Lord Scoundrel Dies (7 page)

‘Oh, so you came here tonight to pass the
time with the gentleman?’ she demanded incredulously. It had been
satisfying to see the slow rise of color in his face. She knew
about the viscount, of course. There was not a female in all of
London who did not know about Viscount Talisker. He, too, had been
pointed out to her at one of the many dances that her aunt liked to
drag her along to. Rich, under thirty and good-looking; his virtues
were manifest. Harry hadn’t minded the look of him, it must be
admitted. With his dark brown hair, stylishly arranged, that
aquiline nose and strong jaw, he epitomized all that was desirable
in a male. Even Sarah, a notorious flirt, became rather breathless
when the viscount was around.

‘That is entirely
different,’ he said now, voice terse. Clearly she was not supposed
to ask any questions about the nature of
his
visit.

‘In what way is it different?’ She was
immune to the repressive note in his voice. She was genuinely
curious as to why he had come. Apparently it was not to recover a
piece of jewelry or some missing chits but he must have had some
purpose. One did not visit a man at this hour unless he was a close
friend or keen on having a discussion that would not wait. She was
inclined to think that his lordship had come to Hill Street to have
words with Lord Sutton.

His mouth had tightened. ‘It just is. I
wanted to see the man himself. It was about a private matter.’

‘This table is covered with private
matters,’ she had returned quietly. ‘And I intend to keep them that
way.’

‘But what are you going to do with them?’
Mr. Lampforth asked, sounding plaintive. He had wanted to go, that
much was obvious but seemed disinclined to abandon her. It was
oddly touching, considering he did not know her.

‘Return them to their owners.’

‘They are going to wonder how you came by
them,’ Mr. Lampforth had pointed out. ‘Bound to be talk, now that
Sutton is dead. They’ll probably think you did it.’

This had brought her up short. He was right,
of course. The murder of Lord Sutton would cause a social furor.
She could hardly go about handing out his ill-gotten gains
willy-nilly for people would naturally wonder how she came by them.
‘I shall return them anonymously.’

‘There are quite a lot of things to return,’
the viscount had said dampeningly and Harry had been struck at just
how negative he was about the entire affair. Mr. Lampforth, at
least, was trying to be helpful, albeit reluctantly but Lord
Talisker had been far less agreeable. ‘Surely it would be easier
just to destroy the debts and the letters? The jewelry… I suppose
you could send it via the post.’

‘Too easy to trace,’ Mr. Lampforth had
objected. ‘Besides, do you actually know who owns all this
stuff?’

Harry had hesitated. She didn’t, of course.
How could she when she had only been in town a short time and had
not yet matched gem to wearer? She only recognized Mrs.
Butterworth’s brooch because of the to do the lady had made at its
disappearance. It had been the day after she arrived at her aunt’s
house as well, which had helped to fix it in her memory. But as for
the rest… ‘I shall find a way to identify them,’ she had said,
possibly with more confidence than she actually felt. She would
discover the owners, but it might take a little time. As for his
lordship’s other suggestion… ‘And the debts and letters will be far
easier because at least they will have names on them. I can’t
destroy them. As I have already said, the owners will be most
anxious about their whereabouts. It is not a position I would care
to be in.’

At her insistence, he had been forced to let
the matter go but not without telling her how foolhardy he thought
her. Which was just fine with Harry; she thought him opinionated,
stuffy and disagreeable. His attitude made her all the more
determined to carry out her plan. Sarah had been waiting up for her
when she returned to her aunt’s house and had burst into tears when
Harry had produced the necklace – tears of joy it was to be
presumed.

‘You found it! Harriet Honeywood, you are
the cleverest girl I have ever met. Did you have any trouble
finding it?’

Harry had pursed her lips.
‘A little. Actually, there was one
slight
problem…’

‘What?’ Sarah had been examining the
necklace with loving eyes, running it through her fingers
caressingly.

