Swan glanced briefly at her. “You misunderstand, ma’am. I don’t think he’ll want to murder you. At least not right off. I think he may try to use you somehow.”
“Vastly reassuring,” Emma said dryly.
“Bloody hell, man.” Edison caught Swan by the collar of his ragged shirt. “Who is after Miss Greyson?”
“That’s ju-just it, sir,” Swan stuttered desperately. “I don’t rightly know who he is. I only know that Miranda was afraid of him and now she’s dead and I th-think he wants to get his hands on Miss Greyson.”
“Why?” Edison asked.
Swan looked as though he might faint. The panic in his eyes was too much for Emma. She touched the hand that Edison had clamped around the young man’s collar.
“Let him go, sir. Surely you can see that you are making him exceedingly anxious.”
“I do not care about the state of his damned nerves. I want answers.”
“Well, you will never get them this way.” Emma tightened her fingers around Edison’s arm. “For heaven’s sake, sir, you have him by the throat. I doubt, if he can even breathe, let alone talk to you in this state. Release him. Then he will speak with us. Won’t you, Swan?”
“Y-yes.” Swan did not take his frightened, wide-eyed gaze off Edison.
Edison hesitated. Then, with a disgusted twist of his mouth, he took his hand away from Swan’s collar. “Very well, you are free. Talk. And be bloody quick about it.”
Emma smiled reassuringly at Swan. “It will be easier if you start at the beginning. Tell us about Miranda.”
Swan blinked several times and then dragged his eyes away from Edison. He looked at Emma. “What is there to tell? I was foolish enough to think that she loved me. Me, her footman, no less.” He wiped his brow with the back of his big fist. “When I look back on the time with her now, it is as though I see myself in a terrible dream.”
“When did you first meet her?” Emma asked gently.
“At the beginning of the Season. When she arrived in town she had no staff of any sort. She hired an entire house full of servants from an agency. I was one of them.” Swan sighed. “I aspired only to work in the kitchens or gardens. I was astounded when she gave me a fine suit of livery and told me that I would be her personal footman.”
“How long did it take you to go from footman to lover?” Edison asked bluntly.
“Not long.” Swan looked down at the toes of his battered boots. “I think I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. She was so beautiful. I only wanted to serve her. When she invited me into her bed, I thought I was in heaven with an angel.”
“I would have said she had more in common with a witch,” Edison remarked.
Swan did not look up. “You have the right of it, sir. But I did not see that until much later. It took me a long time to realize that the only reason she favored me was because I amused her. Rather like a pet spaniel, if you see.”
“Oh, Swan,” Emma whispered.
He raised his eyes to meet hers. “She only wanted me in her bed when she was bored with her fine gentlemen lovers. I should have known better than to fall in love with a lady.”
“Oh, Swan,” Emma said again. “Those of us in service must be so cautious about that sort of thing.”
Edison gave her an irritated look and then turned on Swan. “Let us move on to more important matters than the state of your heart. How did you discover that Miranda was once an actress?”
Swan looked genuinely startled. “You know about her career on the stage?”
“A little,” Edison said. “Tell us what you know of it.”
“There is not much to tell,” Swan said. “I don’t think she intended anyone to know about it. But one night after she came home from a ball, she was in a strange mood. She had had a great deal of champagne. She talked a lot about what fools the members of the Polite World were. How easy it was to pull the wool over their stupid eyes.”
“Is that when she told you that she had once been an actress?” Emma asked.
“Not exactly.” Swan blushed. “First she wanted me to make love to her. Right there in her library. On top of her desk, if you can believe it.”
Emma stared at him. “On the desk?”
“The better sort get odd notions at times,” Swan explained.
“Yes, but a desk?”
“Once she insisted that we do it on the stairs,” Swan confided, turning a deeper shade of crimson.
“Good heavens.”
“It was bloody uncomfortable,” Swan admitted.
“I can imagine. All those hard steps. I mean, how could one possibly—”
“We seem to be straying from the topic,” Edison interrupted grimly. “What happened after the, uh, incident on the desk, Swan?”
“Like I said, she was in an odd mood that night. She wanted to talk to someone. She had her fine gentlemen lovers and all her fancy friends, you see, but I think she was lonely.”
“Lonely like a spider waiting for prey,” Edison muttered.
Emma gave him another quelling glance. “Go on, Swan.”
“She told me she’d once been a great actress. She talked a lot about how everyone loved her when she was on stage. She told me that there was nothing to compare to the feeling she got when the audience broke into a frenzy of applause. Then she unlocked a drawer in the desk and showed me a box full of old playbills and reviews.”
“Did she tell you how she made the transition from actress to lady of the ton?” Emma asked.
Swan hesitated, brow furrowing in thought. “It was all quite vague, really. But I got the impression that a wealthy gentleman fell in love with her and married her against his family’s wishes. They went to live in Scotland because his father cut him off without a penny. But later, after his parents died, he came into his inheritance.”
“That would be the late, unlamented Lord Ames?” Edison asked.
