The Mayfair Affair (34 page)

Cordelia's gaze flickered over Lady Cranley's face. "Wasn't that your intention in entering into the affair?" Cordelia asked.

"Nonsense." Lydia Cranley smoothed the lace on her sleeve. "I might have thought of mentioning that he might assist Cranley, but before I could do so, he—"

"Lady Cranley," Suzanne said in the silence, "if it could have anything to do with why the duke was killed—"

"Trenchard wanted me to deliver Cranley's vote."

Cordelia blinked. "The duke was blackmailing
you?"

"He wouldn't have made it sound so crude, but yes."

"So you entered into an affair to manipulate him, and instead, found yourself manipulated," Cordelia said.

"You needn't sound so delighted about it."

"I'm not. I'm sorry, Lydy."

"What bill was the vote over?" Suzanne asked.

"It wasn't a bill." Lady Cranley plucked at the lace on her sleeve, though in general she didn't seem the sort of woman who fiddled with her clothes. "Trenchard wanted Cranley to support him in his bid to unseat Lord Liverpool."

Odd how the most convoluted investigation could still take a completely unexpected turn. "The Duke of Trenchard wanted to unseat the prime minister?" Suzanne asked, unable to keep the shock from her voice.

Lydia Cranley hesitated, as though even now unsure whether to break her late lover's confidence. "Trenchard had been discontented with Liverpool for some time. He was angered when Liverpool had advocated aboishing the slave trade at the Congress of Vienna and he thought Liverpool hadn't gone far enough in dealing with the disturbances in the north. And I gather there'd been some unpleasantness between them in Paris long ago."

When he and Raoul had helped a young actress escape Trenchard. What a bizarre twist for the case to take.

"Who was his candidate to replace Liverpool?" Cordelia asked.

"Himself."

Suzanne sat back in her chair. Their murder victim had been scheming to become prime minister. A whole new vista of suspects and motives opened up. "Who else knew about this?" she asked.

"I don't know." Lady Cranley tugged at her lace-edged cuff. "I would assume he was counting on support other than Cranley's."

"Through blackmail?" Suzanne asked.

"I only know what he told me he wanted me to do."

"Or—?" Suzanne asked.

Lydia Cranley jabbed the errant ringlet behind her ear. "Or he would reveal our affair."

"To your husband?"

"That was the least of it." Lady Cranley snatched up her tea and tossed down a swallow. "Cranley would have been disagreeable—I'm not in the least certain he's been faithful himself, but he'd look askance at it in his wife. But he cares too much for his own consequence to reveal his wife's infidelity. There's nothing that pricks a man's self-esteem like being branded a cuckold."

Cordelia stared at her childhood friend. "Trenchard threatened to make the affair public."

Lydia Cranley twitched a ruched fold of her skirt smooth. "I'm not like you, Cordy. Or Caro Lamb. I'm known to be a virtuous wife. I can guarantee a young girl vouchers to Almack's. I have three daughters. Annabel will be out in five years. Trenchard could have ruined everything I've built."

"Whereas an affair would scarcely dim his consequence," Suzanne said.

"Quite." Lydia met her gaze in a moment of understanding. "Oh, he wouldn't have openly talked about it. But he knew how to put the story about."

"So you had no choice but to accede to his terms," Cordelia said.

Lady Cranley's fingers clenched round the eggshell porcelain of her cup. "I went there that night to tell Trenchard I would do as he wished."

"The night of the murder," Suzanne said. She wanted it on record. Until now they had had no proof that Lydia Cranley had been at Trenchard House that particular night.

"Yes." Lady Cranley twisted a pearl bracelet round her wrist. "I was angry. He'd made a fool of me. I suppose you'll say that gives me a motive to have killed him. But I would never do anything so ill bred. I hope my telling you the truth convinces you of that."

"We're inestimably grateful," Suzanne said. "Tell us exactly what happened. You went through the secret passage?"

"Yes."

"You'd used the secret passage before?"

"As I said, we were discreet. I was angry with Trenchard, but prepared to be reasonable. I wanted the whole wretched thing over. When I came into the study—" She put her hand to her mouth. "The smell of blood stopped me."

"What did you see?" Suzanne leaned forwards. "Lady Cranley, this could be vital to catching the killer. And making sure an innocent person doesn't pay for the crime."

