The Devious Duchess (12 page)

Nevil stood, watching her depart. His brows raised in a mute question, and in his close-set gray eyes a new hope beamed. Deirdre Gower would be quite an heiress when old Charney stuck her fork in the wall. Not at all bad-looking, if you cared for those quiet, mousy girls . . . Nothing like the sheen of gold to make them look attractive. He rubbed his hands together and poured himself a glass of Dudley’s best port, the kind the old fool didn’t drink himself because he was such a skint. But that was all right. It left the good stuff for him.

Chapter 9

Once Belami decided to attend the funeral, he realized the necessity of buying a black cravat and arm band. “You come with me to the shop, Pronto,” he invited as they finished their breakfast. “You must wear a black arm band at least.’’

“I will, then, but don’t expect me to go sticking no great wide ribbons on my hat, trailing down my back, for I won’t wear no weepers. Dashed if I will. Didn’t even know Lord Dudley, and wouldn’t have cared for him if I had.”

It chanced that the first person they met on the street was the parish beadle, who was performing in his role as bidder to the funeral. “Hear ye, hear ye, all brethren and sisters, I let ye to wit there is a brother departed at the pleasure of the Almighty, called Lord Dudley.” He raised his hat and turned toward Belami and Pronto, his only listeners. “All those that come to the burial come at eleven of the clock tomorrow. The corpse is at the Grange.” He bowed, waited to see if a pourboire was offered, then replaced his hat and proceeded along the street, ringing his bell and wearing an unfunereal smile.

“That was timely,” Belami said, and looked up and down the street for a draper’s shop. Banting was a small village, but there was such a store not half a block along. They approached the clerk and explained their mission.

“You’re fortunate, sir. You’ll be taking my last set of gents mourning gear. I’d have ordered up more if I’d known old Lord Dudley was so far gone. I only had five in stock, and three of them I sold—one to the doctor, one to Mr. Straus, and one to Skidley, the local lawyer. Relatives of Lord Dudley, are you?” he asked with the friendly curiosity of the villager.

“Just friends,” Belami answered, fingering the black silk.

“Ain’t even an acquaintance myself,” Pronto added. “How much for the set?”

“This one’s on me, Pronto,” Belami told him, and paid the clerk.

They added these funereal embellishments to their toilettes while they were in the shop, then went out on the strut.

“Should have left my set for Ryder,” Pronto mentioned. “Mean to say, he’s a close relative.”

Belami’s head jerked to his friend, his face wearing its deducing expression. “That’s odd, now that you mention it. I should have thought Ryder would be the first one there, snapping up his crepe."

“Odd—that’s French for a clue,” Pronto said. “I’ve noticed that anything odd or out of the usual way falls under heavy suspicion. Daresay the duchess is outfitting Ryder,” he added, placing his own interpretation on this particular clue.

“Very likely she is,” Belami said, accepting it. “She hoards everything. She had her late husband’s hatchment sent over for the door. Of course, the arms will be wrong, but at least the field will be correct as Dudley leaves a widow behind like the late duke.”

“She’ll be wearing some old black cloak that’s been embalmed in lavender for decades herself, I fancy. And Deirdre, too,” Pronto said.

The word “Deirdre” sent Belami off into a trance. “Dash it, Dick, if I’d known you was going to be such poor company, I’d have stayed home,” Pronto scolded. “You ought to be getting a hold on this case, my lad, and never mind mooning over Deirdre Gower. If you’re dead set on getting her back again, the best way to do it is to cover the old lady’s traces. What have they got against her? There’s no hiding the motive or the opportunity. She was there right enough, and she’d kill him for spite if not for his money. What you’ve got to do is get tampering with the other evidence—that arsenic in the stew.”

“Not much I can do about that, Pronto. Straus has got permission to seize my mail.”

“He won’t seize it before it reaches the post office, will he?” Pronto demanded in a purely rhetorical spirit.

A black eye was leveled at Mr. Pilgrim. “What a shocking notion, Pronto!” Belami exclaimed, and laughed aloud. “Now let me see. When would the post arrive from Woolwich? I sent it yesterday—a day there, a day for the analysis, and a day back. Marsh would be performing his analysis now. He might even get it into the mail tonight. Tomorrow at the earliest, then, probably the next day. I want to attend the funeral . . . I'll speak to Réal,” he decided. “He’ll have to find some reason to skulk about the route of the mail coach and try, if he can, to rifle the bags before they get here.”

