Madame Bereford tipped her head, bird like. “And if I do?”
Sebastian pulled a pouch from his pocket, the coins jingling cheerfully within. “I would know what he was doing here.”
In one swift motion, Madame Bereford rose, stepped forward and plucked the pouch from his hand. She laughed at his astonishment, then tipped the coins out one after the other. Counting them twice, she settled them back into the pouch and then resumed her seat. Silence reigned over them for some time, leaving Sebastian feeling as though he were a mouse simply waiting for the
cat to strike.
“Lord Hazelton came here frequently,” Madame Bereford said, with one delicate lift of her shoulder. “I found him to be both generous and kind.”
“Kind?” Lord Hearst asked, the word sounding harsh against Madame Bereford’s gentle tones. “What can you mean?”
Madame Bereford eyed him with something like disdain. “You are not a gentleman who has had any involvement in places such as this, I suppose,” she said, a wry smile twisting her lips that suggested, quite plainly, that she did not believe what she had just stated. “Kind, yes, Lord Hearst. He did not treat any of my ladies ill, did not beat them or injure them in any way.” Her brows furrowed, a thin line forming between them. “They are not all as kind as Lord Hazelton, if you understand my meaning.”
Lord Hearst had the grace to look abashed. “I understand fully,” he told her, calmly. “And I am somewhat gratified to hear that Lord Hazelton was as you say.”
“Although you do not approve of his being here in the first place,” Madame Bereford finished, with a glint of steel in her eyes. “Is that not so?”
Sebastian spread out his hands. “We do not come here to judge, my lady,” he said, truthfully. “Rather we are looking to find out anything we can about him.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “To what end?”
“To discover why someone might have felt the need to take his life,” Sebastian continued, sitting back in his chair. “Lord Hazelton did not merely become ill, Madame Bereford, but rather he was struck down.” He watched the lady closely but, again, her features remained in the very same position without any sort of change. “We must ask you this — was there a lady here that he often came to see?” A small flare of heat climbed up his neck but he ignored his embarrassment and forged ahead. “Or did he choose a different lady every time he arrived?”
Madame Bereford tilted her head a little, her eyes fixed to his, assessing him. Her mouth remained in a tight line, her hands still flat in her lap. She gave no outward appearance of what she was thinking, her features seemingly etched in stone rather than flesh and blood. Sebastian held his breath, aware that if the lady told him that Lord Hazelton had no-one in particular, he would know all too well that she was lying and thus would know that there was no good reason to continue the conversation.
“Lord Hazelton did not have any particular favorites.”
He stiffened, disappointment roaring through him. One glance towards Lord Hearst told him that the gentleman felt a good deal of disappointment also, for his gaze was downcast and his brow furrowed.
“Are you quite certain, Madame?” he asked, as firmly as he could. “I have heard otherwise.”
Lord Hearst looked up and Madame Bereford quickly looked from one to the other, her eyes now as hard as flint.
“You wish to suggest that one of my ladies is responsible for the death of Lord Hazelton?” she asked, one eyebrow arching. “I shall not accept it from you, gentlemen.”
“No, no, we do not want any such thing!” Sebastian exclaimed, throwing up his hands for good measure. “Rather we would only seek to speak to such a lady, to see if Lord Hazelton said anything to her of note — or if other gentlemen came to her, asking her what Lord Hazelton had said.”
Madame Bereford’s eyes flashed. “My ladies are not indiscreet.”
“Might we speak to her?” Lord Hearst asked, making it quite plain that they knew that Lord Hazelton had a specific young lady to whom he liked to give his attentions to. “It would not be for long.”
“And we would be more than contented for you to wait with her, of course,” Sebastian added, watching Madame Bereford with eager eyes. “Please, Madame. We only wish to find out the truth about what has happened to our dear friend.” He emphasized the word, wondering if the lady would be convinced by emotion but fearing that it would do no good whatsoever.
Eventually, Madame Bereford, saying nothing to either of them, rose to her feet, walking to the corner of the room and, there, pulling on a cord. Then, she folded her arms across her chest, her eyes still fixed to Sebastian and Lord Hearst as though she expected them to do something foolish that she might be quite unable to prevent.
“My lady?”
Sebastian raised one eyebrow at the servant’s greeting. Madame Bereford was no lady and certainly bore no title but he had to admit that there was something about her that seemed to demand respect, even from himself.
“Fetch Sarah.”
His ears pricked up. This was indeed the young lady that the League had mentioned, even though he was quite certain that her true name was something entirely different. He looked at Lord Hearst, who now appeared to be quite encouraged, before turning his head back to look at Madame Bereford.
She said nothing but continued to study him, her lips tight and her eyes still narrowed. Clearly, she disliked their intrusion, their demand for information, but yet was willing to do so in place of the money they had brought with them.
“Yes, my lady?”
Sebastian caught his breath as a willowy young lady, with jet black hair and dark eyes stepped into the room, her steps a trifle faltering.