Death on a Silver Tray (20 page)

Thursday morning, or rather, I should say, afternoon, I woke with a strong sense of expectation. Today I would wring a confession out of Mr. Hensley. With a somber mien, I would watch him be carried off by John Lavender, who would have a new respect for yours truly.

This pleasing prospect moved me to draw a sheet of paper from my portable writing desk and pen a note to Freddie.

My dear Freddie,

Progress has been made in the matter uppermost in both our minds. You will be happy to know an unexpected conclusion to the case is imminent, clearing your young friend’s name once and for all.

I should hope to put everything behind me by tomorrow afternoon, in time to travel to Oatlands for your weekend gathering. Need I say how very much I look forward to seeing you? Believe me, I am,

 Your most devoted servant,

 George Brummell

P.S. If I bring treats for the puppies, will I incur the wrath of the other one-hundred dogs?

“Ah, Robinson, there you are. Here is a letter for Oatlands. See that it is delivered at once. What is the day like?”

The valet drew back the curtains. “There is a drizzle, sir.”

“Too much to expect otherwise, eh? Is that the post?”

“Yes, sir. And the livery you ordered for the twins arrived from Guthrie. I shall bring it up for your inspection. Will you want breakfast?”

I opened a note from Lady Salisbury and scanned it quickly.

 Brummell,

The governess at Wrayburn House who was dismissed all those years ago was named Miss Turtleby. My cursed memory couldn’t bring it to mind last night, but I knew it would come to me. Just wait until you get to be my age, and you’ll see what I mean.

 Mary Amelia

I recalled that Robinson waited for my answer and tossed the missive aside. “Yes, breakfast after I dress. Do bring the garments from Guthrie to me straightaway. I cannot wait to see how the livery turned out.”

“You are in fine spirits today, sir. May I hope this means the unpleasantness surrounding Lady Wrayburn’s death is over?”

“Not quite over, Robinson, but it should be resolved in time for us to travel to Oatlands this weekend.”

I perceived a slight shudder from the valet. The dog hair at Oatlands, you know. Which reminded me. “As much as I hate to say so, I am afraid you were correct about Chakkri.”

Robinson’s face lit. “You are going to give him away, sir?”

I scowled. “No! It is just that one or two of his hairs have found their way onto my coats. Last night, Fairingdale remarked on it.”

Robinson dropped the Chinese bowl he was getting ready to fill with water for shaving. Fortunately, it landed without breaking on the thick Oriental carpet. “Mr. Fairingdale noticed a cat hair on you, sir?” Robinson said feebly. “I-I shall retire to the country then. Perhaps a vicar at some impoverished parish might be persuaded to employ me. Or worse, a huntsman or some other sporting type ...”

He swayed, and I feared he would faint.

I tossed the post aside and scrambled out of bed in time to ease him into a chair. “Now, now, man, get a hold of yourself! I handled the matter, implying the hair belonged to one of my inamoratas.”

This calmed him. The color gradually came back into his face, and he was able to speak with some conviction. “There is nothing else for it. Since you refuse to get rid of the animal, each time before you leave the house, I shall have to brush your coat once more.”

“Good man!” I responded bracingly.

Robinson suddenly looked toward the door. His lips pursed.

“Reow.”

“Hello, Chakkri,” I said, seeing the cat hop across the threshold to the room.

Robinson sprang from his chair and picked up the Chinese bowl from the floor. Without further delay, he went to get the livery and give orders for my breakfast. He glared at the cat as he hastened off.

I climbed back into bed, propping myself up on pillows. Chakkri joined me, and together we perused the rest of the post.

“Here is a note from Perry,” I told the cat.

Last night when I came home, albeit a bit tipsy, I had decided that Chakkri understood every word I said. Besides, I could talk to him about all sorts of things and not have to worry about him repeating them. I had no human I could trust to keep as silent as Chakkri.

“Let us see what Perry has to say.”

“Reow.” Chakkri nestled in the crook of my arm, his blue eyes fixed on my face. I read aloud.

Dear Brummell,

Bernadette sends her grateful thanks for the hamper from Gunter’s, though she fears she will soon grow rotund. Silly girl. At any rate, though the treats were welcome, she is not doing as well as I should like. We may decide to repair to Brighton for a while to get away from the soot of the city.