Lydia Cranley bit her lip, her eyes turned dark with the memory. "Trenchard was sprawled on the floor. Blood pooled everywhere."

"Was he alive?"

"I couldn't imagine he could be. For a moment, I froze. I don't know how long I'd have stood there paralyzed if I hadn't heard someone behind me."

"Coming from the passage?" Suzanne asked.

"Yes. I couldn't think what to do, except that I mustn't be discovered. I ran to the curtains and darted behind them."

"Did you see anything?" Suzanne asked.

Lydia Cranley swallowed.

"Lady Cranley—"

"Through a sliver in the curtains. It was a woman. I didn't recognize her. A dark, unremarkable gown and hair in an enviable shade of titian. I should have known I wasn't Trenchard's only
chère amie
. She bent over Trenchard, then she ran from the room, calling for help." Lydia drew a breath. "If anything could be done for Trenchard, she was doing it. I seized my opportunity and ran back to the passage. That must be when I lost my earring. I know I tore a flounce on my gown."

Suzanne released her breath. "Thank you, Lady Cranley. That can't have been an easy story to tell."

"Will I need to tell anyone else?"

"We'll do everything we can to preserve your reputation."

Lady Cranley nodded. "Who is she? This other woman?"

"A friend," Suzanne said.

"We only have Lady Cranley's word for the story," Roth said. "And she's an interested party."

"But she'd have no reason to lie to protect Laura," Suzanne said. "Unless they were in on it together, and if so she'd have come to us with the story ages ago."

Roth regarded Suzanne and Cordelia across the cramped room above the Brown Bear. They had repaired to Bow Street directly upon leaving the Cranley house and had found Roth writing up notes at the tavern.

Roth drummed his fingers on the table. "Would Lady Cranley attest to this?"

"She says she will," Cordelia said. "Obviously, she'd prefer to tell as few people as possible. But, though Lydia's a lot of things, she's not the sort to go back on her word."

"And you have Cordy's and my confirmation that she said it, in any case," Suzanne added.

Roth drew a breath. "I'm not—"

The door swung open and Malcolm strode into the room. Suzanne turned to her husband with relief. She had sent word to him but hadn't been sure when he'd get it. "Darling, help us convince Jeremy to let Laura go."

"I'm not disagreeing with Mrs. Rannoch and Lady Cordelia," Roth said, when they had updated Malcolm. "I'm just trying to think through all the objections Sir Nathaniel will raise."

"Suzette and Cordy are right, there's no reason for Lady Cranley to lie to protect Laura," Malcolm said. "Laura would have to have stabbed Trenchard, left—managing not to encounter Lady Cranley in the secret passage—and then returned."

"And why on earth would she have done that?" Suzanne demanded.

"Because she forgot something?"

Suzanne frowned at her husband. He wasn't helping.

"Only trying to think through the objections," Malcolm said. "It doesn't seem likely."

"And from Lady Cranley's account, it sounds as though Laura tried to help Trenchard, which doesn't fit with her having killed him, and does fit with her own account of the situation," Suzanne added.

Roth looked from Malcolm to Suzanne to Cordelia and slowly inclined his head. "I'm going to write the order now. I'll handle Sir Nathaniel. Malcolm, can you deal with Carfax?"

Malcolm gave a faint smile. "'Deal' may be too strong a word, but I'll deflect any objections."

Roth nodded.

Suzanne released her breath. Outside, rain peppered the roof like rifle fire. Nothing was settled, risk still hung round them like a London fog, but the first objective raised when Jeremy Roth came knocking at their door was achieved. Laura could come home.

Roth paused in the midst of gathering up papers. "One more question, Lady Cordelia."

"Yes?" Cordelia, like Suzanne, was smiling.

"You know Lady Cranley," Roth said. "As you all say, there'd be no reason for Lady Cranley to lie to protect Miss Dudley, and the fact that her account of events tallies with Miss Dudley's argues that she's telling the truth about events after Miss Dudley came into the study. But what do you think of the rest of her story?"

