Heirs and Graces (A Royal Spyness Mystery) (13 page)

I picked up a copy of
The Lady
and was about to start reading when I heard the sound of tires on gravel. I looked up to see a sporty Armstrong Sidley come up the driveway. This had to be the doctor arriving. I watched one of the footmen run out with a large umbrella and escort a small, chubby man up to the front door. A few seconds later our door was opened and the footman came in.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but a gentleman has arrived to see His Grace. A Mr. Smedley—apparently His Grace is expecting him. Would you happen to know where His Grace might be?”

“I gather he went out to take a look at the site he is considering for his theater project,” I said. “This man must be the architect he was expecting.”

“That’s right, my lady. He did mention that he was from a firm of architects. So His Grace is out on the estate?”

“I think so. He doesn’t appear to be in the house.”

He looked dubiously out of the window. “So someone should take this gentleman down to find His Grace.”

I read in his face that he didn’t fancy that someone being himself. I got up. “I’ll take him if you like. I’m used to rain like this up in Scotland.”

I saw the relief flood across his face. “Would you, my lady? That would be most kind of you. It seems that—” He broke off. “That would be the doctor’s car now. I’d better go and escort him into the house, if you’d excuse me.”

I followed him out into the hall and introduced myself to the architect. The man didn’t look too cheerful about an expedition onto the grounds in this weather. I put on my own coat, tied a scarf around my head then off we went. It certainly was as miserable as any day in Scotland, and as we crossed the forecourt, we got the full force of the wind in our faces.

“Is it far? Should we take the motor?” he asked. “My umbrella would be useless in this wind.”

“There’s only a footpath, I’m afraid,” I said.

“Maybe this may make the duke change his mind about having an open amphitheater,” the architect shouted against the force of the wind. “I did suggest that we incorporate the possibility of inclement weather into our design, but he’s got this idea of a classical Greek amphitheater in his head.”

We skirted the lake and followed the stream downward. The path narrowed as we came into the glen where the stream, swollen with the current downpour, swirled and foamed and splashed over its banks as impressively as any burn at home in Scotland. The architect tried to tread daintily beside me to avoid stepping in puddles, and I noticed that he was wearing highly polished city shoes. I wondered if Cedric had picked the right man for the job.

Then the path turned a corner and the architect stopped short. “What’s that?” he said.

Something was lying amid the bushes beside the stream. We made our way toward it, and Mr. Smedley gave a little yelp and exclaimed, “Oh my God.”

Someone was lying beside the path, his head and torso half covered with a tweed jacket, while water from the swollen stream splashed up against him as against a large rock. I went up to him, my heart racing, and lifted off the jacket. Cedric was lying sprawled on his face, his white shirt spattered with mud, with what looked like Jack’s knife sticking from the middle of his back.

Chapter 15

Mr. Smedley grabbed me and tried to turn me away. “Please, avert your face. Do not look, my lady. It’s too horrible for words,” he said.

I didn’t like to tell him that I had seen dead bodies before. Not that one ever gets used to the sight of gray, lifeless flesh or sightless eyes open wide in surprise. Knives sticking out of backs take a bit of getting used to as well.

“If you feel as if you’re going to faint, my lady, do hang on to me,” he said, but he was actually clinging on to me and even through my thick, tweed coat I could feel his hands shaking.

“It’s all right. I’m not going to faint,” I said.

“Is it—is it the duke?” Smedley asked.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “It was.” I couldn’t take my eyes off that knife.

“What do we do? I suppose he is definitely dead?”

“Definitely,” I said.

“Then we shouldn’t linger here. The murderer could well be lurking behind one of those rocks.”

“Only if he doesn’t mind getting really wet,” I said. “Come on, Mr. Smedley. We have to go back to the house and call the police.”

“Should we move him?” Smedley asked. “He’s getting awfully wet there.”

