until dinner, with the addition of an embroidered tunic at teatime.
The usual rule for houseparties was four changes of clothing: a relatively simple morning costume; a more elaborate luncheon and afternoon dress; a loose, luxurious tea gown-a teagie, it was called; and a sumptuous dinner gown. Each costume, of course, had its own accessories and jewels. Ladies who cared about such things made sure they didn’t wear the same outfit twice. For them, a four-day houseparty required sixteen different costumes and appropriate accessories, and since some of the skirts were voluminous, their luggage might include three or four large trunks.
Kate, however, viewed the business of multiple costumes as silly. She packed what she felt she needed-skirts and blouses for day, a tea gown, and one or two dinner gowns-and that was that. She did not require a maid to help her dress, and she wore her hair in a simple style that she could manage herself. If other guests were offended by her casual attitude toward dress and her natural look, well, so be it. Kate might have married into the peerage, but she valued her comfort and convenience much more than the opinions of ladies who chiefly dressed to impress.
A few minutes later, she was opening the door to the breakfast room-a lovely, light room wallpapered in green and ivory, with a wide window that overlooked the Italian garden. She had tucked the scrap of burnished gold cloth into her skirt pocket, hoping to see Gladys Deacon and give it to her privately. Winston and Charles were already there, discussing Chamberlain’s Imperial Preference proposal over plates of eggs and kidneys.
In the last few weeks, Winston had come out hard on the side of free trade, creating a great deal of bad feeling among his fellow Tories, who stood with Chamberlain and his protectionist policies. “But they’re going to have to hear me out,” he was saying gruffly, as Kate came into the room.
“If you’re not careful, Winston,” Charles replied, “you’ll find yourself crossing the floor and joining the Liberals.”
“Would that be such a terrible mistake?” Winston asked. He pulled his brows together and pushed out his mouth in what Kate had come to think of as his “bulldog” look. “And don’t smile, Charles. I’m in deadly earnest.”
“I’m not smiling,” Charles said soberly. “In fact, I should think you could work far more effectively from the Liberal bench.” He glanced up as the footman seated Kate at the table. “Good morning, my dear. Did you enjoy your walk to Rosamund’s Well?”
“Yes, thank you,” Kate said. She added strawberry jam to her buttered toast and accepted a cup of tea from the footman. “Thank you, Alfred,” she said with a smile. Of all the Blenheim footmen, she liked this one the best-a tall, blond young man, with a sweetly pleasant look and an accomodating manner. “Has Miss Deacon come down yet, Charles?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Charles replied. “You were here before I came down, Winston. Did you see her?”
“No, nor the Duke, either,” Winston said, “which is a bit odd. He’s always down for breakfast at half past eight.” He grinned at Kate. “You’re an early bird, Kate. Don’t tell me you’ve been around the lake already this morning?”
“Just over the bridge and back,” Kate said. “It’s the best time of day to walk.” She smiled back at Winston, whose energies she admired. “You’re welcome to go tramping with me any morning you like.”
“Thanks,” Winston said earnestly, “but I’d rather not expend energy on walking that will be needed for writing. It’s amazing how blasted hard it can be to write, especially when one is writing about one’s father.” He wrinkled his nose. “I hate to say it, but I do believe that he dared to offend every member of the party, at least twice.”
They all laughed at that, and the men went back to their discussion. Kate ate quickly, listening with half an ear. Gladys still had not put in an appearance by the time she finished, so she stood and excused herself.
“I’m off to work,” she said to Charles, putting her hand on his shoulder. “What are your plans for the morning?”
“I’m taking my camera into the Park. I plan to be back by picnic time, though.”
“Enjoy yourself, then.” She left the men, still talking politics, and went upstairs. It was nine-thirty, and Gladys was probably awake by now. Before she and Beryl settled down to a morning’s writing, she would go to the girl’s room and speak to her.
