The Stuart Sapphire (15 page)

The girl described as the disgraced daughter was talking
to Townsend. Both were staring in Tam’s direction as if he was the object of their conversation. The girl nodded and Townsend led her over.

Introducing Tam, he bowed and said: ‘Allow me to present Lady Gemma Creeve.’

The girl raised her mourning veil and Tam found himself staring into a face he recognised and had been pursuing the length and breadth of Brighton.

The convict lad he knew as Jem.

Somehow Tam managed to bow and murmur a conventional greeting. He heard the girl say:

‘Mr Eildor lacks a glass of wine,’ and smiling at Townsend: ‘If you would be so good, sir.’

Watching him retreat towards the tables, she seized Tam’s arm and whispered: ‘Not a word, please. Not a word. Come with me.’

And, smiling at people she recognised, she led him through their ranks and into the library. Closing the door she leaned against it, trembling.

‘I never expected to see you here.’

‘Nor I you, Jem,’ said Tam grimly. ‘Are you going to tell me what on earth that masquerade was all about?’

‘It’s a very long story, Mr Eildor. I only came back to Creeve when I read of my stepmother’s death in the newspaper. Nothing would have induced me to return to the life I had suffered here under her regime – but I thought Father might need my support.’

Pausing, she shook her head sadly. ‘It appears that I was wrong. Sarah turned him against me cruelly, even more
effectively than I imagined, and I suspect that Timothy is the only one he needs—’

Footsteps were approaching.

‘I will explain later,’ she added hastily. ‘About nine, when the ladies adjourn after supper, the gazebo – the one on the right-hand side of the lake.’

The footsteps departed and Gemma said, ‘Safe for a while. The reason I ran away, if it isn’t obvious, is that my stepmother hated me and when I refused to obey her commands or reported her injustice to Father, she made him suffer for it. “That Girl must go!”’

She sighed. ‘How often I heard those words through closed doors. She never called me by my name, and was determined right from the start to get rid of me. The way most likely to be agreeable to Father was by arranging a marriage—’

‘Marriage! You’re just a child,’ Tam interrupted.

She smiled. ‘Looks are deceptive, Mr Eildor. It suited my purposes for the boy, Jem.’

That was true, and Tam realised what an unobservant fool he had been. The young face under its mass of curls, the boyish shape in large, coarse, ill-fitting shirts and breeches was now sheathed in shiny black silk. Close fitting and with the fashionable décolleté neckline revealing small breasts that were undoubtedly female. And, since Tam did not care for large bosoms, extremely attractive.

‘You can’t be much more than thirteen or fourteen,’ he protested, forgetting that such arranged marriages for dynastic purposes between rich families were quite normal.

She laughed. ‘You do flatter me, Mr Eildor. I am almost eighteen, ripe for marriage. Some of the girls I knew at school are already married and mothers of infants.’

Tam looked at her. Small, vulnerable; eighteen seemed incredibly young.

‘Stepmother found a widower for me – a horrible old man—’

‘How old?’ asked Tam anxiously.

‘Nearly forty.’

Tam groaned inwardly. Less than ten years older than himself, but he remembered that forty was middle-aged in the nineteenth century, as Gemma went on:

‘I refused him, of course. The main reason, as well as finding him old and unattractive, was that I overheard him talking to Stepmother and it was quite obvious from their conversation that she had been his mistress at one time.’

With a sudden gesture she took off her bonnet with its veils and threw it on the sofa. ‘I am afraid all this mourning is a mockery. We never liked each other, I knew she was unfaithful to Father when she went to London. And she had a little place in Brighton that he never knew about, where she used to entertain lovers. I am sorry for Father, especially when her end was so deplorable, but I cannot weep.’

She paused. ‘I feel there is something extraordinary and deeply suspicious about the circumstances of that carriage accident. But I’m fairly sure that highwaymen had nothing to do with it. There’s something we haven’t – or Father hasn’t – been told, to spare him.’

