Die I Will Not by S. K. Rizzolo Page B

home to visitors. The footman appeared to feel that a plainly dressed, middle-aged man of uncertain origin ought to have gone to the servants’ entrance, and he made to close the door in Chase’s face. To stop him, Chase gave his name quickly. “If your mistress is not available, be so good as to fetch her maid to me. My business cannot wait.”
    A shade of uncertainty crossed the young man’s face. He took a step back, allowing the door to crack wider. Chase did not hesitate but pushed past him to find himself in a groin-vaulted entrance passage dominated by a staircase of stone and iron. The first thing that struck him was the deathly quiet in the house, as if life itself scarcely thrived here. The hall, hung with ugly portraits and perfectly spaced gilt-framed mirrors, was clean and cold, offering no hint of the owner’s personality. Somewhere above, Dryden Leach would be breathing his last, though a pall of mourning had already descended. Through an open door leading off the entry, Chase glimpsed a spacious, richly appointed library with large windows and decorative columns.
    The footman left him standing there, and some minutes passed before a woman came down the stairs and moved toward him, her feet making no sound on the marble floor. She was a thin, drab, bespectacled person, sporting the single adornment of a shiny silver crucifix around her neck. She had brown hair confined in a tight bun and prim, colorless lips that did not smile.
    â€œGood day. I am the children’s governess, Miss Elliot. Albert said you have an important message for the family, Mr. Chase, and I thought someone should come down to receive it. Would you wish to write a note?”
    â€œI much prefer to talk to you.” When she glanced around in dismay, as if wondering where to conduct this unauthorized conversation, Chase added, “Do not trouble yourself. We can speak here, Miss Elliot. I will take but a few minutes of your time.”
    â€œI’m not sure how I can be helpful. Are you a friend of the family, sir?”
    â€œIn a manner of speaking.” He was not surprised by her puzzlement as he hadn’t told the footman he was a Bow Street officer. He went on quickly before she could ask him to explain his presence. “I understand your employer is gravely ill. How is he today?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know. I have been with the children all day.”
    â€œHas the doctor seen him?”
    â€œI believe he came this morning, but we have not been told—”
    â€œCan you tell me the surgeon’s name, Miss Elliot? I might have a word with him to see whether anything further can be done for his patient.”
    She hesitated, then said, “A Mr. Thomas Fladgate.”
    â€œWhat of your mistress? She must have assistance in the sickroom, surely? A nurse?”
    Miss Elliot’s voice rose in distress. “She allows no one to share the burden with her. I’ve scarcely seen her since Mr. Leach was brought home in the hackney.”
    â€œIt seems a great a responsibility. I suppose the footmen carried your master upstairs?”
    â€œYes, sir, he was in a dead faint.”
    â€œWho paid the driver?”
    â€œThe butler, Mr. Isherwood.”
    â€œHas anyone spoken to Mr. Leach?”
    â€œJust the surgeon and Mrs. Leach. I understand the patient has been prescribed laudanum to ensure his rest. I…I didn’t know what to say to the children—” She looked at him with huge eyes framed by tiny, gold-rimmed spectacles. “I must return to my duties, Mr. Chase. Is there a message?”
    A new voice spoke. “That will not be necessary.”
    Startled, Chase looked up to see a tall, black-draped woman standing at the bottom of the staircase. She had descended so quietly that neither he nor the governess had caught her approach. One hand resting on the banister, she stood for a moment watching them before she glided forward. “Thank you for