territory, and ladies and gentlemen were not welcome. However, the footman gave me a nod and led us inside.
The passage was dim and stuffy, but I could see that it would be handy for moving about the house quickly, not to mention unseen. The walls were plastered but not painted, and the doors were rough wood, very unlike their elegantly disguised counterparts on the other side.
The doors also looked alike. 'How do you know which leads where?' I asked. 'For instance, which would lead to the anteroom in which Mr. Turner was killed?'
The footman led us to the door second from the end on the left. 'This one, sir.'
'But how do you know?'
He gave me his look of faint disdain. 'We know.'
'You are thinking the murderer came this way,' Lady Breckenridge said. 'How would he have known which door it was?'
'He might live in the house himself,' I said. 'Or, someone in the house told him, or he scouted beforehand.' I turned to the footman, who remained stiffly disapproving. 'Did you or any of the other servants observe anyone back here who should not have been the night of Mr. Turner's murder? Or anything unusual at all?'
'I did not, sir. But I will ask Mr. Hawes. He is butler, sir.'
'One more question. Did you or any maid or footman remove a paper from any of the books in these rooms? Say the day after the murder? While they were cleaning? Perhaps they found something sticking from a book and pulled it out?'
'I clean these rooms myself, sir. And I did not find anything unusual among the books. But I will ask Mr. Hawes, sir.'
Hawes seemed to be the font of all wisdom. 'Please do,' I said. 'We will wait in the anteroom.'
The footman opened the door, and I ushered Lady Breckenridge through to the anteroom.
I examined the passage side of the door before the footman closed it but could find nothing to differentiate it from the other doors in the servants' corridor. Inside the anteroom, the door fitted well into the scarlet and gold wall, although the line was visible if one knew where to look for it. The door was not a secret.
The footman disappeared, obviously relieved to see us back on our side of the walls. I studied the gilded molding and red silk above the wainscoting. The scheme was bright and a bit overwhelming, as I remembered, but I saw nothing to indicate that someone could have marked the door from this side-nothing shoved through the crack or any such thing.
'So the murderer entered through the servants' door,' Lady Breckenridge said. 'Which is why no one noticed him enter from the ballroom. Guests roamed in and out of the ballroom and all over the downstairs rooms all night. I do not think anyone would notice who was in or out at a given time. Even so, the murder must have been very quick.'
'It likely was.' I left my examination of the door and laid my walking stick across the writing table. 'The murderer has made up his mind to kill Turner. He makes the appointment, leaves the ballroom, and enters the servants' passage through one of the other rooms. He comes here, meets Turner. He has Colonel Brandon's knife, which Brandon must have left about somewhere, or he'd previously stolen it from Brandon's pocket.' I turned to Lady Breckenridge. 'He approached Turner. Turner knew him-or her-and did not fear. There was plenty of noise in the ballroom, the orchestra, the dancing, the conversation. Before Turner knows what is happening, the killer steps to him, possibly covers Turner's mouth so he won't cry out, and drives the blade home.'
I saw it in my mind. Without realizing what I was doing, I covered Lady Breckenridge's mouth with my hand and pressed my fist against her chest, right where the killer would have plunged the knife.
It would have been fast and quiet. Turner would have grunted if he'd made any noise at all, then fallen limp. The killer had caught him, lowered him into the chair, and arranged him to look as though he were drunk or asleep. The murderer then left the way he'd come.
Lady Breckenridge's eyes glittered above my hand. 'Very exact,' she said, stepping away.
I came back to the present. 'I beg your pardon.'
'Not at all. It was an apt demonstration. You do know, do you not, that you are only succeeding in making the case against Colonel Brandon tighter? He was in a room with a door to the passage. He admitted it. Basil Stokes saw him.'
'And likewise, Brandon saw Basil Stokes. Stokes said they exchanged a few words, then Brandon made for the back of the house. Why Brandon says he saw no one back there, I don't know, unless Stokes is lying about the entire encounter. Stokes claims he went back to the ballroom and then heard Mrs. Harper scream, but we have only his word on it.'
'But why should Basil Stokes kill Henry Turner? Mr. Stokes is rather irritating, but he hardly seems the sort to kill in such a clandestine fashion. He'd challenge Turner to a fight if he truly wanted to harm him. Loudly.'
'I agree with you, in part,' I said. 'But Stokes, by his own admission, owed Turner a huge debt. And he expressed relief that Turner was dead and that he no longer had to pay it.'
Lady Breckenridge shivered. 'It is all so horrible.'
'Murder is horrible. Death while fighting is one thing-a deliberate and underhanded murder is another.'
'It is good of you to help your colonel,' she said. 'No matter what I think of your motives.'
'I need to,' I said. 'Not simply because of Louisa. Colonel Brandon aided me when I needed it most. He took me, a callow young man with no future, and made me into something. No matter what else is between us, he gave me that.'
Lady Breckenridge did not answer. She did not need to. She slid her arms around my waist and rested her head on my chest.
At this inauspicious moment, the butler, the all-knowing Hawes, entered the room.
Lady Breckenridge stepped away from me, looking in no way embarrassed.
Hawes, like a good butler, pretended not to notice. 'Sir,' he said. 'My lady.' He turned to me, his butler hauteur in place. 'John told me that you wish to know if anything unusual was seen in the passage the night of the ball, or any person not meant to be there.'
I nodded. 'That would be helpful.'
'I am afraid none of the staff saw any person untoward at the time in question. I have inquired. Most of the footmen were circulating champagne in the ballroom or cleaning up the supper rooms. The passages would have been empty for a time, so someone might slip through without us noticing. However, one of the maids did mention that she noticed a scrap of lace caught near one of the doors.'
I came alert. 'A scrap of lace?'
'Yes, sir. As might come from a lady's gown.'
'Near which door?'
'The door to this room, sir. I will show you.'
He glided across the room and unlatched the panel that led to the servants' corridor. He pointed to a small nail that stuck out a little from the wooden doorframe. 'Just there, sir. The silly girl left it there, and when she reported it to me, I ordered her to return and take it away. But she claimed that when she returned, the lace had gone. Possibly another footman saw it and disposed of it.'
Or possibly, I thought, excitement rising, the killer had taken it from the door and put it into Turner's pocket, where Mrs. Harper found it when she examined the dead man's coat.
'Will there be anything else, sir?' Hawes asked.
I distinctly felt his wish for us to leave. We were intruding on his and his staff's routine.
'That will be all, thank you. You have been quite helpful.'
Hawes bowed again. 'Her ladyship has retired to bed. She asked me to bid you good afternoon when you take your leave.'
I inclined my head. 'Tell her ladyship that we wish her good health.'
Lady Breckenridge added her wishes and the message that she would visit again when Lady Gillis was feeling better. Hawes saw us upstairs and the footmen brought our wraps.
Before we departed, Hawes handed me a folded piece of paper, written over in fine printing. The words were English and the message seemed to be about cakes, so I dismissed the idea that Hawes was handing me the document that Colonel Naveau and I sought.
'Begging your pardon, sir,' Hawes said. 'The cook asked leave to give you this receipt for cakes that Mrs.