In the second-floor corridor, Kate paused in front of a heavy oak door, where a hand-lettered white card with Gladys’s name on it had been inserted into the brass slot. She knocked, expecting a sleepily irate reply. Hearing nothing, she raised her hand to knock again. Just then, she turned to see Consuelo hurrying toward her down the hall, looking troubled. Behind her was Mrs. Raleigh, the housekeeper, a short, round, bustling woman with a bunch of jangling keys at her waist.
“Oh, good morning, Consuelo,” Kate said, dropping her hand. “I was just looking for Gladys. She doesn’t answer my knock, but perhaps she has gone out for an early walk.”
Consuelo’s lips were pinched and her voice was low and distracted. “The maid reported that she doesn’t seem to have returned to her room last night.”
“Didn’t return to her room?” Kate asked, startled. Suddenly, the scrap of cloth felt like a flaming ember in her pocket.
“Yes,” Consuelo said. “I thought perhaps I should see for myself. I’m very glad you’re here, Kate. Please come in with me.” She went to the door, squared her shoulders as if she were stepping into a lion’s den, and turned the knob.
The large room was cheerful and bright, with an eastern view. The draperies had been opened to admit the morning sun, and a tray with a cup of tea and a single rosebud sat on the small table beside the window. Last night’s fire had burned down and had not been relit. The coverlet and sheet had been neatly turned down but were undisturbed, and Glady’s dainty lace-trimmed nightgown was folded on the pillow.
Kate looked at the Duchess. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, and there was a bewildered look on her face.
“What in the world could have-” Consuelo stopped. “I wonder if she came back here to change before she…” Her voice trailed off.
With the torn scrap in her pocket, Kate thought she knew the answer to that question, but she went to the wardrobe and opened the doors. The crowded rack was a rainbow of Gladys’s stylish gowns in shades of blue, chartreuse, yellow, carnelian, ivory. But the burnished gold silk she had worn the night before was not there.
“She was wearing a diamond necklace,” Kate said, half to herself, and went to the elaborate jewel box on the dressing table. It was full of bracelets, baubles, and bangles, some of them, Kate thought, quite valuable. But the necklace was not there. Wherever the girl had gone, she was still wearing her dinner dress and diamonds worth a small fortune.
Consuelo made a low sound of wrenching pain. In the doorway, Mrs. Raleigh was watching the scene with a puzzled frown, as if she failed to see why the Duchess should be so upset about the vagaries of a guest, and particularly the flighty Miss Deacon. Kate felt it was time to take command.
In as authoritative a tone as she could summon, she said to Mrs. Raleigh, “Her Grace and I are going to sit down to a cup of hot tea in my room. Please see that it’s brought as quickly as possible.” And then she noticed the large bunch keys at the housekeeper’s waist. “Oh, before you go, please let me have the key to this room. Perhaps it’s a good idea to lock it.”
With barely disguised displeasure, Mrs. Raleigh took out the key and handed it to her, then went off to see to the tea. Kate put her arm around Consuelo’s shoulders and led her out of the room, pausing to lock the door behind them. As they turned, Kate saw that the door across the hall was open, a pair of white-capped, white-aproned housemaids peering out, saucer-eyed. Kate shook her head at them and they scurried back to their work, but she knew that within the hour, news of Gladys Deacon’s unexplained absence-and the Duchess’s reaction to it-would be on every servant’s tongue. And if Kate knew servants, the tale would be full of exaggerations, intentional and otherwise. Why, they’d probably have Gladys murdered and her body in the lake, she thought, and shivered.
A few moments later, sipping a cup of hot tea in a chair in front of the fire in Kate’s bedroom, the color had come back to Consuelo’s cheeks, her hands had stopped trembling, and she looked rather better. But her voice was still bleak and thin when she spoke. “I’m sorry, Kate. I didn’t mean to cause such a commotion, especially in front of the servants. They are such terrible gossips.”
“You didn’t cause a commotion,” Kate said comfortingly. Holding her cup, she sat in the opposite chair. “It
