Chapter 86
Recognizing that Camille had no intention of saying anything more on the topic, Lydia offered a few words of sympathy, while Richard followed with several polite remarks of his own. The visit continued pleasantly enough afterward and Camille gradually relaxed in their presence.
When they finally rose to leave, Lydia thanked her for the warm welcome and insisted that Camille keep the basket.
"We shall have to visit again," she said. "It is a pleasure to know you at last."
Camille beamed. "I would be pleased to spend more time with you."
She watched from the doorway as the Suttons walked down the street together before closing it behind them.
Neither she nor Oliver knew that their visitors had not come merely to welcome a new neighbour.
---
The Suttons did not return directly home.
By the time they entered their own house, Sebastian Reaver was waiting in their kitchen.
He pushed himself to his feet from the chair beside the table as they entered, his attention shifting from Lydia to Richard. Neither of them appeared particularly surprised to find him there.
"Well then," he prompted. "What do you have for me?"
There was no need for a lengthy recounting of the visit. He wanted only the details that mattered.
After realizing that keeping watch on Camille’s house from a distance would reveal very little, he had decided to enlist the Suttons instead. Convincing them had proved surprisingly easy.
Lydia supplied the information in a few brief sentences, recounting what Camille had revealed about her former home, her husband, and her eldest son. Most importantly, she told him about the man who was footing the bill for everything.
Sebastian compared this to his original speculations.
He suspected for some time that John Ravenshire’s interest in that house was not accidental. After hearing what Camille had revealed, that suspicion hardened into something more concrete.
The unnamed gentleman Camille mentioned was obviously John. There was no doubt about it.
Sebastian had little difficulty believing it. What troubled him was the reason.
From Cassandra’s accounts of her former fiancé, John was not a man who gave freely without expecting something in return. Whatever money he spent on Camille and her family had to serve some purpose. Yet if Camille was nothing more than his mistress, why go so far as to support an entire household?
Why pay for her sick husband’s treatment? Why provide a home for Camille and her son? What could he possibly gain from taking such an interest in them?
One question only led to another, and none of the answers were forthcoming.
Camille’s husband.
Until now, Sebastian had barely considered the man. His attention had been fixed upon Camille because of John’s repeated visits. But her husband might be more important than Sebastian had first assumed.
Who was he? And what, precisely, where could John be hiding him?
Sebastian’s thoughts moved quickly through the possibilities but the circumstances no longer seemed quite so simple.
"You have both done well." Sebastian said placidly. "Keep things as they are. Continue to be friendly neighbours, but do not give her any reason to suspect that your interest extends beyond an ordinary desire to become more acquainted. I may have more questions later."
Richard and Lydia nodded in unison, showing they understood.
Sebastian reached into his coat and produced a small pouch. He placed it in Richard’s hand.
"For your cooperation."
Richard looked down at the pouch before accepting it with a grateful nod.
Sebastian collected his hat from the table and settled it upon his head. He bade them farewell before stepping through the door and making his way toward the carriage waiting farther along the street.
He had come looking for information that tied back to Mr Ravenshire. Somehow Sebastian suspected this husband was a clue of sorts, a part of something much larger.
***
The middle-aged woman sitting opposite Cassandra had the type of poise that was difficult to lean.
She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, dark brown hair neatly arranged, her back straight without being rigid, and her gaze lowered in the deferential manner expected of a servant speaking to someone of higher station.
Yet there was nothing timid about her. Cassandra had been watching her closely for the better part of an hour, and not once had Ruth Collins fidgeted beneath her scrutiny or offered up a hasty response.
That alone had pleased Cassandra. The woman might prove very useful.
The room was quiet save for the faint ticking of the clock upon the mantel. A thin shaft of sunlight fell across the carpet, catching dust motes in its path.
She was told enough about Ruth to know that she was experienced in household service. Adrian had seen to that. What Cassandra needed to determine for herself was whether the woman possessed the other qualities the position required.
Discretion and a sharp mind.
A maid who stood out too much would be useless. One who frightened easily would be worse.
Cassandra needed someone observant and discreet, someone who could notice small details without drawing attention to herself and knew when to act.
"You understand that this would not be an ordinary position?"
"Yes, my lady. I’m aware." She responded coolly even though Cassandra hadn’t told her all that the job entailed. But she doubted that it would be much different from the other jobs she did for her former employer.
Cassandra assessed her more closely before continuing.
"You would be expected to perform your duties as any other maid would. You would clean, attend to the household and obey the instructions of your employers. Nothing about your conduct must give them reason to suspect you." She said.
"I want information about my family," Cassandra continued. "My father in particular, though I want you to keep an eye on my mother and brother as well. Pay attention to who visits, any correspondence that comes and goes, conversations you happen to overhear, and anything else that strikes you as unusual. If your duties ever give you a legitimate reason to enter my father’s study, take careful note of what you see."
If her father had the gall to do something as distasteful as drugging her and attempting to marry her off, Cassandra suspected he was capable of far more nefarious deeds. Men like her father always had dark secrets they wished to keep buried, secrets they would go to great lengths to protect and, if necessary, destroy anyone who came too close to uncovering them.
Those secrets also made such men vulnerable. A well-kept secret, once discovered, could become a powerful weapon in the right hands.
So what was Nathaniel Ashford’s most fiercely guarded secret?