The walk through the expansive forest to the Duprees' manor was longer than Eliza had anticipated, but she savored the uninterrupted minutes alone with her fiancé. Since their arrival in Nottinghamshire, Colin had been pulled in so many directions that she sorely missed their old tea times in London. The sacred hour between two and three when he made her his sole priority. They would sit together, discussing his open and closed cases, and she longed to restore that private ritual here.

She had expected a far greater struggle in persuading him to let her accompany him today, yet, to her surprise, he had hardly resisted at all.

As they passed through the tall, dilapidated stone gate, Eliza glanced at Colin and said, "I think I should take the lead here."

Colin slowed his steps, turning to her with a curious look. "Oh?"

"Yes. I was their hostess last night, and it only seems natural that I should check on my antagonized guests. As I said before, they may be more receptive to me than to a detective arriving unannounced." She gave his arm a small tug to keep him moving along the brick pathway before adding, "Do they even know you're coming?"

Colin shook his head and kept pace with her. "No. I didn't want to give them any more time to strategize a story."

"They've had a year, darling. If they do have a story, it's already well rehearsed," Eliza replied with a smirk.

Colin's fingers found her side in a quick, teasing tickle, making her laugh. "I thought you said you were going to be Watson, leaving me to do the actual detecting."

"I am," she said breezily. "You can sift through whatever tale they're about to spin and apply your infamous deduction skills."

Colin smirked, but before he could reply, they arrived at the double doors, Eliza's hand still resting lightly on his arm. She glanced down, frowning as she realized something.

"I don't have my calling cards," she muttered. "How terribly crass of us."

"I always have my cards on me, Watson. Though, they do say 'Detective,'" Colin murmured, slipping one from his inner jacket pocket before pressing the bell.

After only a few moments, the heavy wooden door creaked open.

"My lord," the butler said, startled but composed, offering a quick bow of his head before turning to Eliza. "My lady."

Colin extended his card. "We were hoping to speak with Lady Dupree if she'll receive us."

The butler accepted the card, though his gaze remained fixed on Colin. "She is just finishing her breakfast. I will see if she minds the company. Do come in."

He stepped aside, and they glided over the threshold into the dimly lit foyer. Eliza's eyes drifted to the floral arrangement on the wooden entry table. The elegant blooms from the night of the séance had been replaced by weedy, wildflowers likely plucked from the grounds. A subtle shift, but a telling one. Lady Dupree had been eager to impress that evening.

Eliza is about to steal a glance into the drawing room when the butler rounds the corner and announces, "Lady Dupree bids you join her in the dining hall, should you not object to a modest breakfast."

"We should be delighted," Colin replies smoothly. Without hesitation, they follow the butler through the dimly paneled corridors, their footsteps muffled by the well-worn rugs. The house is markedly quieter than it had been on the evening of the séance, the absence of guests and candlelit spectacle making it feel smaller, more subdued.

Eliza cannot help but reflect that, had they arrived unannounced in London, their reception would have been decidedly cooler. Here, however, propriety seems to yield to hospitality, and she finds herself appreciating the ease of country life all the more.

As they step into the dining room, Lady Dupree rises hastily, smoothing her skirts with one hand while the other flutters in an attempt at composure. "My lord, my lady—you quite take me by surprise. Had I known I should have such distinguished callers, I would have ensured a more fitting breakfast."

Colin inclined his head with an easy grace. "Think nothing of it. We were enjoying a morning walk when my bride suggested we call upon you. We would not dream of putting you to any trouble."

"Please, do sit," Lady Dupree bade, and Colin and Eliza glided gracefully to the end of the long dining table. An anxious footman hastily set down the polished serving dishes before them, the clink of silverware echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

"I am perfectly content with a spot of tea, my dear, do not trouble yourself," Colin said, his tone warm, though Eliza's grumbling stomach urged her eyes toward the slices of ham and fresh toast. The walk through the forest had been longer than anticipated, and she had skipped breakfast in favor of joining her beau in the garden.

As her tea was poured, Eliza casually inquired, "Does his lordship often join you at breakfast?"

Lady Dupree shook her head with a soft laugh. "Oh, no. He is usually up long before I am. He had business with the sheep this morning." She waved a hand dismissively, as though the details of her husband's activities were of little consequence. "That's all I know of his whereabouts this morning, I'm afraid."

Once Eliza's tea was properly poured and a generous portion of ham placed on her plate, she looked up at her hostess, her brow furrowing in quiet concern. "I must confess, I felt so wretched about the events of last night. I hardly slept. My intent was only to host an evening of light-hearted entertainment, not one of accusations. I do feel that we may have inadvertently stoked the flames, and for that, I owe you an apology."

Lady Dupree delicately placed her cup onto its saucer, shaking her head softly. "I cannot fathom why Rose would have been so upset, save for the tragic accident that cut her life short. There was nothing ill-intentioned, no malice or cruelty. She was merely reaching for the honey jars when the wooden ladder gave way beneath her. She fell, and her neck was broken. The doctor assured us that her death was swift and painless."

Eliza noted the tremor in Lady Dupree's hand and the way her blue eyes welled with tears. Without a second thought, Eliza extended a comforting hand, placing it gently over the trembling one of her hostess, who was dabbing at her wet cheek with her other hand.