Harry had hesitated. Sarah was an excitable
kind of girl, inclined to loud noises if her sensibilities were
tickled. ‘Do you promise not to give one of those squeals you are
so inclined to? For I have had a harrowing evening and I doubt my
nerves could take it.’

‘You don’t have any nerves,’ Sarah had
pointed out, but her curiosity was clearly stirred. ‘What
happened?’

‘You promise not to make a noise?’ Harry had
reiterated warily.

‘I promise,’ her cousin had returned
impatiently. ‘Dear me, Harry you make me sound as if I am entirely
foolish.’

‘You can be,’ Harry had retorted. ‘And it
can be very disconcerting.’

‘Just tell me, for heaven’s sake!’

‘Oh very well. When I arrived at Lord
Sutton’s house I found Lord Sutton –’

‘Oh Harry, he
caught
you?’ Sarah had
said in dismay.

‘No, he did not catch me. He was in no
position to catch me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that when I arrived I found Lord
Sutton on the floor of his library. He was – and this is the part
where you remain mute, if you please – he was dead.’

Sarah stared at her with round blue eyes.
‘What do you mean… dead?’

Harry had arched an eyebrow. ‘What do you
think I mean? Dead. On the rug.’

‘Dead on the… no! You cannot mean it.’

‘Of course I mean it. It is hardly something
I would make up.’

‘But… are you sure he was dead? Was he
breathing?’

‘He was dead, Sarah. That tends to preclude
breathing.’

‘But why? Was he ill? I mean, did his heart
fail or… or…’

Harry was positive that Lord Sutton’s heart
had failed but it had not been an illness that had stopped it. ‘He
had been murdered, Sarah. With a candlestick.’

‘A… candlestick?’ Sarah had
breathed, going rather white. ‘
Murdered
?’

Her voice had gone up on that last word.
‘You said you wouldn’t make a noise! Pull yourself together or
we’ll have Aunt Margaret in here and then I will have to explain
these clothes to her.’

It had been enough of a threat to quell her
cousin for she had no desire to explain to her mother why she was
clutching a necklace that, by rights, should currently be in the
family strongbox. Just the same, she had been exceedingly
ruffled.

‘You poor thing, walking in to discover a
body! It was a wonder you did not faint on the spot.’

‘I don’t faint.’

‘Yes, but… a body. How utterly dreadful. Was
there… did you see anybody? The… the...’

‘Killer? No, they had gone before I got
there.’ Harry wondered if she should mention the presence of Mr.
Lampforth or Lord Talisker but decided against it. There was no
point in telling Sarah that she had company for she would be sure
to speculate on the presence of both gentlemen, especially that of
the viscount for whom she, rather like most of the other young
females in London, harbored romantic ideas. Now that she had
actually met him, Harry thought they were rather ridiculous ideas
for, as handsome as he was, his abrasive manner had definitely
grated. Sarah would probably think the whole thing utterly romantic
if Harry mentioned Lord Talisker had been on the scene although
romantic had been the last thing it had been. With this in mind,
she had abbreviated how she had discovered the necklace and did not
show Sarah the other items she had brought with her. She might have
to ask Sarah’s help in identifying the jewelry but she really did
not want her cousin reading those letters and notes. Fond as she
was of Sarah, she was a dreadful chatterbox and might inadvertently
blurt out the wrong thing at precisely the wrong time or, worse
yet, make herself look important by revealing to somebody that she
knew more than she should about Lord Sutton’s death.

The bag had been stowed safely in the back
of her wardrobe. She intended to go over the contents when she had
a moment to herself.

‘Well I think the entire adventure too
thrilling,’ Sarah had said, when Harry had finished her story. ‘But
dear me Harry, how dangerous! What if you had arrived a little
earlier? You would have seen the poor man killed.’

‘Lord Sutton was not a nice man at all,’
Harry had observed wearily. Now that the excitement of the night
was wearing off, she felt the need to crawl into bed and sleep. ‘He
stole things from unsuspecting women and behaved in a very
reprehensible manner. It’s little wonder he ended up dead.’

‘Well I think you were marvelous,’ the girl
had said warmly, impulsively leaning forward to hug Harry. ‘And I
am truly grateful.’

