Death Comes to London (26 page)

“Lucy, where on earth have you
been?
We’ve all been so worried.”

She embraced Anna tightly and they sat down, their hands still interlinked. “I’m very well, Anna. I’ve just been rather busy.”

“Too busy to see your own sister?”

“I’m sorry, love.” She held her sister’s indignant gaze. “I never meant to worry you.”

“But you’re still not going to tell me what you’ve been up to, are you? Does it concern Major Kurland?”

“Why would you think that?” Behind her she heard Sophia snort.

“Because he seems determined to fix his interest with you.”

“He does
not.
”

Anna blinked at her. “Then I shall be speaking to him myself. If his intentions are not honorable, he has no business singling you out!”

She glanced back at Sophia and Mrs. Hathaway, who were making no attempt to hide the fact that they were both listening. “Do you think I have time to speak to Anna privately before dinner, ma’am?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Hathaway smiled at them both. “It’s only family this evening, so no one will mind if you are a few minutes late to the table.”

Taking Anna’s hand, Lucy went back to her bedchamber and waited until her sister sat on the side of the bed with her arms crossed.

“Well?”

The stubborn expression on Anna’s face should be a warning to all the men who imagined her to be beautiful and manageable.

“I have been spending some time with Major Kurland, Anna, but only because of a matter that concerns the Broughton family.”

“And what would that be?”

Lucy gathered her resolve. “Murder.”

“What?”

“I know that you have conceived a
tendre
for Lieutenant Broughton, but I fear your affection may be misplaced.”

Anna stared at her for a long time. “You and Major Kurland think that Lieutenant Broughton is a murderer?”

“Quite possibly.” Lucy looked squarely into Anna’s blue eyes. “You might not believe me, but—”

“Oh, I believe you.” Anna shuddered. “I fell out of love with him when he described his sickening experiments on those poor animals.”

“Then you aren’t angry with me?”

“Not at all.” Anna raised her eyebrows. “Apart from the fact that you excluded me from your confidence again.”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

“I understand, but I’m no longer a child, Lucy. I can take care of myself. I worry about you more than I worry about myself. Are you aware that Major Kurland’s particular attention toward you has meant that other men who might have been considering you as a potential wife will have drawn away?”

“That’s very sweet of you, but no one has really looked at me twice.” Lucy forced a smile. “I don’t think I’m suited to a life in London. I really want to go home.”

“Home to Major Kurland?”

“No, just
home.
” Lucy sat next to Anna on the bed. “Looking after Father, helping in the parish, dealing with Kurland Manor . . . perhaps that is what I am meant to be doing after all. I like being my own mistress.”

“Oh, Lucy . . .” Anna kissed her cheek. “I cannot allow you to think so poorly of yourself that you believe caring for others is your station in life. You deserve so much more.”

“But I am a rather managing female, even you can’t deny that.” Lucy smiled. “Perhaps Father’s new curate will be young and handsome.”

“And malleable.”

Lucy smiled. “Exactly.”

“I don’t want you to end up alone, Lucy,” Anna whispered.

“How could that happen? If I don’t find a husband, I’m hoping I’ll be welcome in your home or in any other of my siblings’ houses who choose to invite me.” Lucy swallowed back a ridiculous urge to cry and rose to her feet. “Perhaps we should go down to dinner? I don’t know about you, but I’m rather hungry.”

Chapter 17

T
hey’d agreed to convene in one of the private parlors at Fenton’s the next morning and Robert was impatiently awaiting his guests. The relief of being out of Broughton House had been immeasurable, particularly after Broughton’s unsubtle attempt to direct Robert’s thoughts into believing Oliver was a murderer. Every time he pictured Oliver’s panicked expression as Dr. Redmond and Broughton had arrived home that night he wanted to flay Broughton alive.

A knock on the door drew his attention back to the present as one of the maids brought in a tray of coffee and other victuals and placed them on the table. Her exit was swiftly followed by the arrival of Andrew, Mrs. Giffin, and Miss Harrington, who brought the snap of the cold easterly wind with them in their pink cheeks and disheveled locks.

It didn’t take long for bonnets to be discarded, cloaks to be set aside, and for the four of them to be seated around the table. Miss Harrington produced a stub of pencil and a piece of paper that was already covered in writing.