I have been at Bernadette’s side constantly, and as she declares she is ready to throw a chamber pot at my head for hovering, you may find me at White’s later today. I wish to hear how matters stand with your ‘difficulty.’

 Yours,

 Perry

“First Prinny was off to Brighton, now the Perrys, Chakkri. I shall have to visit the seaside town myself. But not until Mr. Hensley has been brought to justice, and I have visited Freddie.”

“Reow,” he said, placing an agreeable paw on my shoulder.

Thoughts of justice reminded me of Mr. Lavender. “What do you think? Shall I send round a note to the Bow Street man telling him I have solved the case?”

Chakkri bounded from the bed. He walked purposefully over to the crescent-shaped side table and leaped lightly to its polished surface. He went directly to the Sèvres tortoise-shell plate and began rubbing his face against it.

“Get down from there! Are you determined to knock that plate to the floor? I appreciate your interest in Sèvres, but do you have to keep going back to that one plate?”

The cat turned and stared at me. “Reeooow!”

I waved my hand at him. “I do not have time for your foolishness. I have to dress and confront a murderer.”

Chakkri muttered something and swooped down from the table. The next sound I heard was a furious scratching of sand coming from behind the screen.

While waiting for my bath to be filled, I decided to delay telling Mr. Lavender of my theory until after I had conducted my interview with Mr. Hensley.

Sipping chocolate, I reclined against my pillows and indulged in a happy vision of Mr. Lavender having to report to his superior that Beau Brummell had solved the case of Lady Wrayburn’s murder. Then I frowned. Perhaps it might be best for me to be magnanimous and allow him to take the credit.

Yes, the more I thought of it, the better this latter plan sounded. After all, I would not want Society to know I had to find the real murderer to prove that my opinion of Miss Ashton’s innocence was accurate. Better to let the world think I had not troubled myself to give the business a further thought subsequent to my pronouncement at the Crecys’ party.

Robinson returned with a load of garments over one arm. Ned and Ted, still wearing their country clothes, followed, carrying the copper bathing tub.

“Hello there, Mr. Brummell, sir. You still in bed?” one of the twins said. “Oof, this tub is heavy even for strong lads like us.”

Robinson’s lip curled. He handed me a piece of the livery to inspect. It was done in blue and gold, the gold of a shade chosen not to clash with the twins’ blonde hair, but rather to set it off to advantage.

“Yes, I am certain Robinson appreciates your filling the tub downstairs and bringing it up. It saves him the trouble of carrying pitchers of hot water upstairs,” I said.

“Indeed. I hardly remember what my life was like before the arrival of the twins,” Robinson declared in a wistful tone.

I glanced at him sharply, but his mockery had gone over the twins’ heads.

I ran my hands over the blue velvet material of the livery and noted the cut of the sleeves. Guthrie had followed my detailed instructions to the letter, bless him. “By the way, how the devil do I tell you two apart?”

“I’m Ted. I’m the smart one,” he said with a deal of pride.

Robinson snorted. “Between the two of them, they do not have the intelligence of a turnip,” he said for my ear alone.

“Look at that!” the other one, Ned, suddenly exclaimed. He pointed at Chakkri, who had come out from behind the screen and had vaulted to the top of a high-backed chair by the fire. The cat sat proudly, staring down his whiskers at the twins and twitching his tail.

Ned squinted. “I ain’t never seen no animal like that there before. It’s a cat I reckon, but a funnier lookin’ one I never did see. I wonder what his parents were? Reminds me of the time one of Mum’s pigs had a litter of the strangest lookin’ animals you ever did see. The girl pig had wandered off one day and come back pregnant. The only thing I could figger is that a wild dog had got to her, but Mum said that weren’t possible. Still, they had brown spots on ‘em, not at all like Mum’s Yorkshire pigs that’re pure white. You should have seen the set of privates on one of the piglet boys. Zookers!”

Ned fell victim to a sudden fit of hilarity until he comprehended that Chakkri was staring at him without blinking. The country boy abruptly stopped laughing and crossed himself. “Hey Ted, that there cat or whatever it is, is lookin’ at me like the devil. What was I sayin’ anyway?”

Robinson drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“You may retire to your rooms and dress in these clothes,” I said to the twins. “Present yourselves to me in two hours’ time. I should be bathed and dressed by then.”