There was quite a lot, thought Tam, as she went on: ‘Her maid Simone knows a great deal more than she pretends. They were always thick as thieves and I am certain she is familiar too with these so-called gambling friends and that secret hideout in Brighton. I expect some of them are here mourning her and Simone must be terrified in case the truth leaks out and gets her into trouble, although I expect she was well paid by Sarah to keep her mouth shut.’

There were voices outside and again they were interrupted, this time the door opened to reveal a
furtive-looking
couple holding hands and obviously hoping for some privacy. As they disappeared, looking very offended, Tam caught a glimpse of Townsend and Lord Henry nearby.

‘I had better not be caught with you,’ said Gemma, touching his arm. ‘Please, Mr Eildor, not a word to Mr Townsend. Promise.’

Tam took her hand and kissed it. ‘I promise. And it’s Tam, by the way, not Mr Eildor.’

She blushed prettily. ‘We’ll meet later and I’ll tell you all about Jem. How long are you to be in Brighton?’ and without waiting for a reply, ‘You must try to come to Creeve again—’

Putting a finger to her lips, she let herself out by the secondary door to the library which communicated by a corridor to the kitchens. As she disappeared, the other door opened to admit Lord Henry and Townsend.

‘So this is where you’ve been hiding, Mr Eildor. Admiring the books, are you? We’ve searched for you everywhere. His Grace has most kindly suggested that we stay the night since it is so inclement for riding back to Brighton. He has heard from the stables that as some of the roads are under water, we should not risk the carriage. Other guests will be staying.’

At his side Lord Henry smiled. ‘No need to look alarmed, Mr Eildor, you won’t be expected to sleep in the stables. There are at least twenty bedrooms.’

Tam exchanged a glance with Townsend. He suspected that the invitation also included Sir Joseph’s desire to have them on hand to discuss further details of how they were to investigate his wife’s unfortunate demise.

The supper lasted considerably longer than Lady Gemma had anticipated. There was no sign of the ladies adjourning and they were further frustrated by the storm which had returned in full fury, with thunder and lightning, the windows lashed with rain, the candles guttering in a hundred violent draughts.

Gemma, seated across the table next to Lord Henry, looked frantically in Tam’s direction and, catching his eye, gave an almost imperceptible nod, which he hoped was invisible to Townsend at his side, since it indicated the assignation in the gazebo was not to take place. He was amused, meanwhile, to observe that Lord Henry was entranced by Lady Gemma, hanging on her every word.

Could he have had access to Lord Henry’s heart at that moment, he would have been even more interested. Henry was in love. For the first time, at past thirty, he had found the girl of his dreams. He had waited a long time for a girl so unique, so completely different to the women he encountered in his father’s court. Perhaps it was the prince’s taste in heavily bosomed, bewigged and painted, vulgar and overblown women that had stunted his own interest in the sex.

But here at last was the one he had waited for, sitting next to him. What he had seen of her figure he found immensely appealing. A lovely young girl, modest and rather shy, slim and delicately boned, small-bosomed, with an unpainted face under short, curling hair.

He longed to reach out and touch her and claim her for his own. Long before the supper was at an end, Henry had made up his mind. This was the girl he was going to marry. Tomorrow morning when her father Sir Joseph was reasonably sober he would ask for his only daughter’s hand in marriage.

That she might not feel the same had not occurred to spoil his dream, for she smiled and was so attentive. And had he any doubts he told himself that he was, although illegitimate, the son of the future King of England.

Observing them, Tam saw that Gemma had only found a convivial table companion who was obviously unaware of the whispers that she was the disgraced daughter of the house. As the wine was passed around once again, some of the solemnity vanished, whispers became louder, and even the hastily subdued merriment increased. Especially as Sir Joseph toppled slowly from his chair, and was scooped up from the floor by his valet and carried up to bed.

‘A nightly occurrence,’ whispered the man next to Tam.

After Sir Joseph’s departure a certain amount of drunken hilarity and levity crept in, turning the sober occasion into a lively wake. More bottles of brandy appeared. Glasses were raised to the late Lady Sarah by many men who, it was soon obvious, had received her gracious favours in the not too distant past, and there were some bawdy regrets at her loss expressed freely in her husband’s absence.

