The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

“And that’s it? You never saw them together? Mr Watson didn’t admit to their adultery?”

“Heavens, no. But I believe he took pleasure from controlling her, that he had something to do with Cassandra’s illness. Her condition improved when she returned from their sessions at Morton Manor, but often deteriorated in the days after.” He paused. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.” She moved to the chair near the desk, removed the letters from the book and handed them to him. “These letters bear no signature. How do we know Mr Watson sent them?”

Christian gripped the letters and resisted the urge to crumple them in his fist. “You think my wife had another lover?” By God, when it came to Cassandra anything was possible.

“Perhaps.”

He waved the letters at her. “What? Are you saying I should read them? The woman took me for a fool. Why open old wounds? The best place for them is the fire.”

“No.” Rose snatched them from his grasp. “You must see the logic in what I say.”

“Of course I see the damn logic.” His wife’s depravity knew no bounds. Nothing surprised him anymore. “Not only do I suspect Cassandra was a serial adulterer, but I suspect her lover killed her that night.”

Rose gasped and took an unsteady step back. “You don’t believe her death was an accident?”

“You’ll probably think me a fool, but I saw someone in the woods when I dragged her from the fire. I believe the same person had something to do with Miss Stoneway’s death.”

“Miss Stoneway?” Rose shook her head. “But you said her death had something to do with her mental condition.”

“Then tell me what you make of this.” He strode over to the bookcase, removed the green book with the hollow interior he’d made to hide the key to Cassandra’s medicine chest. Now another key lay hidden in its place. He took it and opened the top drawer of his desk.

Rose stepped closer.

“I found this a few feet from Miss Stoneway’s body.” He removed a brass button and placed it on the desk. “I prised this from my wife’s hand on the night she died.” He put an identical button beside the first one.

Rose stared at them for a moment. “May I examine them?”

“Be my guest.”

She placed the letters on the desk, picked up one button with her forefinger and thumb and held it beneath the candlelight. “Gentlemen often seek specific designs for the buttons on their coat or waistcoat. This is no exception. It has the same intricate detail one would expect from a commissioned piece.”

A delicate leaf pattern decorated the entire surface, except for a small circle on the left which resembled the sun. Acorns and flowers covered the outer rim. “I’m sure you’ll agree, it is a rather unique design,” Christian said.

“Undoubtedly.” Rose placed it down carefully and picked up the other button. “It’s identical in every way. Have you shown them to anyone else?”

“No.” Until Rose wandered into his life, the only person he trusted was Mrs Hibbet. “I spoke to Dr Taylor on the night of the fire, mentioned that I thought I saw a figure in the woods near the cottage. But he’s of the opinion the trauma may have led to some confusion on my part.”

“Did the coroner rule that Cassandra’s death was accidental?”

“Yes, and he ruled Miss Stoneway died from fright.”

“Fright?” A deep furrow lined her brow. “Is such a thing possible?”

“According to the Bills of mortality, apparently so.”

Rose fell silent. She stared at the floor and tapped her lip with her finger.

No matter how long she stood thinking, Christian knew the answer would not come. Unsolved problems and unfounded suspicions plagued his every waking thought.

“And the only connection your wife and Miss Stoneway share is that they were both patients at Morton Manor.”

“Indeed.”

“Then, as difficult as it may be, you must read the letters.” Rose pushed the notes towards him. “A jealous lover may well have caused the fire at the cottage. If the letters are not from Mr Watson, then you must discover who wrote the missives.”

Christian thrust his hand through his hair. “Are they as vulgar as I suspect?”