“Well, where shall we start?” she asked.

Andrew Stanford raised his hand. “I went to Almack’s and checked the subscriptions book for the ball the night the dowager died. Dr. Redmond was present.”

“Damn,” Robert said. “So we still can’t discount him.”

He turned back to Miss Harrington. “Tell us what happened with Mr. Bentley.”

Miss Harrington talked, and Sophia Giffin added her impressions, building a picture of the events leading up to the disaster on the boating lake that made a terrible kind of sense.

“Mr. Bentley entrusted me with the rubies.” Miss Harrington laid a flat green velvet jewelry box on the table and opened it to display a sumptuous ruby and gold necklace that shone even in the shadows of the room. “And even more importantly, with these.” She placed two pieces of paper on the table. “One is the original bill of purchase from the jeweler to Lieutenant Broughton. The other is Lady Bentley’s receipt from the jeweler for the same rubies.”

Andrew Stanford whistled. “That’s pretty damning, although there is still no direct evidence to convict Broughton of murdering Lady Bentley or anyone else.”

“I know.” Miss Harrington sighed. “Mr. Bentley also asked us to convey his apologies to you, Major. He said that he misjudged you and appreciated your effort to save his mother’s life. When he first approached the scene, he thought you were strangling her.”

“Now I come to think of it, her neck was rather red,” Robert admitted. “I assumed that was because we’d had to drag her out of the lake. But maybe Broughton wanted to make absolutely sure that she wouldn’t rise to the surface and be saved. . . .” He shook his head. “Not that it matters. For all intents and purposes she was dead once Broughton realized she might know what had really happened to the jewelry.”

“But why couldn’t he leave the matter alone? With the dowager dead, surely the whole thing would’ve been quickly forgotten?” Miss Harrington asked. “Lady Bentley had her jewels and the satisfaction of knowing she’d won in the end.”

“Not if Mr. Bentley insisted on carrying out his threat to bring the matter to court. Everything would’ve come out in public. Broughton couldn’t afford for any suspicion as to his need for money to be revealed, or all his creditors would’ve been dunning him.”

“But Lady Bentley had already decided to tell her son the truth, hadn’t she?”

“Yes, but Broughton didn’t know that or even exactly what evidence the Bentleys had. I suppose he decided to err on the side of caution.”

“And took advantage of the collision on the lake.”

“I asked Anna about that again last night. She said that Mr. Bentley was originally making right for them, but seemed to think better of it and eased back. It was
her
boat that collided with the Phillips boat, which became entangled with the Bentleys and tipped everyone overboard.”

“So Broughton might have managed that, too.”

“Yes.” Miss Harrington sat back. “I also spoke to Hester Macleod and she gave me a sample of her handwriting. She
did
write the labels, but she insisted it was Lieutenant Broughton who made up the elixir. Of course, if it comes down to it, Broughton can claim to have no knowledge of this particular bottle of medicine because it looks like Hester made it and one would assume it was given with Dr. Redmond’s approval.”

“So, again we can prove nothing,” Robert said. “And if Broughton’s story about Oliver’s culpability is accepted, then he will get away with murder.”

“We still don’t know that he murdered anyone, Robert.” Andrew tapped the list. “All we know is that he is desperately in debt and we assume he needed to gain control of his grandmother’s finances before his father returned to see what a mess he’d made of everything.”

“Which gives him all the motive in the world.”

“To prove that he poisoned anyone, we’d need evidence from the body. And finding
that
despite Orfila’s and others’ work is still a dark art.”

Robert rubbed an impatient hand over his jaw. “Do we know what was in that bottle by Oliver’s bedside yet?”

“Not yet. I have someone from Fletchers analyzing it for us. He’s very discreet.”

“Then the only thing I can think of to do now is have an honest conversation with Dr. Redmond.” Robert looked around the table. “Does everyone agree?”

“I wonder if Broughton intends to cast the doctor as the other villain of the piece?” Miss Harrington asked. “One has to suspect that if anyone doesn’t believe that Oliver was responsible, Broughton might need to produce another likely culprit.”

