Death Comes to London (22 page)

“There’s no need. You’ve been remarkably brave all day, Miss Harrington.” He turned the door handle and went into the upper servants’ sitting room. Smith sat at the table, finishing what looked like the remains of a large meal. He stood up when he saw Robert and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“Major Kurland. Good evening, sir.”

Robert gestured for him to sit back down and after setting a chair for Miss Harrington, he sat opposite Smith.

“I have a letter for you from Mr. Fairfax, Major, but he also said to tell you that he is quite content to stay on until you return.”

“Thank you.” Robert took the letter and placed it on the table in front of him. “How did you find the manor house and the countryside around it?”

“I liked it well enough, sir. The soil looks better than that my family farm up north and the climate’s a bit warmer.”

“You still intend to return to farming?”

Smith shrugged. “It’s not as if I have a choice, is it? Without a reference no one is going to take me on as a manservant, let alone an aspiring valet now, are they?”

“Actually, I am looking for a new valet myself.”

“
You
are, sir?”

“I’d like you to consider taking the position. You might have to spend some of your time in London, but generally I prefer to reside at Kurland Manor.”

“But why, sir? Why me? You of all people know what I did.”

Robert held Smith’s gaze. “Because I believe your loyalty to your young master did you credit, and in light of recent events, I regret ever having insisted that you bring him home.”

“What’s happened to Master Oliver?”

“He’s dead, Silas.”

“But I thought he was getting better. I sneaked in to see him before I left and he looked right peaceful as he lay there sleeping. Did his fever get worse?”

“I’m not sure,” Robert said. “The circumstances of his death were quite unusual. He threw himself off the ledge outside his bedroom window.”

Smith shot to his feet and started to pace the small room. “I told you he was scared to go back there. Mayhap he was right.” He swung around to look at Robert. “Why would he do that? Jump to his death?”

“Because he was afraid. The trouble is, he was so distraught when I tried to talk to him that I couldn’t understand exactly what he was afraid
of.
” Robert looked up. “Did he ever tell you?”

Smith sat back down with a thump and rubbed hastily at his eyes. “He hated and feared them all. He was convinced that he was such a disappointment that they wanted to get rid of him.”

“Do you think he was correct?”

“To be honest, sir, I merely thought him over-young and rather self-obsessed, but maybe he wasn’t.” Smith raised his head. “Did Lieutenant Broughton tell you why Master Oliver was almost expelled from Eton?”

“Not specifically, although Broughton did tell me that Oliver had a reputation for drinking, gambling, and stealing from a very young age.”

“That’s not all of it, sir.” Smith let out his breath. “Oliver fell in love.”

“Such things often happen to young men of fortune who assume that their introduction to copulation by an unsuitable woman means they are in love. I dealt with it all the time in the regiment.”

“No, sir.” Smith lowered his voice. “Oliver wasn’t in love with a woman of any class. He told me it was another student, a much older boy.”

“Ah.” Robert looked warily over at Miss Harrington, but she didn’t appear terribly shocked. “I should imagine that didn’t go down very well with the Broughton family.”

“They treated him appallingly, sir—like vermin.” Smith shook his head. “I know that what he did was a sin, but they had no compassion or understanding for him at all. After that, he just gave up trying to please them. He used to tell me that as they already thought he’d gone to the devil, he might as well enjoy the ride and antagonize them as he went down.”

“Do you think Oliver might have decided to rid himself of his family before they got rid of him?”

“I doubt it, sir.”

“Then why did he steal the bottle of poison from the dowager’s stillroom?”

“What bottle?”

“The one that Lieutenant Broughton discovered hidden amongst your belongings.”

Smith opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“What?”

“Do you not recall your master putting the bottle there?”

“Sir, there was no bottle. I swear it.”

“And you didn’t decide to rid Oliver Broughton of his unpleasant relatives yourself?”

Smith’s hand clenched into a fist on the table. “Even if it means your offer of employment is withdrawn, Major, I will never lie and claim to be a poisoner, or one who aided one!”