Meanwhile Tam, whose toleration of alcohol consumption was limited by a society where drunkenness was almost unknown and, when it existed, severely frowned upon, found himself out of step with the more uninhibited behaviour of the year 1811.

Townsend knew no such inhibitions and it was Tam who finally escorted him somewhat unsteadily up beyond the grand staircase, negotiated with some drunken merriment. Not into one of those twenty bedrooms Lord Henry had predicted, but along a corridor and up some meaner wooden stairs to the attics which were the servants’ quarters.

Here they were comfortable enough and had a room to themselves. Townsend, too inebriated to stop singing long enough to complain of this downgrading in status, was glad to put his head on a pillow. There he slept, not at all peacefully, but with a dreadful volume of snoring that, had Tam been completely sober himself, would have kept him from any hope of sleeping.

Next morning, they were awakened by unusual activity. Six o’clock and the servants had apparently been awake and busy with their day’s activities for hours. As for Tam, he had some very confused nightmares and, when he awoke, his first thought was that he had dreamt that the convict boy Jem had changed into Lady Gemma Creeve. It was with some difficulty that in those first moments of wakefulness he realised that it was no dream. This was reality and he would no doubt be shortly seeing her again.

A knock on the door and they were informed that they were to make their way down to the study. Immediately.

Townsend, grumbling, with a particularly sore head and very red eyes, had to be shaken awake by Tam and did not receive this summons with good humour. Finally, dressed again in the few outer garments he had discarded including the long overcoat, he accompanied Tam looking slightly less the worse for wear, down to the main part of the house.

Staring through one of the great windows, Townsend said: ‘Weather’s better. At least we should get back to Brighton today. HRH will be anxious about us. Wanting to know what’s happened. A full report.’

At the foot of the grand staircase Lord Henry waited. Looking remarkably sober, he turned a grave face towards them.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Townsend.

‘There is indeed. There has been another death—’

‘Not Sir Joseph?’ said Townsend, a natural conclusion considering his nocturnal habits of over-indulgence.

Henry shook his head. ‘No, not Sir Joseph. Simone, Lady Sarah’s maid, was found in the ornamental lake by the gamekeeper out with his dogs. Suicide apparently. Devoted to her mistress—’

Henry had already broken the news to Percy who refused to believe it.

‘Someone killed her, because she knew too much. She knew the truth about the marchioness – and the prince.’

Although they were alone, Henry held up a finger to his lips. That was dangerous talk in Creeve and, after all, Lady Sarah was his beloved’s stepmother. Such a scandal now made him extremely nervous.

Percy nodded furiously. ‘She didn’t walk into the lake, that’s for sure. We talked earlier and we were to meet—’

‘Where?’ asked Henry.

Percy looked uncomfortable for a moment. ‘At one of the summerhouses by the lake.’

Had they quarrelled, thought Henry, since the story of the aunt in Whitdean suggested that Simone might also have a lover. She was hardly likely to wait around for Percy, since she recognised there was no future for her, a mere lady’s maid, beyond a few tumbles in the hay with one of the Prince Regent’s grooms, married with a wife and children somewhere offstage in the home counties.

As for Percy, despite his anxiety to find Simone’s killer, he had no wish for anyone at Creeve, particularly Sir Joseph, to learn of their association. He was in blissful ignorance that all the servants who had keen eyes in their heads knew that he was Simone’s lover.

‘You will stay and help me?’ he asked.

Henry said, ‘Of course I will.’ He had his own reasons for remaining at Percy’s request. His mind was racing ahead to that interview with Sir Joseph, when he would formally ask for Lady Gemma’s hand and take her to Brighton to meet his royal father.

How the prince would react to his report on the death of the marchioness’s maid, he had little idea. Relief, perhaps, that another strand in that nightmare he was most anxious to forget was sealed and made safe by death.

‘We must bear in mind, Percy, that there is a distinct possibility that she fell in and drowned by accident.’

Percy was not consoled. He laughed harshly. ‘I think not. Someone at the funeral yesterday – someone who is still in this house in all probability – killed her. And I will find them, and bring them to justice, if it’s the last thing I ever do.’

