Death Comes to London (11 page)

“Be careful.” Broughton swallowed hard. “He might not even remember what he’s done. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.”

“Thank you.” Broughton closed his eyes and sank back on his pillows. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll ask Dr. Redmond to report back to you about my grandmother’s body if I’m not available when he calls.”

“Of course.”

Robert nodded to the valet, who went to the door to let him out. “When you have settled your master in, would you send Mr. Oliver’s manservant to my room? I’d like to speak to him.”

“Yes, Major.”

“Thank you.”

Robert made his way back to his room, the sound of his cane hitting the wooden floor the only interruption to the quietness of the house.

When Robert went in, Foley was folding cravats and putting them away in one of the drawers. He’d barely opened his mouth before Foley abandoned his task and came hurrying over.

“Major, come and sit down by the fire.”

For once he didn’t argue. He’d exceeded his strength hours ago and wanted nothing more than the oblivion of sleep. He kept trying to remind himself that he’d made considerable progress in the last few months, but it still wasn’t enough. He resented his lack of mobility with a stubborn rage that refused to die.

“I’m going to fetch your dinner on a tray.” Foley held up his hand. “And no arguing with me either. You’re worn out, sir, and I won’t have it on my conscience if you drop dead in front of me. Your aunt Rose would have my head.”

Robert leaned back in the wingchair and let out a slow breath. “I’m not arguing with you, Foley. I’m too exhausted. That’s why I’m sitting here meekly absorbing your pearls of wisdom and anticipating my dinner in front of the fire.”

Foley moved closer and frowned down into Robert’s face. “Should I send for the doctor? It’s not like you to admit you’re not feeling well.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t
well.
I said I was tired and hungry.”

“Of course, Major. You sit there quietly, and I’ll fetch you up a nice dinner.”

“And don’t forget to send my apologies to the countess.”

Foley sniffed. “As if I would forget the social niceties, sir.”

After Foley departed, Robert yawned and stretched his legs out toward the warmth of the fire. A discreet tap on the door had him sitting up again to face a young dark-haired man who came to stand in front of him.

“I’m Silas Smith, Major Kurland. Mr. Oliver’s man.”

“Thank you for attending me here. I understand that Mr. Oliver has not been seen since the night of the ball at Almack’s?”

“He certainly hasn’t been back home, sir.” Smith shuffled his feet and dropped his gaze to Robert’s cane. “But that’s not unusual. He’s a young gentleman with a wide acquaintance.”

“I can imagine.” Robert studied the manservant. “Do you have any idea of his particular haunts?”

“Some of them, sir.”

“And does he have any close friends he might have taken refuge with?”

“Not really, sir. He has a bit of a temper on him that tends to alarm folks.”

“So I’ve heard.” Robert paused. “Have you ever seen him in a rage?”

“Yes, sir.” The manservant touched a livid scar on his cheek. “He threw a bowl of soup at me once, and knocked me out cold.”

“Would you say he’s being acting oddly at all recently?”

“Yes, sir. He’s always been one to hold grudges and let himself brood over matters, but recently he seems to have gotten worse.”

“In what way?”

“He imagines things, sir, like he’s being watched, or that someone is after him.”

“Someone in his family?”

“There’s certainly no love lost between my master and the rest of them.”

“I had noticed,” Robert said drily. “Do you have any ideas where Mr. Oliver might be?”

“That’s quite a long list, Major.” Smith scratched his head. “You’d probably be best to start with the brothels, and then the gambling dens and—”

“I’ll want to go out tonight and look for him. I’d appreciate it if you would accompany me.”

“Yes, Major.” Smith hesitated. “Mr. Oliver’s not a bad man, sir. He just needs to grow up a bit.”

Robert nodded. “Well, let’s just hope we can find him and offer him the opportunity to do just that, shall we?”

Chapter 8

“D
o you notice something odd, Anna?” Lucy whispered to her sister.

“Are you talking about Miss Lewis’s purple gown?”

“No, about Miss Chingford.”

“She looks perfectly well turned out to me.”