‘If you’re grateful then let me go to bed
for I am frightfully tired, all of a sudden,’ Harry had replied, a
huge yawn splitting her face. After Sarah had gone, she had changed
into a nightgown and crawled beneath the covers, asleep almost
before her head had hit the pillow.

It wasn’t until after breakfast the next
morning that she had an opportunity to examine the things that she
had removed from Lord Sutton’s strongbox. She had half expected
there to be some news of the man’s death at the breakfast table and
Sarah had too, if the speaking looks she shot Harry were anything
to go by, but the discovery was obviously yet to circulate widely.
When her aunt had told Sarah that she was to accompany her
shopping, Harry begged off, saying that she had some letters that
she wished to write. As soon as she was alone, she retreated to her
bedchamber and spread the contents of the bag across the bed. She
had sat looking at her cache of treasures ruefully for really,
there was quite a collection.

Separating the jewelry from
the papers, she began to go through the various letters and chits.
Happily, individuals’ debts had been placed together with a small
clip, along with a name, presumably of the person who owed his
lordship money. Harry grouped these together and discovered there
were nine in all. Some names she recognized, others she did not
know at all but reasoned that it would not be difficult to
discover. The letters she had to read and she discovered that women
could be very
un
ladylike when writing to those Harry assumed were not their
husband. Really, they were quite graphic and she found herself
blushing on more than one occasion. The things people obviously got
up to! Why, she would not have thought of half of the things that
she read in those letters. Harry recognized the scrawled signatures
of several of the authors but did not know enough about London
Society to know them all. It was a conundrum, for how could she
return these things to their owners if she did not know who they
were?

The jewelry presented a puzzle of its own.
One of the brooches… yes, she could return that to Mrs.
Butterworth. And she was almost sure that the ring belonged to
Cicely Gresham, for she seemed to recall her aunt mentioning
something about its loss. But the other items, these she could not
place and was unsure how to discover to whom they belonged. She
picked up one of the bracelets, a pair of jeweled serpents twined
together – really most distinctive – and sighed. After much
deliberation it occurred to her that Mr. Lampforth, her
co-conspirator from the evening before – might be of assistance. He
would surely recognize some of the names on the letters at the very
least and perhaps he might even be able to place the pieces for he
was obviously an habitué of town and must know a great deal more
than she did of the people there.

‘But where to find him,’ she mused. She had
seen him at several dances but there was no saying where he might
be next for he did not regularly turn up at the affairs she
attended.

Grouping her goods into two piles – those
she could do something about immediately and those that she
required assistance with – she put the unidentified items away for
the moment, while tucking the returnable ones into the larger of
her reticules. It was best that she kept them on her, just in case
the opportunity presented itself to return one of the articles to
its owner. One could not predict when that might take place but it
would be a nuisance to miss her moment. The viscount had been
correct about one thing; it was far better that nobody knew she was
the one who was responsible for their return, so subtlety would
have to be her watchword.

Then she really did sit down to compose a
missive. It was a request that Mr. Lampforth put in an appearance
at the Bradshaw dance, which she and her cousin – along with Aunt
Margaret, of course – were to attend that evening. If he would be
so obliging as to ask her to dance, she could suggest a less public
meeting place so she could show him the things that needed
identification. The more she thought about it, the better the idea
sounded and she was sorry she had not done it the night before when
she’d had the opportunity. She had to enquire of her aunt’s butler
where Mr. Lampforth might live but Squires had known; somehow, he
always knew everything and the letter was sent off before her aunt
returned, much to Harry’s satisfaction. Now she had a plan in
place. Soon enough, she could put the whole affair behind her and
enjoy her first Season as a young lady should. No more nocturnal
adventures, although the previous evening had not been her fault.
Still, she had promised her mother she would behave as she ought –
not as she was inclined – and as soon as she had reconciled her
conscience by finding the rightful home for her sordid goods, she
would return to playing the part of somebody enjoying their first
extended stay in London.