A Rose Before Dying (7 page)

If Gaunt had made any progress at all,
Charles might even take the opportunity to lay the entire case in
that gentleman’s hands. Then he could get back to the infinitely
more tedious business of locating a suitable townhouse and hiring
sufficient staff to maintain it.

The prospect was sufficiently depressing to
convince him that interfering in his uncle’s life was more to his
taste.

After consideration, Charles realized he
needed to refocus his efforts. He rode back to his stable and left
his horse in the expert care of the head groom before walking to
Second Sons. A detailed discussion with Gaunt would help him
clarify his thoughts about how to find the man who shot Lady
Banks.

He just wished he didn’t have the uneasy
feeling that time was running out for another innocent soul.

A block away from the inquiry agency, he
stopped, surprised by a group of people clustered around the black,
wrought-iron gate. He strode up and clapped one man on the
shoulder.

“What is it?” Charles asked. “What’s
happened?”

The man, dressed in a blue jacket and worn,
black slacks, glanced over his shoulder. “A man’s dead, my lord.
There.” He pointed.

“Dead? Who?”

He shook his head and stepped aside to let
Charles edge around him. A man lay sprawled on the walkway in front
of Second Sons. His right hand rested twisted on his chest,
clutching a rose identical to the spray Charles had taken to Miss
Wellfleet. Mr. Gaunt knelt on one knee beside the body while his
butler kept the gawkers on the other side of the railing.

“Mr. Gaunt!” Charles called, pushing his way
through the gate. “What happened?”

Gaunt glanced up and gestured toward the
walkway. A pool of blood seeped over the paving stones, pooling
under the victim’s right shoulder. “Stabbed. Just a moment ago—he’s
still warm.”

“He might be alive!” Charles knelt and
pressed his fingertips against the man’s throat. When he felt no
pulse, he pulled out the polished silver case he used for his
calling cards and held it beneath the man’s nose.

No moist breath bedewed the shiny
surface.

He let out a long breath and caught Gaunt’s
eye before shaking his head. There was no doubt the man was dead.
After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped a hand under the edge of
the man’s jacket, hoping to find something to identify him. The
silk lining felt warm, and he almost jerked his hand out when a
movement startled him. But it was just the spasm of a muscle
releasing what little life remained.

In an inner pocket, he found an elaborate
enamel and silver case for calling cards. He caught Mr. Gaunt’s
inquisitive stare. He shook his head. Feeling as if his actions
were an unforgiveable intrusion, he snapped open the case.

Mr. Robert Nivelle.

“His name is Nivelle.” Charles picked up the
rose. “I don’t understand. This is identical to the rose we
received, but his name is entirely different. The rose is
Rosa
Collina
fastigiata
, the Flat-Flowered
Hill Rose. What has that to do with a man named Robert
Nivelle?”

“Are you sure about the rose, my lord?”

“Two experts, or supposed experts, agreed.”
Charles glanced around. “And no one could claim this location to be
any sort of a hill. This entire thing is nonsensical, unless this
is completely unrelated.”

Gaunt gestured at the rose. “Isn’t that
similar to the one you took with you?”

“Yes. As far as I can tell.”

“Then, I must assume it’s related.”

Charles shook his head. “We must have
misunderstood the significance of these flowers.”

“We could hardly misunderstand the
accompanying notes,” Gaunt replied in dry tones. “Whoever sent
these clues meant to frighten and taunt us. Your experts must have
been mistaken, my lord.”

Charles felt his face flush. He stood,
dusting off the knees of his trousers. He should confront Miss
Wellfleet and demand an explanation. They had all galloped down the
wrong path. She must have been wrong.

Their error cost this man his life.

“I must have misunderstood,” he said through
stiff lips as they entered Gaunt’s agency.

“Please, my lord, step into my office, if you
will. Mr. Sotheby, please see to Mr. Nivelle. Send for the
constable if he hasn’t arrived already. We’ll have to provide
statements.”

Charles pulled out his slim case of calling
cards, extracted one, and extended it between two fingers to Gaunt.
“Being an earl may finally be good for something. Tell the
constable my lawyer will present him with my statement regarding
this tragedy. That should suffice for the coroner’s jury.”