“And Dr. Redmond is the Broughton family physician. I’ve found out some interesting information about him,” Andrew said. “Did you know that he attended Eton and knew Oliver
rather well
before he met the lieutenant?”

“Are you suggesting . . . ?” Robert didn’t want to discuss Oliver’s personal proclivities in front of the ladies, but Andrew simply nodded.

“One has to wonder about that, doesn’t one?”

“About what?” Miss Harrington demanded, her attention swiveling between Robert and Andrew. “Why would Dr. Redmond countenance the murder of someone he was friends with? Do you think he expected Broughton to pay him, too?”

Robert stood up. “Perhaps we should go and alert Dr. Redmond to his peril. Where might we find him at this hour of the day?”

“I believe he has an office on Harley Street; we can visit him there,” Andrew said. “I’ll escort the ladies home, and then I’ll come back and pick you up.”

Miss Harrington made a huffing sound and stared pointedly at Robert. “You must promise to tell us what transpires with Dr. Redmond.”

“Naturally, Miss Harrington. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”

Andrew paused at the door. “If you would prefer it, Miss Harrington, I could escort Mrs. Giffin home and you could go with Robert to visit Dr. Redmond?”

“But she wouldn’t be chaperoned,” Sophia Giffin said.

The sudden fall in Miss Harrington’s hopeful expression stopped Robert’s instant denial of her claim to be present at the crucial interview.

“I’m sure one of the maids here at the hotel could accompany us.”

“Then that’s settled.” Andrew winked at Mrs. Giffin. “You can take my carriage, Robert, and Mrs. Giffin and I will quite happily walk back to the Hathaways’ house.”

“To what do I owe this honor, Major Kurland, Miss Harrington?”

Robert took the seat offered to him in Dr. Redmond’s study and waited until Miss Harrington settled beside him. Despite his relatively young age, the physician occupied a respectable set of consulting rooms on one of the best streets in London and appeared very at ease in them.

“We wished to talk to you about the recent deaths in the Broughton family.”

“Such a tragedy.” Dr. Redmond shook his head. “The dowager countess was an elderly lady who tended to ignore my advice and insisted on medicating herself. I confess that I wasn’t terribly surprised when she succumbed to heart failure, although the timing of her death was rather unfortunate.”

“In what way?”

Dr. Redmond’s eyebrows rose. “I simply meant that dying at a subscription ball at the most exclusive club in London was bound to create just the sort of publicity a well-to-do family strives to avoid.”

“Ah, I see, how
vulgar
of her.”

“Is something wrong, Major Kurland?”

“There might be. If the dowager’s death was
understandable,
what do you make of Oliver Broughton’s decision to throw himself off a window ledge?”

Dr. Redmond flinched and dropped his gaze to his desk where he began to rearrange his notepads. “I . . . regret Oliver’s death more than I can say.”

“Do you feel responsible for what happened?”

“Of course I do.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand why he wasn’t getting better. I tried everything—”

“May I ask,” Miss Harrington interrupted him. “What exactly did you imagine was wrong with Oliver in the first place?”

“I assumed he’d merely suffered from the same gastrointestinal complaint Broughton had, and I treated him accordingly, but he also seemed . . .” His voice trailed off. “Why are you asking me all these things? Do you have Broughton’s permission to question me and interfere in the private affairs of his family?”

Robert crossed one booted foot over the other. “We don’t have his permission, because we suspect he wouldn’t give it to us. Are you aware that Lieutenant Broughton is seriously in debt, doctor?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you also aware that he is quietly telling people that Oliver poisoned his grandmother in a fit of jealous rage and then killed himself because of his ‘unnatural leanings’ and his guilt over taking a life?”

All the color bled from the doctor’s face. “That can’t be true, Broughton wouldn’t—”

“I hate to disappoint you, Doctor, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’ll blame Oliver for everything, and bury him and the dowager in the countryside where no one will ever think of them again. Is that what you want?” He paused. “I understand you knew Oliver from Eton. Will you forget him as easily as his brother will?”

“No,” Dr. Redmond whispered. “How could I?”

“Which brings me to my next question. Was Lieutenant Broughton really ill after Almack’s?”

“Yes, of course he was. Why do you ask?”