Kendra eyed the other woman with renewed interest. Maybe she was more astute than she looked. “Do you know if their relationship had changed recently?”
Miss Marat frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Did their dislike for each other intensify in any way? Did Lady Dover ever feel threatened by her stepson?”
“Not really. But they got into a right vicious fight the other week. We heard them shouting all the way to the kitchen from the drawing room, we did. His Lordship more than Lady Dover. But she was in a spiteful mood when he left.”
Kendra asked, “Did you hear what they argued about?”
“Somethin’ about her making a spectacle outta herself at the theater. Put him into a fine rage, it did.”
“Did she talk to you later about the argument?”
“She talked about him, called him a lockeram-jawed bastard, she did—beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace, sir, but those were her words, not mine. She didn’t say nothing about the words they had with each other.”
“Lockeram-jawed means Lord Dover has a thin face,” Aldridge clarified for Kendra’s benefit.
“An accurate description,” Kendra conceded with a faint smile. She returned her attention to the lady’s maid. “What was Lady Dover like to work for?”
Miss Marat frowned as she thought about it. “Fine, Oi guess. Better than some Oi’d worked for. Probably better than some Oi’ll be working for.”
The long lashes fluttered and Kendra caught the bleak gleam in the other woman’s eyes. The future was far from certain for a woman from Twickenham who was pretending to be a French lady’s maid.
“She never confided in you about personal things?”
“She liked to gossip about the Ton. She had a wicked tongue on her, she did.” A slight smile curled Miss Marat’s lips, probably an appreciation of that side of her employer. “But mostly we talked about fashion. Lady Dover was most particular about her appearance.
“After Lord Dover died, she had to wear the proper mourning colors, of course. She hated the lack of style. She burned all her gowns when the mourning period was over. She set them on fire right there in the fireplace in her bedchamber. Oi watched her do it.”
“Well, that certainly is a statement,” Kendra said. She decided to get to the heart of the interview. “We were told Lady Dover had plenty of admirers. Do you know who they were?”
“Lord Sutcliffe, of course,” Miss Marat said immediately. “He cuts a dashing figure. She went to a house party last month, hoping that she’d bring him up to scratch. It didn’t work, and she came home in a vile temper. Said some whey-faced chit had turned his head. Oi can tell ye that didn’t sit well with Her Ladyship! She ain’t used to being thrown over for another lady.”
It suddenly occurred to Kendra that if Miss Marat had accompanied Lady Dover to the house party, they’d have met each other during the first breakfast held for upper servants. By lunch, of course, she’d been demoted.
“Why didn’t you go with Lady Dover to the house party?” she asked now.
Miss Marat’s gaze slid away. “She said that the Countess who was having the house party would provide abigails. She didn’t need my services.”
Kendra thought Lady Dover probably hadn’t wanted to inflict Miss Marat’s hideously fake French accent on anyone else. Or, more likely, she was concerned about having her lady’s maid exposed as a fraud. It seemed Lady Dover knew how to keep her secrets.
“Mrs. Pierson thinks that Lord Sutcliffe killed Lady Dover,” Miss Marat continued, apparently unaware of the Duke’s connection to the Marquis. “But Oi don’t believe it. He’s a gentleman. Oi don’t mean he’s gentry. I mean, when he came around, he was always discreet-like. He never stayed the entire night, even though he wasn’t leg-shackled. He was respectful of my mistress’s reputation, even if she didn’t care.”
“Were other men as respectful?” Kendra asked carefully. “We’ve heard that Lord Sutcliffe wasn’t the only man in her life.”
“Oh, she had other callers, but none like Lord Sutcliffe. But . . .”
“But . . . what?” Kendra prodded when the lady’s maid fell silent.
Miss Marat bit her lip. “Well . . . Oi think she might’ve had another house. For privacy, you see. More privacy than she’d get at Grosvenor Square.”
Kendra lifted a brow, surprised. “Why do you think that?”
“She kept a key in her jewelry box. It was a house key, Oi could tell. But it wasn’t for her house. And there were times that Oi’d help her dress, fancy-like, but Oi knew she weren’t going to no ball. And in the beginning, she used to hire a hackney to go off into the night.”
Sam leaned forward, his golden eyes taking on a gleam of interest. “You think she was meetin’ a gentleman at another house?”
The sausage curls bounced as Miss Marat nodded. “Yes. Mr. George would know for certain.”
“Mr. George is—was Lady’s Dover’s whip and senior footman,” Sam told them. He frowned at the servant. “I talked ter him. He didn’t mention any other residence.”
“No, and he wouldn’t, would he?” Miss Marat gave him a knowing look. “He wouldn’t peach on Her Ladyship. ’Tisn’t respectful.”
“’Tisn’t respectful ter lie ter an officer of the law,” snapped the Bow Street Runner.
Miss Marat set her jaw defiantly. “He didn’t lie, did he? He just didn’t speak out of turn. They’ll probably all think Oi’m leaky if they know everythin’ Oi’ve been saying to you.”
“We appreciate everything you’ve told us, Miss Marat,” Aldridge said. “I shall make certain you are justly compensated.”
The servant visibly brightened.
Kendra eyed her. “You said that she would take a hackney in the beginning. Her behavior changed?”
“Yes. She began using her own carriage a month ago, after she got back from the house party.”
Kendra wondered if the change was significant. But that was something to ponder later. Now she asked, “Do you know who Lady Dover might have been meeting at this other house?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Anyone you might have thought it was? Maybe she talked about any other men, or a particular man?”
“No, Oi haven’t the faintest. Truly.”
“What about the other evening, when she sent you away? What happened that night?”
“What do you mean? Oi left like everyone else.”
“Before you left. What was her demeanor like? Was she upset? Happy?”
Miss Marat thought for a minute. “Maybe excited,” she finally said. “She was very precise on what she wanted to wear. Oi helped her dress. Then she sent us away.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
“Oi expect she wanted privacy because she was meetin’ someone.”
“And you don’t know who that someone is?”
“Oi thought it was Lord Sutcliffe like the rest of the staff, but . . . Oi can’t imagine him doing what was done to her. Mrs. Pierson said that her face was cut horribly. Is that true?”