“Is it possible that Oliver might have put the bottle in amongst your possessions without telling you? He did fall ill very quickly. He might not have had time to explain what he’d done.”

“I suppose that could’ve happened, but I still don’t believe he would have poisoned his grandmother, or his brother. They are both far more knowledgeable about such matters than my master is, I mean was.”

“You have been most helpful, Smith.” Robert looked over at Miss Harrington. “Do you think Mrs. Hathaway would object to Smith staying here tonight? I am anxious for him to return to Kurland St. Mary to await my homecoming.”

“Mrs. Hathaway’s staff has already prepared a room for him, sir.” She rose from her seat in a whisper of silk. “I’ll take you through to him, Silas.”

Robert waited in the gathering gloom until Miss Harrington returned and took the seat Smith had previously occupied.

“Are you hungry, Major?”

He glanced at the remains of the pigeon pie and shuddered. “No, I thank you.”

“Something to drink, then? I asked the butler to bring me some tea, but I’m sure he can find you something stronger if you wish it.”

“Tea will be fine.” He pushed the pie away from him. “This is fast becoming a horribly complex mess.”

“I have to agree with you, sir. I was beginning to believe that the dowager countess accidentally poisoned herself and Lieutenant Broughton until Lady Bentley drowned and now poor Oliver . . .” She hesitated. “Died so
unnecessarily.
”

“I suppose now that everyone we suspected is dead, we should really give up all hope of ever understanding what has gone on.”

“Maybe Oliver chose to kill himself because he was guilty.”

“I almost wish I could agree with you, but the last thing he said to me was that he didn’t kill anyone and that he was afraid.” He shook his head. “I’m reluctant to mention it, but he did look quite mad. His eyes were like black holes into hell.”

“Vermin.”

Robert looked up. “What did you say, Miss Harrington?”

“Silas said that the Broughton family treated Oliver like vermin, and that’s how you kill vermin—you use poison. Why did you take that bottle of medicine from Oliver’s bedside?”

“Because the nurse said she’d just given him the medicine before he attacked her.”

“Who prescribed it?”

“One must assume it was Dr. Redmond.”

“A man who knows all about the Broughton family’s personal lives and has the knowledge to kill. But why would he want to get rid of them?”

“Perhaps he views them as a scientific experiment?”

“But he wasn’t at Almack’s?”

“How do we know? He attended Harrow and Eton and is the fourth son of an earl, so he would certainly have been allowed in. Just because we didn’t know he was present doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. And if he came to speak to Broughton, or any other member of the family, no one would’ve remarked on it.”

“So if he was there, he had the opportunity to add the poison to the orgeat. I suppose we can check the subscription book for that evening and see if Dr. Redmond was present.” Miss Harrington sighed. “I’ll say it before you do. This is all pure supposition. Perhaps the dowager did poison everyone and everything that has happened since is simply because of that. It is none of our business anyway.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “When has that ever stopped you from meddling?”

She smiled at him. “After being trapped in a tomb last year I decided it would be prudent to keep my meddling ways to myself. But it seems as if I either attract trouble or have an overriding desire to be proved right. What’s your excuse, Major?”

“I’m not sure anymore. I thought I was helping an old army colleague.”

“And what about Lieutenant Broughton’s part in all this?”

Robert met her clear gaze. “What about him?”

“He is very close to Dr. Redmond and was the person who introduced him into the household.”

“After the dowager nearly killed everyone with her potions.”

“Yes, but what does Broughton think about all these deaths?”

“I haven’t spoken to him about Oliver yet. I got the impression from Dr. Redmond that he suspected some kind of pressure on the brain or a fever had taken over Oliver’s mind and made him irrational, hysterical, and delusional enough to leap out of the window over nothing.”

“And from all accounts that could be true,” Miss Harrington said slowly. “Is it possible that Dr. Redmond is doing Broughton’s bidding?”

“But Broughton was poisoned himself. He might have died.”

“That’s true, so perhaps the good doctor has decided to intervene on his benefactor’s behalf and clear the decks around him. But why would he bother? What reason would he have to even consider such a series of actions?”