“I don’t think he minds anymore.” I looked down at Cedric, feeling a wave of pity. True, he hadn’t been the most pleasant of men, but nobody deserved to end up like this. I picked up his jacket and covered him again. “The police will want to see the crime scene exactly as we found it,” I said.

We started back up the path with Mr. Smedley hurrying so fast he was almost running.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “Do you think my name will have to come into it? So bad for business anytime one’s name is mixed up with the police.”

“I’d have thought it would be wonderful publicity for your firm. The papers will be full of the murder of a duke. As an eyewitness, you’ll be invited to dinner parties all over London.”

“Oh, but I don’t think I could bear to talk about it,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll ever get that horrid sight from my mind. Who could have done it? There must be a madman loose in the neighborhood.”

Who could have done it? I asked myself as we trudged back up the hill and came out onto the gravel forecourt. Was it possible that Irene’s overdose of sleeping medicine was not an attempt at suicide but another attempt at murder? Could the same person be responsible for both? But that didn’t make sense—one was so sneaky, and one was so obvious and violent. And I wondered if I should leave it to one of the family members to identify Jack’s knife. Where was he, I wondered. It would not look good for him if he had disappeared at this very moment. Surely he couldn’t have done this. Not easygoing, affable Jack. But then I realized how very little I knew about him—how little any of us knew.

As we reached the house, Huxstep came out to meet us, carrying a huge umbrella. He looked around. “Did you not find His Grace down there?”

“We found His Grace all right,” Mr. Smedley blurted out. “He’s dead.”

“Dead? His Grace is dead? He had an accident?”

“He was murdered,” I said. “You should call the police immediately.”

“That is for Her Grace to decide,” he said. “She must be notified first. Oh, dear. The poor lady. She’s with the doctor, trying to save the life of Lady Irene. Both of her children in one morning—it is too much. Too much.” He fought to keep his own voice steady then regained his composure as we entered the foyer and stood, dripping onto the marble floor. “If you will, please wait here. I will go up to inform Her Grace immediately.”

“It had to be some kind of deranged tramp,” Mr. Smedley said. “So many men have gone funny since the war. Gassed, you know, or shell-shocked. And now there is no work for them—well, I suppose one can understand. He probably asked the duke for money or food or even a light, and the duke ordered him off his property and something snapped.”

I decided to stay silent. A deranged tramp would suit the family perfectly, I thought. And of course it was possible. Jack’s knife might well have been lying around quite visible in the tack room. Maybe a tramp had managed to sneak in and spend the night in the stables, and had taken the knife. That explanation rather pleased me.

Because of the luxuriously thick carpets at Kingsdowne, we didn’t hear Edwina coming until she was halfway down the stairs. “Oh, Georgiana, my dear,” she said, holding out her hands to me as if she was graciously greeting a new visitor. “I’m so sorry you had to witness . . . It’s true what Huxstep says then? You found my son’s body?”

I nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I did.”

“It was definitely he?”

“It was. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth for a moment before she composed herself. “What an awful shock for you, my dear. Some brandy, do you think?” For a moment I thought she was about to embrace me, but she stopped short when she saw my sodden outer garments.

“I’m really quite all right, thank you,” I said.

“Where is he?” she asked. “I must go to him. Do you think you could take me to him, please?”

“He’s in the glen,” I said.

“That stupid theater project of his. I knew it would lead to disaster, but I never imagined anything like this. Huxstep said he was murdered, but that can’t be right. Not on our own grounds. Perhaps he had a heart attack?”

“I’m afraid there’s no doubt. He was stabbed,” I said. “May I suggest you summon the police at once?”

“Huxstep is already doing so,” she said. “Although who knows how long before they’ll get here. I expect it will only be Constable Barber on his bike, but no doubt he can put through a telephone call to Sevenoaks for someone a little more senior.”

As she spoke, Huxstep came to join us. “The police are on their way, Your Grace, and I suggested that they send their most senior man. Is there anything I can do for you until they come?”

