“Indeed.”

He drew her to a halt and stood looking past her toward the green door on the opposite side of the street. She did not care for the dangerously thoughtful expression in his eyes.

“I also could not help but notice that you very nearly flew down those front steps a moment ago. You appeared quite eager to leave.”

“I am in a hurry. I have a number of things I wish to accomplish this afternoon.”

“Did something happen in Darfield’s rooms, Lavinia?”

“Nothing of any significance,” she said airily. “As you surmised, Mrs. Rushton’s visits to him are entirely unremarkable and in no way connected to our case.”

“You’re quite certain that there is nothing in this that I should know about?”

“Tobias, I vow, on occasion you are like a dog with a bone.” She made a show of checking the time on the little watch pinned to her pelisse. “Gracious, where has the day gone? I wanted to do some shopping on the way home.”

“About Darfield’s therapeutic techniques-”

“Do not concern yourself, sir. I assure you that Dr. Darfield’s method of treating nervous disorders in ladies falls within the accepted boundaries of traditional and well-established medical and mesmeric practice.”

Emeline watched the gardener carefully while Anthony questioned him. She felt a good deal of sympathy for the poor man. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, nervously twisting his cap, and gave short, unhelpful answers. He was clearly uncomfortable, although Anthony had gone out of his way to be polite and soothing in his approach, just as he had with the other servants.

“Have you ever witnessed anyone going into his lordship’s dressing chamber at an unusual time? Late at night, perhaps?” Anthony asked.

“Never even seen his lordship’s dressing chamber. Never seen his bedchamber, for that matter. Never been upstairs.” The gardener cast his eyes toward the ceiling as though peering toward an invisible metaphysical realm. “Worked ‘ere for seventeen years. Kitchen’s the only room I’ve ever seen inside the house.”

“Of course it is.” Mrs. Rushton, seated at the head of the long wooden table, spoke with conviction. “Gardeners have no business beyond the kitchens.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened. Emeline sensed his impatience. This was not the first time Mrs. Rushton had interrupted.

This morning’s investigation, which she and Anthony had begun with such great enthusiasm, had not gone well. None of the staff had been forthcoming. All had been ill at ease, and Emeline was quite certain she knew why. It /was not guilt that made the maids, gardeners, and housekeeper so anxious. It was the fact that Mrs. Rushton had insisted upon being present during the questioning.

Anthony thanked the gardener, who was only too eager to escape. He caught Emeline’s eye and shook his head very slightly. She closed her notebook with a sigh.

“Well, then,” Mrs. Rushton said, “that is the last of the lot. Did you learn anything helpful, Mr. Sinclair?”

Anthony gave her a winning smile that, in Emeline’s opinion, did nothing to conceal the irritation in his eyes. But Mrs. Rushton did not seem to notice. She was clearly quite taken with him. She had, in fact, paid virtually no attention whatsoever to Emeline from the moment she had been introduced to Anthony. There was a peculiar expression in her eyes whenever she looked in his direction, which was rather often.

Emeline decided that if she had seen that expression when a gentleman eyed a lady, she would have accounted the man an out-and-out libertine and debaucher of the worst sort.

“We won’t know the answer to that until we compare notes with Mr. March and Mrs. Lake,” Anthony said. “Thank you very much for your time this morning, Mrs. Rushton.”

“Not at all.” Mrs. Rushton got to her feet. She kept her attention on Anthony. “You will contact me immediately if you learn anything concerning the bracelet, will you not?”

“Of course.”

“I would appreciate a personal report from you, Mr. Sinclair,” Mrs. Rushton said, lowering her voice to an intimate tone. “I feel that I can speak comfortably with you, sir. Indeed, I find it very reassuring to know that a gentleman possessed of such an obviously vigorous physique is assisting in this investigation.”

“Thank you for placing your confidence in me, madam.” Anthony gave Emeline an urgent look and edged toward the kitchen door. “We will keep you informed of our progress, one way or another. Now, my associate and I must be on our way.”

“A cup of tea before you leave?” Mrs. Rushton said quickly.

Anthony’s mouth opened. Emeline knew that he was about to refuse. She leaped to her feet, frantically trying to signal him with her eyes.

He hesitated, caught her silent message, and reluctantly subsided.

Emeline turned swiftly to Mrs. Rushton. “Madam, before we leave, would it be too much to ask if I might borrow your gardener for a quick tour of your gardens before we depart? I could not help but note that they are quite extensive. Gardening is a passion of mine.”

Mrs. Rushton hesitated.

“Mr. Sinclair could join you in a cup of tea while I examine your plants and herbs,” Emeline added smoothly.

Mrs. Rushton smiled. “Yes, of course. An excellent suggestion. Enjoy your little tour.”

“Thank you.” Emeline slipped her notebook and pencil into her reticule and jumped to her feet. “I won’t be long.”

Anthony gave her a hapless look as she sped out the door. She pretended not to notice.

Twenty minutes later they finally escaped from the gloomy mansion. Anthony wore a decidedly grim expression.

It was clear to Emeline that his bad temper was only partially connected to the failure of their inquiries.

“I trust you had a very sound reason for leaving me alone with that dreadful woman for such an extended period of time,” he growled.

“Dreadful? How can you say that? Mrs. Rushton was obviously charmed by you. She did not care a jot about me, mind you, but I believe she would like to write a sonnet or an ode to your obviously vigorous physique.”

“I am in no mood for your teasing.” He took her arm in an unexpectedly forceful manner and steered her toward the park.

It occurred to her that this was the first time she had ever seen Anthony in a temper. It was a new and intriguing side of him.

“Good heavens, sir,” she murmured, “you really are out of sorts, are you not?”

“What was that business of touring the gardens all about?” He opened the iron gate and hauled her into the small, overgrown park. “You know very well that we did not go to that house today so that you could view a bunch of plants and posies.”

“I know precisely why we went there.” He was marching her so quickly now that her bonnet had started to bob and wobble in a precarious manner. She reached up to steady it. “And we failed miserably.”

“Because of that dreadful woman.” Anthony chose a path that cut diagonally across the park. “None of the servants was willing to be forthcoming in front of her. They know very well that, with Banks on his deathbed, she is their real employer. She could let any one of them go without any notice or references.”

“Indeed.” She was obliged to skip a bit to keep up with him. “And that is why I took my little impromptu tour of the gardens with that poor, terrified gardener.”

Anthony spared her a brief, searching glance. She could tell that he was still fuming, but he also knew her well enough to be sure she had not acted entirely on whim.

“What did you and the poor, terrified gardener discuss?” he asked.

She smiled, more than a little pleased with herself. “We discussed finances.”

“Bloody hell.” But he slowed his pace a little at that news. “You offered him a bribe?”