"You mean, could she have quarreled with Trenchard and killed him, instead of finding him already stabbed?" Cordelia asked. "She was angry. It's true she cares for her reputation. But she might have seen killing him as the only way to preserve it. Or she might have snapped in a fit of pique when she confronted him. Miss Dudley could have surprised her after she stabbed him. Once we found the earring, she might have been convinced we'd discover she'd been there the night of the murder. It would be cool-headed thinking. But one way or another, it seems Lydia is more cool-headed than I credited."

Roth inclined his head.

"And there's another question," Malcolm said. "Who else did Trenchard anger in his bid to become prime minister?"

"Could he have pulled it off?" Roth asked.

Malcolm frowned. "I'm scarcely privy to the secrets of Tory inner circles. Liverpool has a lot of support behind him. But there are divisions within the party and tensions over the debt, taxes, Catholic Emancipation, the unrest in the north. Trenchard could have explointed those tensions. A dukedom carries a certain inherent power, though not as much as you might think. But depending on how much influence Trenchard could wield behind the scenes—"

"You mean how many people he could blackmail?" Cordelia asked.

"Quite."

Laura stared through the grimy lamplight at Inspector Roth. His words reverberated in her head, but she couldn't make sense of them. "You can't mean—"

"That's precisely what I mean, Miss Dudley. You're free to go."

Relief hit her in a dizzying rush, followed by the tightness of panic. Her role as Laura Dudley had confined her, but it had also defined her. With the revelation of her past as Jane Fitzwalter, Marchioness of Tarrington, those protective walls had come tumbling down. She was no longer Laura Dudley, but Jane Tarrington was still a chasm away. The walls of her cell had at least given definition to her life. She had no idea where to go in the outside world. Or even who she was.

"The investigation is still open," Roth said. "We may need to question you further. But you're free to go home."

Laura's hand closed on the edge of the table as she stifled a laugh. "Home" sounded as alien as a castle in Spain. She forced her gaze to Suzanne and Malcolm Rannoch, standing just behind Roth. "I know I have you to thank for this."

"You have the evidence to thank for it," Malcolm said.

"Evidence that you uncovered."

"Laura?" Suzanne spoke in the gentle tone she usually used with the children. She and her husband were standing just behind Roth. "I'm sure your father and stepmother would be happy to have you. We can take you to them. But you're also welcome to come home with us."

The torrent of emotions loosed by her interview with her father still tumbled within her. To try to sort her life out in the midst of that seemed impossible. And yet— She wasn't Colin and Jessica's governess anymore. "Thank you," she said, "but I'll—"

What? Go to an hotel? Scandal aside, she didn't have a penny to her name.

"The children won't forgive us if we don't at least bring you home to show them you're all right," Suzanne said.

Laura met Suzanne's gaze. There was an element of truth to the words. But Suzanne was also offering her a way out. An excuse to lean on them without feeling as though she were accepting charity. And much as she chafed at leaning on anyone, she had learned to realize when she was out of options. "I wouldn't want to disappoint Colin and Jessica," she said. And then, because she couldn't bring herself to dissemble—irony of ironies—she added, "Thank you. I'd be most grateful."

"Laura!" Colin raced down the stairs at the opening of the front door and hurled himself at his governess.

"La!" Jessica called out from Blanca's arms on the half-landing and squirmed to be put down.

Laura crouched down to embrace Colin. Standing behind her, Suzanne couldn't see her face, but the way the gray fabric of her pelisse pulled across her shoulders showed the tightness of her embrace.

Blanca had reached the base of the stairs and set Jessica down. Jessica ran forwards on feet steadier by the day and flung herself on her brother and Laura.

Laura fell sideways under the force of both children, laughing. "I'm glad to see you missed me."

"I knew Mummy and Daddy would get you back," Colin said.

"Sensible boy." Laura touched his hair. "You should be the one giving me lessons."

Jessica tugged at Laura's arm. Laura kissed her. "I swear you're already walking better than three days ago."

The numb shock on Laura's face when Roth first told her she'd been released had made Suzanne fear her friend would retreat, but, as so often, the children seemed to be a welcome stabilizing force.

Suzanne picked up Jessica. "Laura needs a bit of time to go up to her room and sort herself out, darlings. You'll have lots of time to talk to her later."

Colin stepped back and studied Laura. "You are staying, aren't you?"

Laura touched his hair again. She smiled, but there was an ache at the back of her eyes. "I promise I won't leave without saying goodbye."