Prophetic words, indeed.

Meanwhile, Tam and Townsend were closeted with Sir Joseph who was similarly distressed and certain that Simone’s death was no accident.

‘She appeared to be a very level-headed young woman, not the kind who would be so emotionally involved with her mistress that she would feel that life had nothing to offer and she would take her own life. I would like you to remain with us for a day or two and investigate, Mr Townsend, especially as I owe it to my late wife. I cannot dismiss from my mind the fact that Simone’s death may well have some connection with her murder. Perhaps she knew more about those gambling friends in Brighton than they wished her to reveal.’

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps they were even present last night, sleeping under my roof, and are leaving undetected at this moment.’ Beyond the window, where the storm had wreaked havoc with the ornamental gardens, the sound of trotting horses reached their ears from the gravel drive as the carriages of the overnight guests took their leave.

Townsend, following his gaze, gave him a despairing glance.

‘Quite correct, Townsend. Of course, I can hardly insist that they all stay and wait to be questioned.’

There was nothing in truth that Townsend would have liked better, thought Tam, than to interrogate distant members of the royal family and the upper echelons of British aristocracy.

‘That would present certain difficulties, Your Grace,’ Townsend said smoothly. And indicating Tam, ‘I should like Mr Eildor to remain to assist me. As a distinguished lawyer he is expert in such matters of detection.’

Tam bowed and smiled at this compliment, considering how little use he had been in tracking down the Stuart Sapphire. They were not one whit further in that investigation, for he was certain, despite Townsend’s methods of interrogation putting the fear of God into every shopkeeper or suspicious person they interviewed, that given the circumstances of the robbery, it could only have been carried out by someone inside the Pavilion.

However, he was not too unhappy about Townsend’s decision, since it gave him a chance to meet Lady Gemma again and an opportunity to hear the strange story of Jem which had twice been interrupted.

Sir Joseph had given instructions to put at Townsend’s disposal one of the minor rooms nearby, a footman’s waiting place or large butler’s pantry in effect. A long narrow window overlooked the main entrance and Townsend made himself comfortable in one of the two chairs provided. Leaning his elbows on the small table he looked around with satisfaction.

‘This will do admirably for our purpose, and we might as well begin by interviewing the servants. If I know anything about domestics, they will know a great deal
more about this maid than she knew herself.’

‘May I suggest, sir, that we first look at her room,’ said Tam. ‘There might be some evidence there.’

‘Capital idea, capital! You do that, if you please, while I line up the servants,’ said Townsend having been presented by Sir Joseph with a long list of names. ‘This will take some time,’ he sighed.

In the hall, Tam looked around hopefully for a glimpse of Lady Gemma. Disappointed that she was not to be seen at this hour of the morning, he asked a passing servant for directions to Simone’s room.

Not this time up the grand staircase but through the long narrow corridors with access to the kitchen, and up three flights of wooden back stairs. A door was opened and he was informed that this was Simone’s room which she shared with Bessie, the under-housekeeper.

Tam had expected that the marchioness’s maid would have had the privilege of a room to herself, or at least something more luxurious than the rather dark room under the eaves with its barred windows.

Was that to prevent an easier way of suicide? he wondered, when a voice behind him said:

‘What would you be wanting in my room, sir?’ A stout apron-clad female had appeared. This was Bessie. With an apologetic smile Tam quickly explained that he was helping Mr Townsend.

‘The man from the Bow Street Runners,’ said Bessie, dismissing him with a sniff of contempt. ‘We know him, he comes here to visit His Grace. But what would he want to know about Simone?’

Tam explained patiently that when someone died unexpectedly, even by their own hand, enquiries had to be made.

‘By her own hand, indeed. Never. Not that one! She thought too much of herself. Better than the rest of us, she thought, being her ladyship’s maid.’

‘Do please sit down,’ said Tam hopefully. This encounter promised to be interesting.

‘I will sit in my own room, without your permission, young man,’ puffed Bessie, but when he smiled at her, she decided she wasn’t all that offended after all. In fact, she was quite happy to talk to this nice-looking young man. A pleasant change indeed and there were one or two grievances she wanted to share.