He needed time to sort through this mess.

Gaunt accepted the card and handed it to the
butler. Then he led the way to his office. As they entered, he
waved Charles to one of the chairs in front of the gleaming
desk.

Charles remained standing, crushing his hat
between his hands as he tried to control his frustration and
anger.

After a glance, Mr. Gaunt remained standing
as well behind his desk. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his
knuckles on the polished surface. “If that was indeed Mr. Nivelle,
then I’m afraid your uncle may be more deeply involved than we
anticipated. I’m sorry, my lord, however we can’t ignore the
facts.”

“My uncle?”

“I regret suggesting it, my lord, but—”

“Then I recommend you avoid suggesting it. My
uncle is only involved as an innocent victim. I saw him no more
than a half hour ago—”

“I beg your pardon, but that’s sufficient
time for him to do away with Mr. Nivelle.”

“You must be mad. Why would he do such a
thing?” Charles asked in a dangerously icy voice.

“If he wished to prevent him from speaking to
me—”

“My uncle is incapacitated. He could not have
hobbled over here and killed that man! It’s ridiculous!”

Clearly he’d been wise to take an active role
in the investigation. Someone had to have enough sense to see Sir
Edward was in no condition to wander around London murdering
people. The man could barely walk.

“Nonetheless, I had an appointment with Mr.
Nivelle. I’m sorry, my lord.” Gaunt withdrew a cream-colored sheet
of paper from his desk. “He wrote to me after the death of Lady
Banks. It seems he supplanted your uncle in the lady’s
affections—”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would he lie?”

“Why, indeed?”

“He felt your uncle might be angrier than he
let on.”

“My uncle is a sick man, Mr. Gaunt. He has
difficulties walking. I was with him this afternoon and then came
straight here.” After stabling his horse. There was that. “You
can’t seriously believe he could have arrived before me in time to
stab that man and escape.”

“He could easily have taken a carriage. And
he needn’t have escaped all that rapidly. He may still have been
present, albeit hidden in the confines of his vehicle, when we
found the body. That we didn’t see him doesn’t mean he wasn’t
here.”

“No—what you suggest is monstrous!”

Gaunt straightened and studied him, his face
hard. “Perhaps your close connection is why you were unable to
correctly identify that rose. I apologize, my lord, but we must
look at all possibilities.”

An angry flush burned its way up Charles’s
throat. “That is
not
possible!”

“Then what is? Clearly the name was
inaccurate. Had we the correct identification for that rose, we
might not be having this conversation now. Your uncle is an
enthusiastic gardener.” He tapped the paper with one long finger.
“I could have prevented this misfortune after receiving this letter
from Mr. Nivelle had I known, my lord. I would have warned Mr.
Nivelle.”

Furious at the implications, Charles remained
silent. Finally, he placed his hat firmly on his head and nodded.
“This is my investigation, now. There’s no need to fear my uncle.
Or pursue obvious dead ends.” He turned to go, but paused in the
doorway. “May I have your word that you won’t accuse him? Or give
this information to the authorities for at least two days? Grant us
that much time. I’ll discover why I couldn’t correctly identify
that rose and stop the madman. I just need time.”

“The magistrate and coroner must be informed.
And they may insist I provide them with this letter. It’s important
evidence. I’m sorry, my lord.”

“They’ll only ask if they know about it.”
Charles’s hand clenched around the cold brass doorknob. “Two
days—that’s all I ask. My uncle is unwell. This will kill him. He
won’t survive imprisonment, even temporarily.”

“I’ll try to delay, my lord, but it won’t be
for long. I’m sorry. I admire your uncle a great deal, but I can’t
ignore this letter. What it contains provides the only reasonable
solution.” He folded the missive and returned it to his desk
drawer.

Charles eyed the empty surface of the desk
with illogical but intense dislike. “It’s a convenient solution,
perhaps, but not
reasonable
. My uncle may have an abominable
temper, but he can’t shoot worth a damn. And he’s too bloody stingy
to hire anyone.”

