after finishing a mouthful and somehow not taking another bite. Darn her weakness for pastries. She’d already eaten two rounds of shortbread today and was trying so hard to be good.
“I have been informed that you may be of help to me by Mrs. Sarah Knighton.”
Clem shifted in her seat. Her aunt Sarah apparently involved herself quite a bit in the investigations of Clem’s cousins so it made sense that Mary and Sarah had communicated about the investigative society. However, Clem was not certain what aid she could really offer. “I shall certainly do what I can…”
“I saw my husband.”
Clem stilled, the remaining pastry halfway to her mouth. Perhaps her cousin Chastity was playing a trick on her, though she could not fathom why. There was no ill will between their families—they just rarely saw each other as the Musgraves could never set foot in London again. She swallowed, placed the baklava down upon the plate, and set it slowly on the table between the chairs. She managed only one mournful glance.
“You saw your husband?” Clem repeated.
Mary nodded vigorously.
“Your husband who is...uh...excuse me...dead?”
She nodded again.
Well, no wonder she’d been tasked with speaking to Mary. Her cousins likely thought this an utter waste of time though Chastity had emphasized their philosophy was to always help women, no matter the problem. Too many women were dismissed as mad or silly or foolish. Mary was eccentric, and Clem had plenty of experience with eccentric given her parents’ inclinations, but she never thought of Mary as mad or silly.
Drawing in a breath, Clem leaned forward and set her elbows to her knees. “Where did you see him and when?”
“In my bedroom, two weeks ago.”
“Do you think you were perhaps, um, dreaming?”
Mary fixed her with a cool look. “My dreams are rarely that dull, my dear. Why should I dream of my dead husband sneaking into my room?”
“Could it have been a servant?”
“No.” Mary released a lengthy sigh, drained her tea, then balanced the cup on her lap. “I am absolutely certain it was him.”
“You think perhaps he is not really dead?”
Mary lifted her shoulders. “My Albert was a good man and a good husband. Even a good father to those spoiled children of his. When he went missing at sea, I grieved most heartily. I cannot think that he would deliberately put me through such pain but what if…what if he did fall overboard and survived? What if he does not know who he is? I have heard such tales before.”
Clem had also heard such tales, and they usually came from people trying to trick others or weave some fanciful tale. She couldn’t fathom why Mary’s late husband would partake in any sort of trickery.
“What exactly happened?”
“I only woke because Snowy decided to take up all of the bed.” Mary set her cup aside, lifted the white dog and pressed a firm kiss to the dog’s head, then put it on her lap. “It had to have been Albert or else the dogs would have surely alerted me to some stranger in my bedroom.”
Clem regretted not bringing a notepad. Investigators took notes, did they not? It was curious indeed that the dogs did not bark. Her arrival at the house was greeted by quite the cacophony. A man in their owner’s room would certainly alert them all.
“What was he doing in your bedroom, exactly?” Clem asked.
“He seemed to be lingering around my dressing table, but he left as soon as I called his name. He flew straight out of my bedroom door. By the time I had climbed out of bed, he had vanished.” Mary drew an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it under each eye. “No one believes me, Clementine, but I know what I saw. It was my husband, and he must be in grave, grave trouble.”
Clem eyed the woman for several moments. Many would put this all down to Mary’s age or the woman simply being half-asleep at the time. It would be easy to dismiss the woman’s words. But her cousin’s plea skipped through her mind.
The Duchess’s Investigative Society is all about women helping women, most especially when no one else will listen.
“I believe you, Mary,” Clem said sincerely. “And we shall get to the bottom of this, no matter what.”