“Have you been making your inquiries of all the people involved?” Pronto prompted.

“I haven’t had a go at Ryder since yesterday morning. He’d be at the Grange, which puts him out of my reach. I had a little conversation with the servants, but really this row with Deirdre is a demmed spoke in my wheel. I wonder if the duchess put her up to it.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it for a second.”

“I’ve half a mind to go to that wake myself,” Belami said, but he felt that a cooling period would be beneficial in his quest for Deirdre. His eyes turned to his old cohort, who stopped dead in his tracks.

“Never mind sliding your old black eyes at me! Ain’t going. Demmed if I’ll sit staring at a coffin and drinking watered wine. Have to say all that ‘Sorry for your trouble’ stuff, and Charney laughing up her sleeve the whole time.”

“She isn’t laughing, Pronto.”

They discussed the matter further after they returned to the inn. In the afternoon, Belami went in search of Mr. Straus, but his most careful questioning turned up nothing new. Obviously Straus considered the case as well as solved and was only waiting for the chemical analysis from Mr. Marsh to prove it. Waylaying Marsh’s reply became more urgent than ever, and Belami spoke to Réal regarding the possibility of tampering with the mail.

“I don’t want you to land yourself in Newgate, Réal, but it won’t do any harm for you to ride along a few stops and hire a seat back to Banting on the mail coach. See how the mail’s handled and if it’s possible to get into the bags without being caught.”

“Intercepting of the letters is the federal crime,
non
?” Réal mentioned. He was by no means averse to undertaking the enterprise, but wanted his master to be fully aware of its danger.

“I hardly think they’d stretch your neck for it, but don’t take any big chances.”

“I go now and make the queries,” Réal said. “I be starting at the local office for learning the hours of mail arrival.”

“That sounds as good a place as any."

On his way through the hotel lobby, Belami saw Adelaide Pankhurst entering at the front door and hung around, hoping to intercept her. He saw her receive a letter at the front desk and sauntered forth, wearing his most gallant smile.

“Miss Pankhurst, what a delightful surprise. And what a delightful bonnet, too,” he added, glancing at the hideous erection on top of her head. It had a poke a foot high, the front of it garnished with cherries and grapes like a fruit salad.

“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t Lord Belami! I haven’t seen a sign of you all day long.” She spared a glance for her letter, and Belami also slid his eyes to it. He looked, then his head jerked forward again as he strained to see the handwriting. He thought he recognized Deirdre’s writing and was on thorns to learn what she could have to say to Adelaide Pankhurst.

“It’s such a chilly day out there, I bet you’re in the mood for a nice hot cup of coffee.” He smiled. “Will you permit me to offer you some? We’ll have a private parlor, of course,” he added to let her feel like a lady.

“That’s mighty handsome of you, sir. I don’t mind if I do.”

The parlor was opened, the coffee ordered, and Belami pulled a chair for her. “Don’t let me keep you from your letter,” he said. “I’ll just take a pinch of snuff while you read it.” He pulled out an enameled box, but his eyes only left the letter to travel to Adelaide’s face. He noticed her smile in satisfaction.

“This is a note from Miss Gower!” she said. “She’s invited me to Dudley’s wake tonight and offered me a lift in her carriage for the funeral tomorrow. The old lady will die of a fit if I accept. I wish she’d offered to send the carriage to take me to the wake. How am I to get out there?”

“I’ll be very happy to drive you,” Belami said.

“But how would I get back? You wouldn’t want to be hanging about the countryside for an hour.”

“It would be a pleasure. Please, let me take you,” he urged, though he wondered she didn’t suggest returning with Nevil.

She tilted her head and cast a flirtatious eye in his direction. “When you put it like that, you make it real hard for a lady to say no,” she replied.

“It was my hope to make it impossible,” he said.

“In that case, you’ve got a bargain.”

Belami set his snuffbox on the edge of the table, and Adelaide picked it up. “Mind if I try this? If it’s good enough for the old queen, I guess it’s good enough for me.” She helped herself to a pinch, but failed to induce a sneeze.