Gaunt smiled grimly. “You must be prepared,
Lord Castlemoor. I understand you believe your uncle is innocent
and your faith does you credit, but you must face the possibility
that your uncle may be…involved. It is not my intention to lay
false blame, and I hope you’ll allow me to assist you. We must find
the truth and hope your faith is not misplaced, my lord. I’ll do
what I can to give you time. Two days. I’m not sure I can delay
longer than that.”

“That should be enough time. There are
answers. I intend to find them.”

Ariadne poured tea for her father’s lawyer,
Mr. Etchells. Everything about him was thin and beige, from his
sparse, pale brown hair, to his narrow mustache, to his brown suit
and tan trousers. When she sat back, he picked up his cup and
delicately sipped, keeping his eyes focused on the tea service. He
seemed determined to look anywhere other than her face.

“Thank you.” He touched his linen napkin to
his mouth. With fussy precision, he placed his cup and saucer on
the table. He stroked his mustache and pressed it against his upper
lip as if fearing one of the nearly invisible hairs had gotten out
of place. “I trust you are well?”

“Quite well, thank you.” She held her teacup
between her hands, patiently waiting for him to come to the point.
While Mr. Etchells didn’t enjoy small talk, he also tended to have
difficulties bringing himself to the point. A golden silence was by
far the best tactic in dealing with him.

Or so her father claimed.

“It’s been six months since your father’s
passing.”

She nodded. His comment had the air of
leading up to something unpleasant.

Illogically, she was now in no hurry to bring
him to the point.

“One must applaud your devotion to him and
your strict observance of an appropriate mourning period.”

Again, she stayed silent, although her heart
thumped uncomfortably in her chest. For a long minute, the air
seemed too thin.

“However…”

Her china cup rattled on the saucer. She
reached over and placed the cup and saucer on the tea table before
clasping her hands together in her lap.

“Before his sad demise, your father signed a
marriage contract with Mr. Phillips. No one would view it amiss if
you were to wed him before the end of your mourning period.”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t—”

“Naturally, we understand the depths of your
grief, but this is a difficult situation. Your father wanted to
ensure you were taken care of.”

“I’m quite capable of taking care of
myself.”

A small smile flickered over his mouth. “You
are upset—understandable, I’m sure. But you must allow those with
cooler and more practical heads to guide you. Women are
ill-equipped to make decisions, particularly when overcome by
emotion.”

“I’m not upset. I simply…” She stopped and
forced herself to take a deep breath. Although Mr. Etchells refused
to look into her face, he nonetheless watched every reaction, every
twitch of her cold hands. “I need more time. My father…”

“Of course. Your wellbeing is important to
all of us. However, you must see that you cannot continue to live
here alone. It is grossly improper. And without proper guidance,
you place both Rosewell and your father’s business in
jeopardy.”

“Did Mr. Phillips ask you to come here?”

“He’s concerned about you. He hoped you’d be
wed by now so he could provide you with the support you need during
this difficult time. His concern for you must prove his
devotion.”

“I’m sure he’s quite devoted to the thought
of being master of Rosewell,” she said drily.

“Of course. Rosewell is much admired.”

“So true.” However, she was sure she wasn’t
much admired by either man. She stood squarely in their way.

Mr. Etchells cleared his throat. “Naturally,
he admires you even more.” He flushed with discomfort and
swallowed. “But I must return to my purpose. Your father understood
it was a splendid offer for you. Mr. Phillips comes from an
excellent family. He only wants what is best.”

“I’m not ready.” It was useless to argue. All
she could hope for was delay.

A few more weeks of freedom.

Mr. Etchells gave a small sigh expressive of
long-held disappointment. “You are placing me in a difficult
position, Miss Wellfleet. You must be aware that your father’s
assets were mostly tied to his business. There is only a very small
fund available for you to run this household. Unfortunately, none
of the money was to be provided to you before your twenty-seventh
birthday.”

“My allowance—”

“I’ve been overly generous, I’m afraid, at
Mr. Phillips’s request. He asked that I provide you an increase to
make your period of mourning more comfortable. However, this cannot
continue. The estate can’t support it.”