‘When did you last see Simone?’

‘If you mean when did she last sleep in that bed, it wasn’t last night, or the night before that. And when her ladyship was at home, Simone slept in her dressing room. Very proud of that, she was. You can have the room all to yourself, Bessie, she would say. Her ladyship needs me close at hand.’

And pausing for breath, ‘She thinks – I mean, thought a lot of herself, did our Simone.’ Leaning forward confidentially, she shook her head. ‘Now, sir, I ask you, does she sound the kind who would walk into a lake?’

‘What do you think happened, Bessie?’

Bessie looked uneasy. ‘I haven’t made up my mind, but if you was to ask around, you’d find that Mademoiselle Simone Dupres wasn’t all that she pretended to be. By no means.’ She laughed harshly.

‘For one thing, she wasn’t French at all. I don’t know the language but apart from “yes” and “no”, no one ever heard her speak a word of it. Our chef is French and he laughed himself silly about it. Said she had never even set foot in France, never mind being born in Paris. As a matter of fact,’ embarrassed for a moment, she cleared her throat,
‘we happen to know that she came from up north, Manchester way, and Simone wasn’t her real name at all.’

‘That is interesting,’ said Tam encouragingly. Interesting but hardly criminal, he thought. There were French ladies’ maids all over Britain in stately homes, born in Britain from humble backgrounds, who changed their names to something more exotic than Smith or Jones.

‘Did she go everywhere with her ladyship?’

She looked at him and he gave her an almost conspiratorial smile. He certainly was a handsome young man and not a bit snobbish. There was something about him, kind of sympathetic and understanding, that made her want to confide in him, tell him all her troubles.

‘No, she did not. We all knew that her ladyship and Simone had lives of their own. For instance, when her ladyship went to Brighton, she had a nice little place there that His Grace knew nothing about, for entertaining her friends. But Simone stayed here. It seemed she wasn’t needed there and that gave her time on her own. Her ladyship is so demanding, she would say, and off she would go to that man she had in Whitdean.’

‘What man was that, a lover you mean?’

So this was the mysterious sick aunt he had heard about.

‘Yes, a lover he was. A married man too, we guessed.’

‘Did he ever come here to visit her?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. At least not often and I never saw him. But there was another thing. We knew that Simone had someone else.’ Pausing for breath, she studied him again. He was smiling, oh, a lovely lad, so nice and friendly, she felt already as if she had known him for ages, someone she could trust.

‘She had a real beau, a lord from Brighton. And he used to come and visit her in the summerhouse. He was here at
the funeral. Still is, I think. I don’t know whether I should give you his name, it might cause trouble.’

He smiled. ‘I think I know it already,’ and he put a finger to his lips.

Bessie laughed and looked amazed. ‘You do know a lot, sir. Here’s me telling you about Simone and I bet there’s a lot you could tell me.’

‘Perhaps there is, Bessie, perhaps there is. Meanwhile I have to look through Simone’s possessions, just in case there is anything else we should know about.’

Bessie obligingly indicated a wooden trunk. ‘That was all she kept here, her wardrobe as she called it. She kept it locked. She didn’t know that I knew where she kept the key,’ she added.

Standing on tiptoe she retrieved it from above the window ledge and gave it to Tam. ‘It’s all right, sir, you won’t find anything but clothes. No secrets there. If she had any private letters and things, she didn’t keep them here.’

She stood by him while he unlocked the trunk.

‘Only clothes, like I said.’ It was true. And handing her back the key, he thought she blushed, for his smile also said: As you well know.

A bell rang shrilly on the wall. ‘Oh Lord, that’s for me. I must go.’ And at the door, straightening her apron, she curtseyed and gave him a coquettish glance. ‘Glad to have been of help, sir.’

Downstairs in the hall, a selection of servants of various ages and in various uniforms were sitting on improvised benches awaiting their turn to be interviewed by John Townsend. Tam observed one very young and
scared-looking
maid emerge and he guessed she was thoroughly
intimidated by the Bow Street officer’s technique of interrogation, as she rushed over to an older, more experienced maid and looked ready to burst into tears.

