Why Earls Fall in Love (26 page)

Procuring a private dining room so they wouldn’t be overhead, Con waited until they’d been served small beers before he sat back in his chair and said, “Well, McGilloway, what news have you got for me?”

The investigator wiped a bit of foam from his upper lip before replying. “It’s about Malcolm Lowther.”

Con’s brows rose. “I gave him your direction just a couple of days ago. What is this about?”

“I’m afraid, my lord,” McGilloway said, “that Mr. Lowther is dead. His body was found in some rented rooms in Westgate Buildings last night. The charwoman came to clean and found him dead in ’is bed.”

“How was he killed?” Con asked, wondering if the same man who’d killed the man on the roof had killed Lowther.

“Poison, it looks like,” the investigator said with a moue of distaste. “Give me a shooting or even a hanging,” he said. “But poison is a wretched way to go, in my humble opinion.”

“One would rather not go at all,” Archer said with a grimace. “So what made you come to inform Lord Coniston about the fellow’s death?”

“Found one of his lordship’s calling cards in his rooms,” McGilloway said. “With my own name written on the back. I figured his lordship would be able to tell me what was what.”

“Are the two deaths connected, do you think?” Con asked. Though he’d originally suspected Lowther of killing the man on the roof, now he wasn’t so sure. As crazy as the man’s tale of letters had seemed that night, knowing what he now knew about the mastermind’s orchestration of any number of things using notes, Con was more inclined to believe Robert Mowbray’s brother on that score.

“Well,” McGilloway said, leaning back in his chair, “the fellow from the theater, John Potts, also stayed in a rooming house in Westgate Buildings, so it’s like as not they knew each other. But I don’t see how their deaths could be connected. One was stabbed, the other was poisoned.”

“But…?” Con prompted. He could see that the other man wasn’t quite convinced of his own words.

“But,” McGilloway admitted, “there was one thing that they had in common. Though it’s probably just one of those odd things.”

“There are any number of odd things about this situation,” Con muttered.

“Well, even though the landlady at Lowther’s rooms didn’t hold with such things, she said she saw him meeting with a woman in mourning more than just a couple of times. Now, I never heard of a whore like that, but no woman with any sort of reputation is going to risk being seen in a man’s rooms. And since we don’t think he had a sister…”

“So what’s the connection with Potts?” Con prompted.

“That’s the thing,” McGilloway said, scratching his chin. “He was seen with a woman in mourning too. His landlord wasn’t so particular as Lowther’s was, so she could come and go as she pleased there. And it sounded to me from what the landlord said that she was living there for nigh on two weeks.”

Con pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “So, we have a widow who has been seen with both of the dead men.”

“And two dead men,” Archer added helpfully.

“And two dead men,” agreed McGilloway. “Both of whom have some kind of connection with his lordship here.”

“I can tell you easily enough how I know Lowther,” Con said. Quickly he told the other man about the way Lowther had been manipulated by some unknown person into frightening Georgina.

“So he looked enough like her dead husband to make her think he was a ghost?” McGilloway asked. “Seems to me that might make a woman pretty angry. And she is a widow, isn’t she?”

“She is a widow,” Con agreed, “but she has no reason to wish the man dead. And I can vouch for the fact that she’s not been to Westgate Buildings. At least not in the last week or so.”

“Doesn’t have to travel to Westgate Buildings to poison the fellow,” the investigator reminded him. “Could have poisoned a box of sweets and sent them to the man.”

“Did you find a box of poisoned sweets in his rooms?” Archer asked conversationally.

“Well, no,” McGilloway admitted. “But she could have removed them from his rooms after he died. Or she could have had an accomplice do it.” He gave a meaningful look to Con.

“Neither Mrs. Mowbray nor myself poisoned Malcolm Lowther, McGilloway,” Con snapped. “If we had you can be damned sure we’d not have left a calling card behind.”

“Couldn’t hurt to ask,” the investigator said with a shrug. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any idea who our murderous widow might be, have you?”

“Not offhand,” Con said, though he had a very strong suspicion. He’d like to see what Georgina thought of it before telling McGilloway about it, however.

“Then I suppose I’d better be getting back to the chase,” McGilloway said, rising from the table. “If you think of anything that might help us find out who killed these coves, the magistrate’s office would be grateful.”