Swan nodded. “Yes. In any event, Miranda said something about him having died shortly after he collected his inheritance.”
“Convenient,” Edison observed. “And you’re right about the vague aspect of the tale. I have made some inquiries but I was unable to locate any family Connected to Miranda. There is a Lord Ames in Yorkshire but there is no relation.”
“Miranda told me that her husband had no other relatives,” Swan said.
Edison raised his brows. “So Miranda got the entire inheritance, is that it?”
“She said she used the money to return to England and take her place in the ton.” Swan looked at him. “That’s all I know about her past, I swear it. Except—”
“Except what?” Emma prodded.
Swan frowned. “I don’t think she inherited a vast fortune. Just enough to see her through one Season, in fact.”
“That would explain why I was unable to discover any information concerning her investments,” Edison muttered. “She didn’t have any.”
“What made you think she possessed sufficient funds for only one Season, Swan?” Emma asked.
“Because she was obsessed with some scheme to make more money,” Swan said. “She hinted that if it worked, she would never have to worry about her finances again. I don’t know the details of her plan, but I do know that it involved you, Miss Greyson.”
Edison looked thoughtful. “When did you conclude that Miss Greyson was necessary to Miranda’s scheme?”
“During the house party at Ware Castle,” Swan said. “Something happened there that convinced Miranda that she would soon be richer than Croesus. I don’t know what it was. I only know that she was convinced that she required Miss Greyson to make the plan work.”
Edison glanced at Emma and then returned his attention to Swan. “Did Miranda ever mention a special book or manuscript?”
Swan’s brow puckered again. “No. Miranda didn’t have much interest in books and the like.”
“What do you know about her special tea?” Emma asked quickly.
Swan moved one hand in a dismissive fashion. “Only that she was for
ever serving it to her new lady friends when she invited them to play cards. She claimed it was a fine tonic, but I don’t think she ever drank much of it herself, to tell you the truth.”
“Did she say where, she acquired the recipe?” Edison asked.
“No. Maybe it was something she learned when she lived in Scotland. I’ve heard that they eat and drink odd food there.”
“Do you think Miranda and her husband ever traveled to the Continent?” Edison asked.
“She said that they had never had the money to travel.” Swan frowned again. “But I did wonder once—”
“About what?” Emma asked in a coaxing tone.
“It’s nothing really. But one time, Miranda lost her temper with a maid who spilled some tea on one of her fancy lady friends. She cursed the girl in a language I’d never heard. Afterward the guest laughed and complimented her on what she called her excellent command of the Italian tongue.”
Emma saw a familiar gleam appear in Edison’s eyes. She knew what he was thinking, but she shook her head slightly, warning him to keep silent. She gave Swan another smile.
“Many people learn Italian as well as French and Greek,” she said.
“I doubt that many actresses learn all those languages,” Edison said. “Especially those who never made it out of a traveling company.”
Emma paid him no attention. “Swan, did you conclude that Miranda lived in Italy for a time simply because she happened to know a few Italian curse words?”
“When her guest teased her, Miranda said something about a childhood tutor. But the guest said no tutor would teach such gutter language. Miranda merely laughed and changed the subject. But I could see that the question had made her uneasy. I wondered about it at the time.” Swan paused. “But why would she have lied about whether or not she had ever traveled abroad?”
“Why, indeed?” Edison repeated softly. “Tell me, what were you looking for the night you searched my study?”
Swan blanched. Fresh panic flashed across his face. “You know about that? I swear I did not steal anything, sir. I only looked around a bit.”
“I know you did not take anything. What did you hope to find?”
“I don’t know. That was the problem, if you see what I mean.”
“A rather odd way to conduct a search,” Edison mused.
Swan licked his lips and gave Emma a pleading glance. Then he turned back to Edison. “I told you Miranda took odd notions from time to time. After we returned from Ware Castle she was obsessed with employing Miss Greyson in her scheme. I think she went so far as to try to force Miss Greyson into her service. But she said you stood in her way, sir. She wanted to learn more about you.”
“Did she murder Chilton Crane in an attempt to make Miss Greyson lose her position with Lady Mayfield?” Edison asked.
An unhappy, bewildered expression creased Swan’s features. “At the time, I told myself that my beautiful Miranda wouldn’t stoop to murder to further her plans. But now I’m not so certain. I do know that she was furious that night after you and Miss Greyson announced your engagement, sir. The next day she told me you had ruined everything, but she would not say how.”
“She was convinced the betrothal was a fraud,” Emma said. “So she sent you to search Mr. Stokes’s study to find some proof.”
Swan sighed heavily. “When I returned with no helpful information, she flew into a rage and told me I was useless to her. That was when she dismissed me.”
“Was it you who took a shot at me in the woods that day outside Ware Castle?” Edison asked very casually.
“Shot at you?” Swan was clearly shocked by the question. “No, sir, I swear, I never did such a thing, sir.”
Emma glanced quickly at Edison. He looked briefly meditative and then he inclined his head, apparently satisfied at some inner logic.