“Lady Georgiana is going to take me to see my son’s body,” she said. “Please have somebody bring me my raincoat and my brogues.”

“Your Grace, I think, given the inclement nature of the weather . . .”

“Your job is not to think, Huxstep,” she said curtly. “Your job is to bring me my raincoat.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said. “I only wanted to spare Your Grace the distress of seeing your son’s body.”

“I thank you for your concern, but I am not a child, Huxstep. Nor am I a frail old woman. My coat, please. And an umbrella.”

While we waited I asked, “Is there any news of Irene?”

“The doctor is administering a stomach pump,” she said. “He thinks he will be able to save her. Two children in one fell swoop. It was bad enough when I got the news about Johnnie. I don’t think I could bear it if the others were both taken from me. Where is my grandson? Where is John?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace. I haven’t seen him at all this morning.”

“He should be informed that he is now Duke of Eynsford,” she said with great dignity. “This is his house now. I realize that he is not yet twenty-one; thus, he will need a guardian to administer it for him until he reaches majority. I hope he will have the sense to allow me to guide him.” Her hand was at her throat again, clutching the jet-and-diamond brooch. “Your friend Lord Kilhenny’s son. Do you think he could be persuaded to come down again? A young man like John will need the strength and example of someone nearer his own age.”

I didn’t like to say I had no idea where Darcy could be found in London. He had no fixed address in town, but usually managed to live rather nicely in the houses of those who were wintering on the Med or were off at their country seats.

“He said he would come down as soon as he was able.” I felt overwhelmed with great longing to have him here with me, to feel those strong arms around me. “I will see if I can contact him.”

Huxstep returned, and produced the raincoat; an elderly maid carried the duchess’s shoes. The latter sat on a chair while her maid knelt to remove her footwear.

When she had put on the brogues, she turned to me. “In the glen, you say?” and she started toward the front door.

“You can’t go alone, Your Grace.” Huxstep stepped forward to block her path. “One of the staff should accompany you. Let me summon Frederick.”

“It’s all right. I’m going with Her Grace,” I said.

“But should you not have a man to escort you?” Huxstep asked. “There is a murderer on the loose. I will be happy to come myself, or maybe the gentleman from London . . .” He looked at Mr. Smedley, who had been standing off to one side, looking extremely miserable.

Smedley shook his head violently. “Oh, no. Dear me, no. I do not wish to see that sight again. In fact, I think I should return to London.”

“You can’t go yet. You’ll be needed to make a statement to the police,” I said.

“But I had nothing to do with this. I just happened to stumble upon the body.”

Huxstep went over to him. “If you’d care to let me take your overcoat, sir, I will have some coffee sent through to the morning room until we ascertain what is to happen next.”

“Most kind,” Mr. Smedley said, relieved.

“And I will send Frederick with you, Your Grace,” Huxstep said firmly. “He can hold your umbrella.”

I saw how extremely tactful butlers can be. He was not suggesting that she needed protection, merely an extra hand to hold an umbrella. I didn’t give much for the umbrella’s chances against this wind, but I was glad to have a footman with us. After all, as Huxstep had pointed out, there was a murderer on the loose.

We stepped out into the full force of the gale again. Frederick struggled to hold the umbrella over us, but it wasn’t much use. The rain was being driven horizontally. The dowager duchess moved closer to me, and I offered her my arm. She took it gratefully.

“Were those young men of his not with him?” she said. “Usually they follow him everywhere like ducklings. If only they had been with him, this would not have happened.”

“I haven’t seen them at all this morning,” I said. “Your son’s valet said that his master was going to take another look at the site for his project before the architect came and also to post a letter.”

“Post a letter?” She looked surprised. “One of the staff could have done that for him.”

“He wanted to make sure it caught the early post, I understand.”

“I wonder what was in it that was so important?”

We walked on, each digesting this silently. I don’t know what she was thinking, but I was wondering whether somebody wanted to make sure that the letter was never posted.