Petty Treason (16 page)
Authors: Madeleine E. Robins
She found Mrs. Brereton propped upon pillows, irritably instructing Frost to stop trying to feed her gruel and to bring her strong tea, toast, and eggs. Frost looked as though she was not certain whether to be cheered or chastened by this uncivil treatment.
“My God, Sarah, you look as though someone had taken a stick to you!”
Miss Tolerance bent carefully to kiss her aunt. “Someone did. I am happy to see you looking so much better, Aunt Thea.”
“You ought not to be. I sleep for a day and what happens? Doctors and surgeons given the run of the house and one of my whores authorizing an extra dozen of claret to be put out in the dining room! What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking—as were Marianne and Frost, and everyone else in the house—of your health, ma’am. The doctor’s treatment does seem to have done you good.”
“Good? Bled twice in twelve hours and forced to drink gruel?” Mrs. Brereton frowned. “And about that other: I understand you gave Marianne free rein over the house.”
“Hardly that. I did ask the staff to go to her for instructions while you were ill. Now that you are awake, she will of course want to tell you all that has been done—”
“Sarah, I told you I didn’t want to involve one of the girls—”
“Yes, you did, but I could not manage your house and my own business, and I did what I thought was best. You may scold me later for all my faults, Aunt, but I am not up to a lecture just now, nor do I think you are up to delivering one. Again, I ask: how are you?”
Mrs. Brereton shrugged oddly. “I am awake, the fever has broken, and I do not understand what all the fuss was about.”
Before Miss Tolerance could attempt to explain to her aunt why her too-sound slumber had frightened the people around her, Cole announced Sir George Hammond. Miss Tolerance retreated to a chair by the window; she had no wish to explain her bruises to the doctor. Sir George entered, smiling at his patient.
“This is much more as I would see you, ma’am. How do you do this morning?”
Mrs. Brereton might have liked to scold the doctor, but the habit of charming men kept her from doing so. She smiled. “I am very much better, sir. I understand I have you to thank for it, but I do not understand why everyone in my household was in such a terror. A feverish cold—”
Sir George took her wrist and counted her pulse before he answered. “The cold itself was nothing, ma’am. It was your stupor which was worrisome. I see
that
has passed off.” Again he smiled. Again Mrs. Brereton smiled in return.
that
has passed off.” Again he smiled. Again Mrs. Brereton smiled in return.
Flirting, Miss Tolerance thought. My aunt is recovering.
She watched as Sir George went through a practiced routine, relating a bit of court gossip while he examined Mrs. Brereton. “You will not have heard, ma’am, that the
Times
reports that the Duke of Clarence has been to the Queen’s bedside …”
Times
reports that the Duke of Clarence has been to the Queen’s bedside …”
When he had finished his story Sir George gave his opinion that Mrs. Brereton was on the mend. “There is a little weakness in the muscle of your left hand and arm—you will perhaps have observed it?—but I expect that will pass off shortly. You need not be bled again—rest and good food will do the rest. I’m sure I can rely upon you for that,” he said to Frost, who pursed her lips and nodded. “Now, ma’am, I’ll call on you again in a day or two, just to see how you are going on. No excitement, no callers, no midnight galas. A week in bed and then we shall see how you do.” He bowed over her hand as though he might have kissed it, and left.
Mrs. Brereton sagged back into her pillows. “A week in bed! I cannot afford it!”
“Ma’am, we don’t want to fall sick again—”
“You can afford to die, Aunt?”
Frost and Miss Tolerance spoke at the same moment. Mrs. Brereton sniffed.
“What a fuss over nothing. Well, since you are in league against me I will stay in bed. But I want Marianne to come to me at once and tell me all that has happened since I was ill. And no more gruel! Tea and eggs. At once.”
Mrs. Brereton glared at both of them. Frost left to summon Marianne and eggs. Miss Tolerance was about to leave when her aunt called her back.
“You might have been more involved,” she said irritably.
“I was involved: I put Marianne in charge,” Miss Tolerance said reasonably. “I place the greatest reliance upon her good sense, and I had business of my own to attend to.”
“Yes, I can see that. For God’s sake, Sarah, ask Cook for some raw beef to put on your face. Look at yourself!”
