“They did not leave by the drawing room door,” Mr Trent added, “thus rousing further suspicion.”
The madam stormed over to the heavy red curtains, whipped one aside and studied the door to the terrace. The rattle of the glass panes as she slammed the door shut conveyed her displeasure.
“We shall have to begin again.” Mrs Crandall came to stand in the middle of the room and flapped her hands with some impatience. “Hand your cards back to me.”
“This is our cue to leave.” Mr Cavanagh did not wait for a response. He threw his card onto the side table and made for the door while Mrs Crandall was busy berating another guest.
Mr Trent captured Verity’s hand. He did not place it in the crook of his arm but held it with a familiarity that grew with each passing hour. Twice he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb as he guided her out into the hall.
“Tell me we’re leaving now.” Mr Cavanagh glanced along the length of the crowded corridor towards the front door.
The house must surely lack bedchambers as men had taken to pressing their partners against the wall and devouring their mouths as if it were the only means of gaining air.
“Tired of the entertainment?” Mr Trent mocked.
“I have no desire to sample anything on offer here tonight.” Upon noticing the majordomo sneaking into another room on the right, Mr Cavanagh removed a key from the leather pouch tied around his waist. “I’ll give Woods the key to his mistress’ chamber and let someone else have the pleasure.”
“Woods distributed the cards.” Verity recalled the precise nature in which the man dealt from the pack. “He had the means of ensuring you received the victim card.”
Mr Cavanagh nodded. “Mrs Beckford is right. But Woods carries out orders, therefore we must assume he acted on behalf of Mrs Crandall.”
Verity wasn’t so sure. Mrs Crandall had appeared genuinely shocked to find the floor absent of a victim. “Unless Woods has another motive for issuing a warning.”
Mr Trent’s jaw firmed. “There’s only one way to find out.”
They entered the room to find Woods looming over the drinks tray. He swung round upon hearing the click of the door closing. Amber liquid sloshed about in the crystal tumbler as his hand shook.
“This room is closed to guests.” Woods shuffled on the spot, his nervous gaze flitting about like a caged bird looking to escape the menagerie. “Mistress’ orders.”
“We have no intention of remaining in here.” Mr Trent locked the door and raised his black mask. “But I have a few questions before I leave.”
“Questions?” The man’s protruding Adam’s apple bobbed. “You must take your grievances up with the mistress.”
“Why, when my grievance is with you?” Mr Trent prowled towards the trembling servant. “Foolishly, you gave me the victim card.” He held his muscular arms out wide. “Do I look like a victim to you?”
Woods shook his head.
“No.” Mr Trent’s voice turned sinister. “Devil? Yes. Murderer? Given enough provocation.” He came to a halt a mere foot away from the servant who struggled to see anything past Mr Trent’s broad shoulders. “I despise men who lack the courage to voice their complaint. I despise men who hide in the shadows and play devious games.”
Woods gulped and swallowed a mouthful of brandy. The spirit trickled down his chin, and he wiped the residue with the back of his hand. Earlier, the man had displayed the same arrogance as an aristocrat’s butler. Now, he cowered beneath the weight of his obvious guilt.
“My mistress asked me to hand out the cards. She took half the pack if you remember.”
“The half you gave her.” Mr Trent snatched the glass from the man’s hand and downed the contents. “The bottom half of the pile.” He reached around the servant, barging shoulders as he slammed the glass on the silver tray. “Who told you to give me that card?”
“No one.”
“Was it Mr Wincote or Mr Layton?” Verity said. Both men had acted strangely tonight. “Did one of them ask you to deliver specific cards?”
When the servant failed to answer, Mr Trent said, “What would your mistress say if she knew you’d deliberately ruined her game?” He gripped the servant by his waistcoat and dragged him forward until their noses touched. “Shall I send for her? Shall I tell her you now answer to Wincote and Layton?”
“No!” Woods knees buckled and his legs shook, but Mr Trent’s firm grip prevented him from crumpling to the floor. “I needed the money.”
Mr Cavanagh stepped forward. “Money for what? Debts?”
“To escape,” the man said in a hushed voice. “I cannot stand it a moment longer.” With that, he broke down and sobbed. “I never get a minute’s peace.”
Mr Trent released Woods’ waistcoat. “Mrs Crandall has a rather healthy appetite for lewd entertainment.”