"I am truly sorry for your loss and for the distress this inquiry has caused you," Eliza said softly. "I never imagined that a Parisian entertainer could ignite such a storm of interest surrounding her death."

Lady Dupree gave a small, wistful sigh. "We had Rose with us from the time she was a young girl, you know. Her mother passed away from the flu, and our cook is her aunt. It didn't take much persuading to bring her into our household. Our home is not so large that we're unfamiliar with the duties of those who serve us. We are fond of our staff and treat them with the care they deserve."

"Is there anyone who might have tampered with the ladder? Perhaps someone attempting to prank Rose or frighten her?" Colin asked gently, mindful to avoid the tone of an interrogation. Lady Dupree turned to him as if momentarily forgetting that there was another guest at the table.

"No," she replied firmly. "Only Cook and Rose had access to the larder. No one else would have had any reason to be in there, nor would they have played such a cruel jest."

"Do your delivery men place the provisions in the larder during their rounds?" Colin inquired. Lady Dupree shook her head, her expression resolute.

"No. They leave the bins in the kitchen, on the side table, so Rose could manage the inventory. I assure you, my lord, no one but the kitchen staff ever enters the larder. The ladder has always been stored near the shelves."

"Does Lord Dupree ever entertain guests or have colleagues who might use the servant's entrance?" Eliza asked, noticing a slight furrow in Lady Dupree's brow. Colin raised an eyebrow at the question.

"No, Lady Winter," Lady Dupree answered, her tone slightly confused. "Any guests of his lordship always come through the main hall."

"I simply meant, you see after my father goes hunting or tends to our livestock he usually stops in the back entrance as to not track mud or other debris through the house. I was not assuming Lord Dupree's guests were ever expected to go through the servant's entrance, merely it may be another entry into the house." 

Lady Dupree's confusion seemed to fade as she took another sip of tea. She set her cup down and, after a pause, continued thoughtfully, "Well, I suppose the men who tend the garden and the stable hand do sometimes come in for tea when it's cold outside. Mr. Hartwig occasionally leaves honey for us at the back entrance, and some of the footmen... well, their little dalliances are sometimes known to take them to the back, where they linger with their cigarettes. We also have workmen who assist with our timber, and they often stay for luncheon downstairs. Now that I think about it, there is quite a bit of movement around the kitchen. But I still can't think why any of those people would have any reason to inspect our larder."

"Perhaps not," Colin mused, raising his teacup. "But now you have several people who could have accessed the larder. People Cook might not have noticed."

The table fell into a brief silence, and Eliza took the opportunity to nibble on her toast. Lady Dupree sighed heavily, then turned her gaze to Colin. "My lord, I know you are here in Nottinghamshire to celebrate your impending nuptials, but I am also aware that you offer your services as a detective in London. Might you consider investigating the town or speaking to Cook about this matter? I would appreciate it if you could uncover any reason someone might wish to harm our Rose. Or, at the very least, put an end to these dreadful rumors suggesting we had any hand in her death."

Colin's eyes flicked briefly to Eliza, who was suppressing a smirk at the unexpected turn in conversation.

"I am at your service, Lady Dupree," Colin replied with a sympathetic smile. "I shall see what I can uncover. It grieves me to see a peer so unjustly accused."

Lady Dupree turned to Eliza, her eyes wide with a flicker of hope. "Do you think we should consider hosting another séance? Just the two of us this time, with Madame Bouchard. If she truly has the ability to summon Rose, perhaps with a smaller group, Rose might be able to focus and communicate whatever it is she wishes to say."

Another séance? Colin's shock was evident, as was Eliza's.

"Is that wise?" Eliza ventured, her voice edged with caution. "After the last two, with such talk of murder..."

Lady Dupree clasped her hands nervously, her gaze dropping to her lap as she waited for their response."I just wish to hear it from Rose directly. If something sinister did happen in the larder, I am just as eager to catch her murderer as the rest of us." 

Colin shot another glance at Eliza, but she was unsure how to respond. After a moment, she looked back at their hostess and spoke with measured diplomacy, "I shall inquire whether Madame Bouchard is still in Nottinghamshire. If so... I will see about arranging a private gathering."

"My parents are due to arrive tonight, and I am uncertain how my mother, the Duchess, will feel about hosting such a macabre affair," Colin interjected quickly, a note of hesitation in his voice. Lady Dupree, eager to reassure, responded with surprising fervor.

"We can host it here," she said, her eyes wide with the urgency of her own need for resolution. "This is where Rose passed, after all."

The room fell into a heavy silence as Colin weighed his options. Eliza tilted her head, also wondering if inviting spirits into the room once more was truly wise. She doubted Colin would be eager to partake. 

"We shall review our schedules and make inquiries about the medium," Eliza said finally, lifting her teacup in a gesture of finality. "Once I have word, I'll telephone you."

Lady Dupree nodded in agreement, though her eyes remained anxious. It had not been difficult to coax the lady into divulging details about her staff, and it seemed clear that Lady Dupree was desperate to clear her name. Eliza stole another glance at Colin, her thoughts drifting. She wondered if he, too, felt the weight of innocence or guilt hanging in the very walls of Dupree Manor.