Reluctantly, Miss Tolerance glanced in the glass. The swelling was, in fact, not quite so bad as she had imagined it. Her right cheekbone and eye were a rich plum color, but on the bridge of her nose and her temple the bruising was already paling to a mot-tied
yellow. Above her right eyebrow there was the neat arc of stitches in black silk, an inch long.
yellow. Above her right eyebrow there was the neat arc of stitches in black silk, an inch long.
“Do you like this lace with my dress, Aunt?” she asked.
Mrs. Brereton was not amused. “Don’t play with me, Sarah. You may turn your nose up at whoredom, but at least no one beats my girls—”
“Not every whore is fortunate enough to be in your employ,” Miss Tolerance said, thinking of Etienne d’Aubigny.
“Even if you did not wish to … to practice, you could be a fine manageress. Look at the danger you face! Please consider—”
“But Aunt, I like my hazards,” Miss Tolerance said calmly. “Or at least, I don’t mind them too much. I enjoy what I do; I should not enjoy being the manageress of a brothel half so well.”
Mrs. Brereton snorted. “Enjoyment. What is enjoyment when—”
“Enjoyment, Aunt, is what is left after survival. Let us not quarrel; I am very glad to see you so much recovered.” She surprised herself with the catch in her voice. “I hope you will not see fit to scare us all this way again.” She bent and kissed her aunt again. “Now I must be about my own business. I’ll call in on you later.”
Her niece’s emotion seemed to move Mrs. Brereton. “Dear girl,” she said shakily, “get some steak for that eye, I implore you!”
M
iss Tolerance meant to ask the cook for arnica and beefsteak, but was forestalled. Cole met her at the foot of the stairs to tell her she had a caller: Sir Walter Mandif was waiting in her cottage.
iss Tolerance meant to ask the cook for arnica and beefsteak, but was forestalled. Cole met her at the foot of the stairs to tell her she had a caller: Sir Walter Mandif was waiting in her cottage.
“As he’s called so often, I thought you would not mind,” Cole said apologetically. “Somehow one don’t like to put the law to wait in the parlor with the other guests.”
Miss Tolerance nodded, but privately wished her friend Sir Walter had chosen any other morning to call upon her. She was certain her appearance would bring another scolding upon the unsuitability of her work, and she was in no mood to hear it. She walked into her cottage set to do battle, and was disappointed.
Sir Walter rose and bowed as she entered. She saw his eyes widen at the sight of her bruises, but he said nothing about them.
“I came to hear what you thought of Will Heddison,” he said. “I understand you made an impression upon him.”
Miss Tolerance took a seat. “Did I really? I thought him far too occupied in bullying Anne d’Aubigny to take much notice of me.”
“Bullying?”
“I would call it that. He barked at her as if she were a truant kitchen girl—which might be suitable for a Cheapside fishwife, but seemed a harsh treatment for a girl just widowed. Does he truly consider her a suspect?”
“He did not tell me so,” Mandif said. “I will say, from the little I have learned of the case, one cannot rule out the possibility—”
“One could if one had seen her,” Miss Tolerance said. “She barely comes up to my chin, and hasn’t the courage to say
boh
to a mouse, let alone kill a husband. The idea that she might overcome him—”
boh
to a mouse, let alone kill a husband. The idea that she might overcome him—”
“From what I understood, d’Aubigny was asleep,” Mandif pointed out. “It takes very little courage or strength to overcome a sleeping man.”
Miss Tolerance frowned. “It would take a considerable deal of strength to bash out the brains of a sleeping man.”
“Who else would you propose in her stead? The front and kitchen doors were locked, the servants locked in to their quarters, and yet the man was slain.”
“But the kitchen door, as it happens, was unlocked at some point.” Miss Tolerance explained the matter to Sir Walter. “So anyone might have come in from the street.”
“You’re not suggesting a passing marauder simply seized the opportunity to go in and dash out the brains of a complete stranger?”
“Of course not. But it does suggest an alternative to Mrs. d’Aubigny, does it not? And she was drugged and asleep when her husband was killed. I suppose Mr. Heddison did not tell you that.”