“It was most likely Miranda, then,” he said as though the incident in the woods amounted to nothing more than a brief, irritating encounter with a pesky insect. “A desperate effort to get rid of me before we all returned to Town.”
“She did know a thing or two about pistols,” Swan allowed. “She always carried one with her, although it did her little good in the end. I asked her once if she feared footpads or highwaymen. She told me that it was another sort of villain who worried her these days.”
“Did she describe this other sort of villain?” Edison asked.
Swan shook his head. “No. I don’t think she knew who he was. She merely hinted that someone might be after something she possessed. In the end, she was right to be afraid, wasn’t she? He murdered her.”
Edison looked dubious but he said nothing.
“It’s the truth, I swear it, sir. She never wanted to talk about it. And as much as I wanted to protect her, I could hardly force her to tell me, could I?” Swan swallowed heavily. “I was only her footman, after all.”
Edison watched him closely. “Why do you think this mysterious, unnamed villain may be after Miss Greyson now that Miranda is dead?”
Swan hesitated.
“Tell me,” Edison pressed.
“Well, sir, it’s just that after I heard about Miranda’s death, I got to thinking. The only thing she cared about was her secret scheme to make a fortune.”
“So?” Emma prompted.
It was Edison who answered. “Swan has leaped to the obvious conclusion, Emma. If Miranda needed you to make her scheme work, it stands to reason that whoever killed her for the secret might also need you.”
That bloody tea recipe, Emma thought. “I see.”
Swan gave her a wretched look. “I’m sorry, Miss Greyson.”
She put her hand on his sleeve. “You must not feel guilty about any of this, Mr. Swan. It’s not your fault.”
“I should have listened to the others,” he said wearily. “Everyone from the groom to the housekeeper gave me the same advice, but I paid no attention.”
“What advice was that?” Emma asked.
“They all warned me that there’s nothing more foolish or hopeless than falling in love with your employer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A short while later Emma stood in the shadows of a tree, folded her arms beneath her breasts, and watched Swan disappear down one of the wooded park paths. In a moment he was lost to sight.
“We were right. She must have been Farrell Blue’s mistress in Italy,” Edison said quietly. “She probably killed him after he succeeded in translating the recipe for the elixir.”
“As his mistress she had probably learned enough about Vanza to suspect that someone else would likely come looking for the volume.”
Edison nodded. “So she set the fire and tossed the book into the flames, hoping to cover her tracks. It all fits together.”
Emma listened to the leaves rustling in the branches above, very conscious of Edison beside her. He had one hand braced against the trunk of the tree near her head, the other was thrust under his coat, planted on his hip. He, too, watched the space where Swan had vanished, his expression deeply thoughtful.
She glanced at him. “It was very kind of you to send Swan to your estate in Yorkshire.”
“Kind?” Edison frowned. “There was nothing kind about it. Sending him away was the only practical thing to do.”
She hid a fleeting smile. “Yes, of course, sir. I should have realized instantly that when you told him to take himself off to your estate, you were just being practical, as usual. Sheltering a man who is wanted for the murder of one of the most popular figures in the ton is such an eminently commonsensical thing to do.”
He slanted her an irritated look. “Swan will be safe enough at Windermere until I sort things out here in Town. More important, he will be out of my way.”
“Meaning you will not have to worry about him while you go about your affairs.”
“I do not need any more distractions than I already have.” He tapped one finger against the tree trunk. “Matters are complicated enough as it is.”
“Ye
s, of course.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of complications—”
“What of them?”
She braced herself. “It has just occurred to me that I have become one.”
“What the devil do you mean by that?”
“You employed me to act as bait to hold Miranda’s attention while you searched for the missing book,” she said very steadily. “Now that she is dead, I no longer have a task to perform for you. I assume you will not be needing me any longer.”
“Damnation, Emma—”
“I quite understand, sir,” she assured him. “It’s just that our arrangement has obviously been terminated in an unexpected fashion.”
“I suppose murder could be classified as unexpected.”
“Which means, of course, that certain details not attended to in a timely manner have now become rather pressing.”
“Pressing?”
“You kept saying you would take care of it,” she said reproachfully. “But you never got around to it. And now our business together is finished and I really must insist that you fulfill your part of the bargain.”
He turned his head to look at her. There was an ominous light in his eyes. “If this is about your bloody reference—”
“You did promise to write one.”
“Contrary to your assumption, you have not completed the tasks I engaged you to fulfill.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He kept his hand on the tree trunk beside her head and leaned very close. “I still need you.”
His mouth was only an inch or two away from hers. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
“You do?”
“Yes, Miss Greyson, I most certainly do.”
He removed his hand from his hip and wrapped it around the nape of her neck. He moved so swiftly she did not realize his intention until she felt herself crowded back against the trunk of the tree. By then, it was much too late to protest, even had she wanted to do so. His mouth came down on hers, hard and fierce and urgent.
The explosion of sensation was as sharp and intense as it had been on the other occasions he had kissed her. So much for her theory that one grew accustomed to this sort of thing, Emma thought. She gave a soft little sigh and twined her arms around his neck.