“I’m not talking about her dress. I’m talking about the fact that no one apart from her mother and sisters is speaking to her.”

They were attending a musical event in a private home with a smaller guest list than usual. To Lucy’s secret relief, it was a welcome respite from all the large balls and entertainments. She found it much easier to converse with other guests in a more intimate setting and felt less on show like a prize turkey at the county fair. Mr. Stanford had escorted her and the Hathaway ladies, and they’d met up with Anna and the Harringtons.

Miss Chingford sat with her mother at one of the small tables in the dining room. Although all the other tables were full, no one was taking up the empty spaces at Miss Chingford’s table.

“How peculiar,” Anna whispered. “She doesn’t look very happy either.”

“She never looks particularly cheerful, though, does she? Perhaps she’s found out what the gossipmongers are saying about her.”

“I wonder. I should imagine that her mama wouldn’t let her read the scandal sheets.” Anna sounded quite sorry for Miss Chingford. “Do you think we should go and warn her?”

Lucy cast Anna a horrified glance. “And what do you think will happen if we do that? She already loathes us. She’s hardly going to welcome us telling her she’s suspected of murdering a little old lady.”

“She hardly
murdered
her, Lucy. And Lady Bentley was as much at fault as Miss Chingford for upsetting the dowager countess.”

“But slightly more discreet.”

“How can you say that when they were both converging on the dowager just before she died?”

“Lady Bentley is a widow who doesn’t need to catch a husband, and can say whatever she likes and merely be thought of as an eccentric. Miss Chingford is not in that position. You know such a slur on her character could affect her chances of making a good marriage.” Lucy waved a hand in Miss Chingford’s general direction. “Why do you think everyone is giving her such a wide berth?”

“It’s not fair.” Anna’s expression took on a mulish look that Lucy had learned to dread. “I’m going to speak to her.”

Before Lucy could say another word, Anna started to make her way across the floor to where Miss Chingford sat in solitary splendor. With an irritated sigh, Lucy followed her.

“What do you want?” Miss Chingford didn’t exactly look welcoming.

Anna smiled. “Are you all right?” She glanced around the room at the other guests who continued to ignore the vacancies at the table.

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

Lucy stepped up beside Anna. “Because you are being ignored, and we both know how important social success is to you.”

Miss Chingford scowled at Lucy. “Of course, having spent all of two weeks in London, you would know everything about that, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s much the same anywhere, Miss Chingford. No one likes being ostracized.”

“Ostracized?”
Miss Chingford raised her eyebrows and tittered. “Me? This silly crisis will resolve itself and the gossips will move on to something else.”

“I doubt that will happen until this particular matter is properly resolved. I just hope it is in time for you to recover your standing in the eyes of your peers.” Lucy hesitated. “Being accused of provoking an old woman until she died is hardly a laughing matter.”

“I did no such thing! If anyone is to blame for her death it is your sister!”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “And how did you work that out?”

“She’s the one who stole Broughton from me, and forced me to act to resolve the situation. The dowager countess was agitated because her grandson was consorting with a
nobody.
”

Lucy put a restraining hand on Anna’s arm. “She isn’t worth arguing with, Anna, and she’s just trying to provoke you.” Lucy met Miss Chingford’s defiant gaze. “Despite everything, we will still try and make sure that you are exonerated of all blame for this appalling situation. But you might seek to examine your conscience, Miss Chingford, and perhaps accept some responsibility for your part in this matter. Good afternoon.”

She linked her arm with Anna’s and walked her back to their table.

“There’s no point trying to engage her further. She’ll just make matters worse.”

Her sister sat down with a decided thump. “And now she’ll be going around telling everyone it’s
my
fault. Why did I ever feel sorry for her in the first place?”

“I’m not sure.” Lucy patted her hand. “We tried to be charitable, and Christian, and forgiving of her appalling nature. That’s what counts. Father would be proud of us.”

Anna didn’t look convinced. Luckily, at that moment, Julia and Sophia returned to their table and she was soon chatting happily to them. Lucy continued to stare at Miss Chingford, who had somehow managed to insert herself into a group of people. From the way her mouth was moving and the angry glances she sent in their direction, Lucy could only assume that Anna’s reputation was being shredded. When Miss Chingford caught her eye, Lucy smiled graciously.