Sir Walter smiled. “Heddison is only doing his duty. The doors to the street were locked, so the widow and the servants are suspects
because they had opportunity. The servants were locked into their quarters, which leaves the widow. She was drugged and asleep—but you must admit that one can feign taking a sleeping draught and pretend to be asleep—”
because they had opportunity. The servants were locked into their quarters, which leaves the widow. She was drugged and asleep—but you must admit that one can feign taking a sleeping draught and pretend to be asleep—”
Miss Tolerance opened her mouth to rebut, but Sir Walter held up his hand. “I truly did not come to pick a quarrel with you; I thought you would be interested in the opinion Heddison formed of you. He sought me out in Bow Street and asked me if I thought you likely to impede his investigation.”
“He asked me the same question. Of course not. I consider it more likely he intends to impede mine.”
“I can relieve him upon that point, then,” Mandif said.
Miss Tolerance frowned. “Sir Walter, I know our acquaintance is not of the longest duration, but surely you know me well enough to know—”
“I know you to be an honorable woman. But your sympathy, when roused, is particularly vehement, and it is possible—”
“I gave my lover up to Bow Street,” Miss Tolerance said. “I sat in the witness box and gave testimony which saw Versellion convicted of manslaughter and transported for life. I think you may rely upon me to go against my own sympathies in the cause of justice.”
“Of course,” Sir Walter said. “Of course. But you did not tell me you had been employed in the d’Aubigny business.”
“You know I do not like to mention my clients unless I must.”
“So I had to learn it from Heddison? That put me at a disadvantage, and—to put it in the most baldly practical terms—you cannot look to me for assistance when I am hampered in my work.”
“I do not look to you to be of assistance to me,” Miss Tolerance said, stung. “I did not think that was the basis of our friendship. If the fact that I did not tell you at once that I was involved in the d’Aubigny matter caused you trouble with Heddison I am very sorry for it. I should certainly have told you if you had asked.”
Sir Walter raised a brow. “Am I to ask if you are involved in every criminal case which arises in London? No, no—” He stopped her protest. “That was unfair of me.”
There was a long, awkward silence. Miss Tolerance mended the fire, but the heat did little to cut the chill between them.
“So,” Sir Walter said at last. “Have you made any progress with the case?”
“Are you asking for yourself, or Mr. Heddison?” The moment the words were said Miss Tolerance regretted them.
“I am not a go-between. I asked as a colleague. Out of friendship.”
“Of course you did, and I apologize. The knocking I took last night seems to have scrambled my ability to be civil. I did not mean to imply that you were Heddison’s spy.” She attempted to answer his question. “Except that he has misread Anne d’Aubigny, Heddison seems a rational enough man. I
can
see why you said you would not have his constables working for you. Or at least, the one I met.”
can
see why you said you would not have his constables working for you. Or at least, the one I met.”
“Which was that?”
“Mr. Boyse. Large and bloodthirsty.”
“‘Tis not his size nor his bloodthirst in particular that I deplore, but—I should steer clear of him. His partner is merely a foppish climber; Boyse I cannot help but feel is only opportunity’s reach from criminal himself. Heddison denies it; he believes the man’s size inspires dread and makes him more effective. And in default of proof, I must defer to my colleague’s judgment.”
Miss Tolerance considered this and busied herself making tea.
“You don’t trust Heddison’s lieutenant, and yet you do trust his judgment that Anne d’Aubigny is a credible suspect.”
“Logic suggests that she must be considered. I say no more than that. Thank you.” He accepted the cup Miss Tolerance extended to him. “Have you a more reasonable suspect?”
“As near as I can see, half of London might have wanted the wretched man dead.”
Sir Walter’s brows rose. “Half of London?”
“He had a broad acquaintance, but I have yet to speak to anyone who actually liked the man. He owed money everywhere. His work for the Home Office was apparently indifferent. His only true gifts appear to have been for venery and brutality.”
“He sounds unpleasant, but not deserving of murder.”
“When was murder ever a matter of desert?” Miss Tolerance asked. “D’ Aubigny kept some high company; he was a frequenter of Camille Touvois’ salon, and I myself saw one of the royal dukes there a few nights ago. I must call upon Madame Touvois again—”
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