“I don’t know.” Robert sighed. “He is rather fond of the current countess, but she is still married to Broughton’s father. Unless
they
are in cahoots and intend to lure the viscount back to England and dispose of him as well.”

“I suppose that is possible. She
is
the only member of the family who wasn’t poisoned. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem the sort of woman who would fall passionately in love with anyone.”

“Agreed.”

“And I can’t really see Dr. Redmond killing
for
her, because he’d still have to dispose of Broughton and his father.” Miss Harrington made a face. “I don’t think we are ever going to understand what is going on.”

“
I
think it’s time I moved back to Fenton’s. I don’t want to be anywhere near Dr. Redmond at the moment.”

“I agree, but there are a couple of things you might consider doing before you leave. . . .”

After bidding Major Kurland good night, Lucy made her way back up the stairs to the drawing room deep in thought. To her surprise, Mr. Stanford was ensconced in a chair by the fire still talking to Sophia.

He stood up when she came in and bowed. “Good evening, Miss Harrington. Mrs. Giffin has been telling me about young Oliver Broughton’s unexpected death. I must confess to be shocked to hear of it.”

Lucy sat beside Sophia on the couch. “It is always terrible when someone dies at such a young age, isn’t it?” She considered him for a long moment. “Mr. Stanford, did you mention that you were interested in science?”

“I did, Miss Harrington. I belong to a club named Fletchers on Portland Street where we discuss new developments in the emerging scientific fields.” He smiled. “I must admit that my interest is not purely impartial. As a lawyer, I am always looking for new ways to ensure a conviction in a murder investigation. For far too long, many murderers have gotten away with crimes that I suspect could be solved if we were able to determine exactly what had happened to the body.”

“Such as the effect of poison?”

“Indeed. I have been reading Orfila’s book about detecting poison in the human body. If we can persuade the courts to accept such evidence, it promises to be very helpful in the future.”

“Do you have a copy that I might borrow, Mr. Stanford?”

“Yes, I do.” He smiled at her. “May I ask why you are so interested in such gruesome matters?”

Lucy hesitated. Major Kurland had already warned her not to discuss details of her suspicions with anyone, but she had a sensation that time was running out and that any help would be beneficial.

“I hope I can rely on your complete discretion, Mr. Stanford, but I am interested in what has been happening to the Broughton family.”

Mr. Stanford sat back. “In what way?”

She met his interested gaze. “Don’t you think it odd that the dowager countess and Oliver died so suddenly?”

“It is unusual, I grant you, but not unheard of. The dowager was an elderly lady and Oliver was known to be rather . . . unstable.”

“But what if they were murdered?”

“Then someone would have to provide the evidence of such a crime and take it to the coroner and the local magistrate.”

“And what if that evidence was difficult to obtain?”

“Does this fall into the category we just touched upon? Poison?”

“Yes, I believe it does.”

Lucy told Mr. Stanford the whole story and he listened intently, only interrupting to ask sensible questions, which made Lucy approve of him even more.

“It certainly is a tangle,” Mr. Stanford said. “But here is one thing to think on. Putting poison in the orgeat at Almack’s was a terribly risky venture. If the dosage had been high enough, the murderer could have killed more than just the dowager countess.”

“I agree.” Lucy shuddered. “I was about to drink a glass myself, but someone hit my elbow and I spilled everything over my dress.” She paused. “I wonder if someone did that deliberately.”

“Can you remember whom you were standing by?”

She hesitated. “It might have been Oliver.”

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed six times. Mr. Stanford glanced over at it and rose to his feet.

“Good Lord, it’s getting late and I’m in court tomorrow. I’ll send that book to you right away, Miss Harrington.” He bowed over her hand and then turned to Sophia. “Always a pleasure, Mrs. Giffin.”

Sophia smiled up at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

He kissed her fingers. “Thank you for the invitation, but I regret I must leave. I have some rather interesting research to do.”

Lucy let Sophia walk Mr. Stanford to the top of the stairs while she considered what had happened during the long and stressful day. When Sophia returned, they decided to forgo a more formal meal in the dining room and eat their dinners from a tray in their respective rooms.