He followed the next in line and Townsend acknowledged his presence with a nod. Once more he found that, although the questions were conventional, Townsend’s manner was threatening, his voice too loud, in that lion’s roar which seem to presume severe deafness on the other person’s part. He was, by now, well acquainted with Townsend’s methods of interviewing possible suspects. He had seen it day after tedious day in the back streets of Brighton.

How long have you been a servant here? What was your relationship with Simone? (Most did not fully understand that this only meant: Did you like her?) Do you know anything, in confidence, of Simone’s private life, or of any enemies that would have driven her to suicide or make her a potential murder victim?

The answer was invariably ‘No’ but it was the word ‘murder’ that struck terror into their hearts. As one servant was dismissed, Townsend ticked his sheet against that name, whose place was taken by yet another.

‘So far,’ he whispered, ‘can’t fault a single one of them. They are all either innocent, know nothing about the maid or are indulging in a conspiracy of silence,’ he added grimly.

It was fairly obvious that Townsend’s conclusions were justified, and Tam felt that he had done considerably better with Bessie, who had willingly given him information, confirming his guess that Simone considered herself superior to mere domestics and had behaved accordingly, distancing herself from them and from the activities of the servants’ hall.

The morning was over when the last of the servants went back to their duties. Townsend threw down his pen and gathered his notes in a gesture of disgust.

‘That was a regular waste of time. It’s hard to believe that they were all speaking the truth—’ Then, as the stable clock struck twelve, he consulted his pocket watch and brightened considerably. ‘Now we might hope for luncheon, but I am afraid Sir Joseph will be disappointed.’

If Townsend had hopes of dining with the family it was he who was to be disappointed, as a servant brought a tray with steak pies, potatoes and roly-poly pudding into the tiny room. Considering the tankard of ale, Townsend looked deeply offended, having hoped for wines from the Creeve cellar, which, he assured Tam, were of excellent vintage.

Tam nodded sympathetically. Townsend was a long way from being treated as the close family friend he bragged about being. But Tam was also nursing a secret disappointment. Lunch in the dining room would have given him another opportunity to talk to Jem, or Lady Gemma, as he had to get used to addressing her.

They were finishing their meal when a knock on the door announced Dr Brooke, who had been called into examine the dead woman.

‘I thought you would want to know that she drowned. No doubt about that, her lungs were full of water. But that is not to say that she wasn’t pushed into the lake first and her head held under.’

Townsend looked gratified at the doctor’s verdict as he went on: ‘One thing I did learn was that none of the servants ever heard of her wanting to take the waters in Brighton. She seemed to have an aversion to water in any form; we are given to understand that is a weakness of the French in general.’

Tam looked at him and decided not to mention that Simone was from Manchester. Would Lord Percy make arrangements for her burial? That seemed doubtful in the circumstances, but he hoped that there was enough information about her for someone close to collect her body. Otherwise it would be donated to the medical profession, as was the rule for unclaimed bodies.

As the doctor left them Townsend sighed. ‘So we’re no further forward,’ he grumbled. ‘Sounds as if she was done in, right enough, but we aren’t any nearer finding her killer.’

‘We still have the outdoor staff,’ Tam reminded him gently and, when Townsend frowned, he added: ‘She died outside, after all. What about stable boys, gardeners and so forth?’

Townsend gave him a sharp and rather angry look as if he had rather wished his enquiries to be over for the day. And sighing wearily, he said: ‘I suppose you’re right. My nephew Rob, he works in the stables.’

This information was given a little reluctantly, Tam thought, guessing that this was Townsend’s real connection with Creeve House, not the marquis’s friendship he enjoyed boasting about.

‘He’s an honest, reliable lad so at least we will get the truth from him.’

They were walking across the hall when Townsend spotted Sir Joseph leaving the dining room and heading towards the study. ‘Must have a word, he will want to know our progress so far. Just wait here for me.’

Tam waited, enjoying a chance to look at some of the ancient portraits of bygone Creeves that lined the walls, when a footman approached and handed him an envelope. ‘This is for Mr Townsend, will you give it to him please?’