"Of course."
"Lady Hawkridge," Hastings repeated, then stopped.
"Yes?"
"We're concerned," Mrs. Oliver continued. Her kindly chocolate eyes did look concerned. "These mishaps that keep occurring…"
"We fear that if someone did indeed murder the last Lord Hawkridge," Vincent hurriedly finished for her, "he may be trying to kill you now to stop you from finding him."
Alexandra blinked, taken aback by the mere idea. It hadn't, of course, occurred to them that Tris might be causing the mishaps while sleepwalking, since other than Vincent—and she was certain he'd keep Tris's secret—they probably had no knowledge of his night wanderings. But it had never occurred to her that it could be anyone else.
For a moment, her heart raced.
Then she told herself not to be ridiculous. "I appreciate your concern," she said carefully, "but I truly believe both incidents were accidents."
"But what if they weren't?" Hastings asked.
"Everyone has assured me the marquess's death was natural," she reminded him.
"But what if it wasn't?" Mrs. Oliver blurted. "What if there's a murderer among us? Should you continue your investigation, even worse could happen."
It was obvious that recent events had them nervous and suspicious. Even of each other. Mrs. Oliver was looking at Hastings. Hastings was looking at Mrs. Oliver.
And they were both looking at Vincent.
"We brought this up for your own good," Vincent said now, his gaze steadfast. He had too much dignity to shrivel under their scrutiny. "We worry for you. If you would discontinue—"
"I cannot," she interrupted. "You're all dears to worry for my safety, but I must leave no stone unturned in my quest to clear my husband's name."
The three of them exchanged glances and subtle sighs.
"Do please be careful, then," Hastings finally said.
"I will, I assure you. Thank you for coming to me with your concerns. I consider myself very lucky to be surrounded by such caring people."
She watched them walk off, praying that she was right and they were wrong. She felt a little shaky. The thought of Tris attacking her was one thing—she didn't believe it and never would. But the thought of someone else…
She didn't believe that, either, she decided firmly.
And besides, even if it were true…there was a good side to that.
THE QUIET RIDE with Ernest had done little to calm Alexandra's nerves.
She was still shaking when she dismounted in front of Lizzy's small cottage. For the second day in a row, Hawkridge's villagers had stared at her as she rode through. Between that, defying Tris, and dealing with doubts the staff had brought up, she felt like a wreck.
Walking up Lizzy's pretty flower-lined path, she half hoped this interview would lead nowhere, because that would mean this would all be over. No, she thought with a sigh…she didn't really hope that.
But perhaps she felt she should.
The woman who answered the door had soft white hair, kind blue eyes, and a pronounced stoop. "Yes, dearie?"
"Might you be Lizzy?" Alexandra knew that, unlike the others, Lizzy had retired rather than leaving for a new position. Still, she hadn't expected someone quite so old. Lizzy looked ninety if she were a day. "I'm Lady Hawkridge."
"A new Lady Hawkridge!" Lizzy's weathered face crinkled with delight. "Come in, dearie, come in."
Alexandra waved to Ernest where he was patiently waiting with their horses, then stepped inside. The cottage was a single room with a living area on one side and a bed on the other. "Would you care for a sugar cake?" she asked Lizzy, pulling one from her silver basket.
"Why, thank you." The woman pulled a chair out from the simple oak table and gestured for Alexandra to sit. "I will have one, if I may."
"I've been told you were employed at Hawkridge Hall when the last marquess died."
"And for sixty-two years before that." She munched on the cake, seating herself across from Alexandra.
"My husband, the current marquess—"
"I remember your husband, my child." Lizzy licked crumbs off her fingers. "Bless you. It's long past time that dear boy's innocence was proven."
For what must have been the dozenth time, Alexandra's hopes soared. "Did you see anything that night or morning? Anyone suspicious? Have you reason to believe anyone at Hawkridge Hall may have wanted the marquess dead?"
"Alas, no." Lizzy's hand inched toward the basket. "But someone must know something. Whom have you talked to so far?"
"Everyone," Alexandra said with a sigh, handing her another sugar cake.
"Names, dearie. I want names."
Lizzy devoured two more sugar cakes while Alexandra recited the list.
"How about Maude?" Lizzy asked when she was done.
"Maude?"
"The marquess's old nurse—after his wife and children passed on, she was the closest person to him. If anyone saw anything that night, it'd have been she. She left very soon after he passed…I wonder if she's still alive." She reached for yet another sugar cake, her face wrinkling so much in contemplation that her eyes all but disappeared. "Maude was old as dirt even then."
Alexandra felt an urge to laugh, though she wasn't quite sure whether it was from the joy of learning her search wasn't over yet or the wrinkled old woman across from her calling someone else old as dirt. "Do you know where Maude went, by any chance?"
"When she left, she was headed for Nutgrove. Maude was born there, and she said that there she'd die."
Alexandra could only hope she hadn't already.
She gave the rest of the sugar cakes to Lizzy as a thank-you and hurried back outside, unable to believe her good fortune. Not only was Maude her most promising lead yet, but she remembered passing through Nutgrove on the way here. It would be a simple matter to stop and talk to Maude on the way home. And with any luck…
Elated, she slanted Ernest a glance. "Are you up for a good gallop?"
"If my lady pleases," he said stoically.
She mounted, shoved the basket handle over her arm, and lifted the reins.
Tris had an excellent stable, and she had borrowed a fine mare. She flew over the countryside, the horse's