The twins turned and started to leave the room. As they were crossing into the hall I heard Ned say, “It’s gonna take him two hours to get ready to go out? Ted, I’ve never heard of somebody takin’ so long to dress. Even the time I caught that sickness from the pigs, the one where my joints were all swollen and my skin was ...”

Thankfully, they were out of earshot and I could hear no more.

“It might be wise to order the twins to remain mute when you use them to carry your sedan-chair about Town, sir,” Robinson advised. “Oh, and shall I just step downstairs and make certain Andre is preparing bacon to go along with your breakfast?”

* * * *

Clad in their rich new livery, Ned and Ted were everything I had imagined. What a sight they made carrying my sedan-chair! Two tall, healthy, identical young men dressed in all their blue and gold glory could not help but attract notice. Especially when they were carrying an extraordinary sedan-chair occupied, if I may say so myself, by the leader of fashion.

How onlookers gaped as we traversed the streets between my rooms and Wrayburn House. Ladies and gentlemen alike stopped in their tracks to stare. Quizzing glasses were raised, gloved hands pointed, and heads nodded knowingly. Yes, of course that was Mr. Brummell, in his new sedan-chair. Yes, that is the most fashionable of woods, calamander. Yes, trust the clever Beau to have everything that matches, down to his chairmen.

I experienced no small measure of contentment as I watched the interplay through the glass.

Soon enough, we arrived at Wrayburn House. Riddell was back at his post and did not let any evidence of surprise cross his features when I asked for Mr. Hensley. His rheumy eyes did almost start from his head when he saw Ned and Ted, but, being a well-trained servant, he quickly recovered.

After taking my greatcoat, hat, and gloves, he bid me to wait while he determined if Mr. Hensley could see me. It was not long before he returned and directed me to the library.

Mr. Hensley rose unsteadily from where he sat behind a large desk. “Brummell! Come in, come in. Good of you to visit, to be sure, but I daresay there’s been a mistake. Aren’t you here to see ‘Becca, ah, Miss Ashton, that is?”

I stood politely, as he had not offered me a chair. I fixed an expression of amiability on my face while noticing Lady Wrayburn’s younger son had been indulging in a bottle of Jamaican Rum. The seal lay on the desk, and the bottle was half empty. His cravat hung loosely knotted, and his hair was in disarray that was anything but artful. It looked as if he had been raking his hands through it in frustration.

In fact, Mr. Hensley gave every impression of a desperate man.

Chapter Eighteen

“I should meet with Miss Ashton, of course, but things are looking rather bad for the girl just now,” I said with a slight shake of my head. “I thought perhaps you might offer me a bit of Dutch courage first.”

“Happy to do so. Sit down,” Mr. Hensley waved me to a chair and clumsily resumed his own seat. A drawing book lay on the desk, open to a likeness of a country landscape, but before I could get a good look at it, Mr. Hensley snapped the cover shut. “Nothing Dutch here but I’ve a good Jamaican rum,” he said in a weak attempt at humor.

His hand shook as he poured me a glass.

I sat sipping the rum—not my favorite—and waiting expectantly.

It did not take Mr. Hensley long to become unnerved by my silence. “Pity about Miss Ashton,” he bemoaned. “A decent family, you know. Father a viscount.”

“I doubt with her background she would be capable of—”

“There’s the rub,” Mr. Hensley interrupted, pouring himself another glass. “Course she couldn’t have done Mother in. Not that anyone in this house would give a snap of their fingers if she had.” He tried to snap his fingers to illustrate his point, but failed.

“Hmmm. As bad as that?”

Mr. Hensley swallowed his drink. “Good Lord, yes. And Miss Ashton did her best. Tried to please. But it was impossible.”

I tilted my head. “What was impossible?”

“Pleasing Mother! Mother had to have everything just her way, you know. Raised hell if anyone took a wrong step. Wrong in
her
view, you see. And so much of what I did fell into that category.” He tapped the closed drawing pad. “Hated my fiddling about with pictures.”

I experienced a flash of memory of my own father chastising me severely for not being more athletic when I was at school at Oxford. I ruthlessly pushed the image from my mind, focusing on Mr. Hensley. “It must have been difficult for you and your brother growing up.”