“This little box isn’t too different from the one I gave Dudley for his birthday. Mind you, his picture was different. He likes his ladies undraped,” she said with a broad wink. “Paid a guinea for it, and a crown for the tin of snuff as well. I wonder what became of it. I sent it a few days early. I hope he got it before he died.”

It occurred to Belami that he really must get into Dudley’s bedroom and office for a look around, but this was tucked at the back of his mind for future use. The coffee arrived and Belami poured, as Adelaide had gone to the mirror to remove her bonnet. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Lud, what a dump of a town this is. Not a decent shop to be seen. I’ve never put in such a long day in my life. When do you suppose they’ll be reading the will, Lord Belami?”

“Very soon. Probably not the day of the funeral, but perhaps the day after.”

“He better of left me something. A widow’s got rights.”

“Your coffee is ready. Do you take sugar?”

She placed her bonnet on a chair and swayed forward. “No, my friends tell me I’m sweet enough,” she answered. When she reached the table, she sat not on her own chair but on Belami’s knee. He wasn’t shocked exactly, but he was surprised at the speed of her advances. He was also acutely uncomfortable. She was very heavy, but he put his arms around her and murmured a few unlikely compliments having to do with cherry lips and cherry-blossom cheeks, which proved completely acceptable.

The love scene by no means interfered with her taking of coffee. She gulped down one cup and poured herself another, all the while bemoaning the lack of any cakes to accompany it. She then lifted Belami’s cup to his lips and smiled as he sipped.

“Am I too heavy for you?” she asked.

“Light as a feather!” he answered, shifting her weight to restore the circulation to his legs.

This flattering lie earned him a kiss that went on forever. He was short of breath when she finally released him. “Your friend—Sir Nevil—would he be cross if he knew what we’re up to?” Belami asked.

“That old man-milliner! Who cares about him? All he ever wanted from me was to make it up with his uncle, so I could put in a good word for him. Oh, he’d warm up fast enough if Dudley left me the lot, but it’ll be cream-pot love for that fellow. He’d be the last one I’d throw my bonnet at if I got the blunt. And if he gets it, he wouldn’t give me the time of day either.”

“Speaking of the time of day,” Belami said, trying to disentangle an arm to draw out his watch. “1 have an appointment at five. I really should be running along.”

Adelaide hopped up with no stronger hint. “Don’t let me keep you, then, Lord Belami. I’ll just sit on a bit and finish the coffee. What time will you take me out to the Grange tonight?”

“How does eight suit you?”

“That'll be fine. Then we can come back here and . . ." She stopped speaking, but her smile spoke on.

“Charming. I look forward to it,” Belami said. His toes were invaded with the sensation of a million pinpricks as he stood up and the blood rushed to them. He could hardly stand, but he stepped forward manfully and didn’t quite fall down.

“Would you mind asking them to send in a plum cake?” Adelaide called as he headed to the door.

“I should have thought of it myself. Perhaps a few macaroons as well? Sweets for the sweet!”

“Oh, you!” She smiled, finding no contradiction in this to her own claim to being sweet enough. “Just a small plate, then.”

Belami blew her a kiss and fled the room, feeling a great sense of escape. He sent in a full plum cake and a large platter of macaroons, every one of which Adelaide ate before picking up her bonnet and retiring to her chamber to plan dinner.

When Belami reached his room, Pronto was already there, stretched out in front of the fire, a glass of purl in his hand. “Trying a new one,” he told his friend. “Ale and bitters drunk warm. If I’m going to a funeral, I need to have some help from the bottle. By tomorrow at eleven, I should be primed.”

“I won’t join you. I’m taking Adelaide to the wake tonight. Care to come along?”

Pronto slapped his glass down, sloshing a good portion of liquid onto the table. The blue eye he turned on his friend was aflame. “You’re trying to patch it up with Deirdre Gower, and you’re taking that lightskirt to her uncle’s house? Your top tiles are loose, my lad. Loose and letting the wind in. Tell you here and now: don’t count on me to stitch the torn pieces together for you. Ain’t a seamstress, after all.”

“I’m not taking Adelaide inside. I’m just delivering her, and I need your help, Pronto.”

Pronto’s fierce expression softened first to acceptance, then to something approaching delight. “Should have said so. Wouldn’t mind escorting Miss Pankhurst. Tell you what I’ll do, Dick. I’ll even wait in the carriage and drive her home.”

“No, you won’t, my friend. I have a more active role for you.