When he was gone, Con and Archer exchanged a look.

“It doesn’t seem as if things are becoming any less complicated, does it?” Archer asked with a frown.

“Not particularly,” Con agreed, “but I have an idea of who the widow might be. I need to confirm it with Georgina first, however.”

“Then let’s go tell her,” Archer said, pushing back from the table.

*   *   *

“Poisoned?” Georgie exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. She’d not really known Mr. Lowther, but as it always was with death, she found it difficult to believe that the man she’d spoken with only a few days ago was now dead.

She, Perdita, Isabella, and the gentlemen were ranged about Perdita’s drawing room in Laura Place, where they’d gathered when Con and Archer had arrived a few minutes ago.

“Did Mr. McGilloway have any guesses as to who might be responsible?” Georgie asked, a shiver running through her. “You don’t think it might be the person who had him spying on me, do you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Con said, resting his booted ankle over his knee. “He was no longer of use to the mastermind and therefore Lowther was expendable.”

“We’ve got to warn Mary Kendrick,” Georgie said, suddenly realizing that if Lowther was expendable so too was the widow.

But before she could stand to go get her reticule, Con raised a staying hand. “You might wish to wait before you go to her, Georgina,” he said regretfully. He told them about the sightings of the widow in mourning dress who’d been seen at the lodgings of both Lowther and John Potts.

“That could be anyone,” Georgina protested. “Any woman might don mourning dress and cover her face with a veil and no one would be able to tell the difference. Just because Mary is a widow does not mean she’s suspect.”

“But she’s the widow we found with Lowther that evening in Aunt Russell’s back garden,” Con reminded her. “And I didn’t wish to mention it, but McGilloway asked if you might be the widow he’s looking for. So be pleased that Mary Kendrick is also a possibility.”

“I thought you weren’t overly fond of this Mary Kendrick anyway, Georgie,” Isabella said, tilting her head quizzically. “She sounds like a perfectly awful person. Especially considering that she was trying to frighten you in order to obtain ten thousand pounds. That doesn’t strike me as the act of a friend.”

“But she apologized for that,” Georgie said firmly. “And I cannot help but sympathize with her situation. She has no widow’s portion and is forced to live with her sister and her family in Westgate Buildings. I can’t help thinking that I might have found myself in a similar situation if I’d been unable to find a position with Lady Russell. At least I have my independence.”

“Yes, dearest,” Perdita said, patting Georgie on the hand. “But you’ve worked hard for what you have achieved. Despite what that wretched person who planted the bracelet in your chambers did to ruin your reputation. It sounds to me as if Mrs. Kendrick is a woman who simply lets things happen to her.”

“That’s not fair,” Georgie protested. She knew that it would be difficult for Perdita or Isabella to understand what it was like to return to England after war. To have lost the only community you’d ever known and on top of that dealing with the loss of a husband—who no matter how abusive he was still provided one with a roof over one’s head—was enough to drive one to despair. And for all that Mary had seemed to be blown by every wind, she was also doing the best she could in a difficult situation. She’d stayed with her sister’s family despite knowing that she was resented as another mouth to feed, and despite her brother-in-law’s violence, and she’d survived. Her apology to Georgie might have been too little too late, but at least she’d given it, which was more than Georgie could say for any number of people in her life who had transgressed against her. Aloud she said, “Mary has had a difficult time of it. And yes, she did accept a bribe in order to frighten me. But that doesn’t mean she’s capable of poisoning someone.”

“If you believe it,” Isabella said, “then I am convinced.”

“Perhaps we should go call upon her in Westgate Buildings,” Perdita said with a smile.

Georgie could tell that she was not convinced about Mary’s goodness, but she appreciated her support, nonetheless.

“I should like that,” she said. “Shall we go this afternoon?”

“Wait one moment,” Con said, sitting up in his chair. “I don’t like the idea of you three going to Westgate Buildings on your own. It is not the best of neighborhoods. And it’s where a man was just murdered.”

“Not all people are able to afford the best of neighborhoods,” Georgie said, something like anger tight in her chest. “It’s where I might choose to live if I do not find another position soon. Though I doubt even a milliner’s assistant, which is all I’m qualified for, could afford it there.”

Feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes, she turned and hurried from the room.

*   *   *

Staring after her, Con cursed. “How the hell did that happen?” he demanded. “I wasn’t being snobbish. I was worried for her safety.”

“She’s been through quite a bit in the past few days, Con,” Perdita said soothingly. “Think of it. She’s gone from thinking her dead husband was stalking her, to nearly being assaulted at the theater, to seeing a dead body, to being accused of theft. Now a woman she’s known for years is under suspicion of having murdered not one but two men. I think Georgie is entitled to a bit of hysterics.”

“And truthfully,” Isabella pointed out, “that wasn’t even true hysterics. Though for Georgie it was. She’s so self-contained even her fits are controlled.”

Con sank miserably into his chair. “How can I make it right? I want to protect her. And I thought she knew that there was no question of her getting another position as a companion. She won’t need to.”

“Easy there, old man,” Archer said, clasping Con on the shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world. Maybe you should go up and apologize. We’ll wait down here, and when you come down we’ll all set out for Westgate Buildings.”

“Or better yet,” Isabella said, “we’ll pay a visit to Lady Russell’s. I’ve a mind to play the duchess. Did you bring your coronet, your grace, or did we leave it at home?”

Leaving them to discuss the matter among themselves, Con headed upstairs to find Georgie.

Nineteen

Georgie had indulged herself in a good cry and felt much the better for it. She wasn’t sure just what about the situation regarding Mary had set her off, but she suspected it had more to do with self-pity than concern for her former friend.

It was just that she’d tried so hard to maintain a positive outlook while the world seemed to be crumbling around her, and the idea that her friends might find Westgate Buildings beneath them had reinforced her fear that she was out of place among them. Neither fish nor fowl, she didn’t belong in the world of Mary Kendrick but she also felt out of place in the world of Isabella, Perdita, and most painful of all, Con. That had been made abundantly clear by how quickly Lady Russell, Clara, and Con’s other cousins had turned on her. It had only taken a few moments for all of Georgie’s hard-won reputation to wither away.

Rinsing her handkerchief in the basin and pressing it against her tear-reddened eyes, she was surveying the results in the glass of her dressing table when she heard a tentative knock on the door. Thinking it was Perdita or Isabella she called for them to come in.

But a masculine cough made her turn to see Con standing in the doorway. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. “Perdita said I might come up and check on you,” he said, looking more uncomfortable than Georgie could ever remember seeing him.

He walked a bit farther into the room, taking what Georgie thought was an unusual interest in the décor. “It’s a pretty bedchamber,” he said, finally looking from the walls to face her. “It suits you.”

Georgie looked at his face, which had become so unutterably dear to her in the past week, and wondered how she would possibly give him up when the time came. “I thank you,” she said finally, “but I suspect that you aren’t here to comment upon the décor.”

Con gave a short laugh. “No, I am not. But I’m damned if I know exactly what I’m meant to say.” He began to pace round the room, picking up a shepherdess figurine from where it was displayed on the mantel and turning it to face the wall. Georgie rose from her seat at the vanity and walked toward the sitting room attached to her chamber. She didn’t need to tell him to follow. He did.

When she was seated comfortably in a chintz chair, and Con was, if not comfortably seated, at least seated, she said, “I think I should go first.”

Before he could either agree or object, she said, “You see, I think I overreacted about Westgate Buildings. In fact, I know I did. And I apologize. I realize that you wouldn’t object to our going there out of any sense of superiority. And I should have known that. I’ve perhaps been more affected by what happened at Lady Russell’s than I’ve realized. And I know Perdita and Isabella do not refine upon it, but the truth of the matter is, by birth I am more suited to Westgate Buildings than either Henrietta Street or Laura Place.”

“But that’s foolishness,” Con said, his mouth twisted with anger. “You are every bit as entitled to live in Henrietta Street or Laura Place as your friends are.”

Georgie smiled sadly. “Con, you cannot seriously believe that. You are an earl and you belong in the Beau Monde. And the truth of the matter is that I am not. For all that the rest of you seem to ignore it, it is the honest truth. I was born to a military officer and a vicar’s daughter. And they were both of the gentry. Which means that I was never expected to mix with duchesses and earls and the like.”