For once, she had no intention of trying to defend her sister. Didn’t Miss Chingford understand that her ill will toward others made her appear most unattractive, particularly to men of marriageable age? None of them would want to bring a bride into their family who abused their elders. Miss Chingford was in a lot more trouble than she realized. Lucy only hoped it wouldn’t drive her back to Major Kurland.

The major had sent her a note earlier inviting the Harringtons and the Hathaways to visit Broughton House. Anna was more than willing to go, and Sophia and her mother had agreed to come, too. Lucy was quite eager to visit the house herself and learn what Major Kurland had discovered. She was convinced that the dowager’s death and Broughton’s suspected poisoning were linked in some way. But how to proceed if they were? She was not at home in Kurland St. Mary, where she knew everyone and could wander into their houses at will. It was extremely frustrating. Here she would have to rely on Major Kurland to take the lead. He was ideally situated in the Broughtons’ home. She almost wished she were there, too....

“Miss Harrington? I understand we are to call on the Broughtons on the way home. Is that correct?”

She turned to find Mr. Stanford smiling at her. He wore a dark olive coat that brought out the green in his eyes and black top boots that gleamed. He always looked presentable and, unlike many men, he always treated her as an intelligent being, entitled to have an opinion about serious matters such as politics and warfare. She suspected he might make her a good husband, but she wasn’t convinced he realized it yet.

“If it doesn’t inconvenience you, sir.”

“Not at all, Miss Harrington.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go and find your aunt and assure her that we will return Miss Anna to her in time for dinner?”

The ride to the Broughtons’ house was fairly short, which was just as well with them all crammed together in one carriage to avoid the rain. Mr. Stanford gallantly took the center seat with Lucy and Anna on either side of him, while Sophia, and her more rotund mother, sat opposite. It was strange to feel the warmth of a male body all along her side. When Sophia winked at her, it simply made matters worse.

Mr. Stanford got out first and helped all the ladies down the steps and into the cavernous hall of Broughton House. The knocker on the front door was tied with black crape and the curtains had all been drawn. A footman took them through to the drawing room where the countess sat sewing in a chair by the fire. Major Kurland sat with her. He immediately stood and bowed.

Mrs. Hathaway went straight across to the countess and held her hand.

“We won’t stay above a minute. May I express our condolences and inquire about the invalid?”

“Thank you.” The countess patted Mrs. Hathaway’s hand and gestured for her to join her on the couch. “Please sit down. Broughton is feeling much better. I believe he intends to join us for tea.”

“I’m very glad to hear he is on the mend,” Mrs. Hathaway said. “I’m sure Major Kurland has been of great comfort, but there is nothing like having your family around you at such a terrible time as this.”

The countess looked across at the major. “He has indeed been very kind. I only wish my dear husband could be with me, too. I have sent a letter to him in India, but it will be months before he receives the news.”

The butler returned with the tea tray and Lucy rose to help the countess. She took her own cup and brought another over to Major Kurland.

“Thank you, Miss Harrington.”

“You are most welcome, Major.” She took the seat beside him. “Have you heard back from your aunt Rose? Will she be able to join you at your investiture?”

“I haven’t heard yet, Miss Harrington, but I’m fairly certain she will do her best to be there. An opportunity to meet the Prince Regent can hardly be ignored.”

“How nice for her.” Lucy looked back at the door. “Is Lieutenant Broughton really well enough to leave his bed?”

“He is determined to do so.” Major Kurland hesitated and then lowered his voice. “He is also determined to find out who poisoned him.”

“Ah, he doesn’t mean to let it lie, then, like his mother wishes. I wonder why? Does he suspect anyone in particular?”

“At the moment, he’s convinced it has something to do with Oliver. I spent last night looking for the young rapscallion at all his usual haunts, but he was nowhere to be found.”

“That does make things more problematical.”

“It is highly likely that Oliver
was
involved. According to Broughton, he has a history of malicious pranks against his family.”