The Lady's Scandalous Secret (The Discreet Investigations of Lord and Lady Calaway Book 7)

by Issy Brooke

  Bernard took the lead and it made Theodore wince. “So, Calcraft, you and Spenning, you were in business together, weren’t you?”

  Bernard certainly lacked tact and subtlety. Theodore curled his toes but also made a mental note to inform Adelia that finally someone existed that was worse than he was. She’d never believe it.

  Calcraft said, “Humph. Spenning? That’s a name from the past.”

  “Yes. Nearly a year since he died, hey?”

  Calcraft didn’t reply. He sighed and paced away from them, curving around the hallway, letting his hand lightly touch the objects arranged all around. There were large Chinese vases, golden sculptures of cats, scrolls hanging from the walls, and in the centre of the hall itself was a low octagonal table. On it was a long, thin box. Calcraft came to rest alongside it. He reached out towards the box and then stopped himself, letting his hands dangle in the air for a moment before they fell back to his sides.

  “Spenning. Yes, we were acquainted, as much as anyone ever was. Why are you asking about him now?”

  “Oh, these gentlemen had heard of his strange death and were curious, that’s all.”

  Calcraft stared Theodore straight in the eyes. Theodore tried to smile. Of course Calcraft must have heard his name; he was being reported in all manner of newspapers. He would know instantly that Theodore was interested in the death.

  There were a dozen questions that Theodore expected Calcraft to ask – “Are you investigating officially?” or “Have the police re-opened the case?” But Calcraft dropped the subject entirely, and instead he said, “And how long are you staying here?” He was addressing Bamfylde. “I am sorry, we were not introduced…”

  Bernard spluttered. “Let me confess my error! I have clean forgotten Bamfylde’s title – Viscount this or that, you must be?”

  Theodore laughed now he realised why Bernard had neglected to introduce Bamfylde. He took over, saying, “Colonel Calcraft, may I present my son and heir, Bamfylde Caxton, the Viscount Caxton. And I want to add that I am so very lucky to have found him again.”

  Calcraft had gone very pale. His hands reached out again for the box on the table. “Found … again?”

  “Yes. Though it pains me to admit it, for various reasons, we had become estranged. Now, however, I am utterly delighted to have begun to reforge our bonds and I am truly the luckiest man alive to have such a son. Although, I suppose that all fathers say that. Do you have children, Colonel?”

  “I – must ask you to leave!” cried Calcraft, snatching up the long, thin box and pressing it to his chest. “I am so very sorry, gentlemen, but as you can see, I am otherwise engaged. Perkins! Perkins will show you out. Good day!”

  He ran out of the hall and narrowly missed colliding with his manservant who took them to the door without a single word.

  They tumbled down the steps and went as quickly as they could to the road at the end of the drive.

  “Is he always like that?” Theodore demanded. “What on earth set him off?”

  “He’s always – well, since doing his military service in the far east, he’s always been a little odd. But today? No,” said Bernard. “Today, what set him off was you, lad.” He pointed at Bamfylde.

  Bamfylde shook his head in stunned surprise. “But I don’t know the man. I’ve never met him nor heard of him in my entire life!”

  Adelia had enjoyed a quiet breakfast alone with Theodore before he went off to roam the countryside with Bamfylde and Bernard. She spent a happy hour dashing off a few letters to her friends, particularly Harriet who wanted to know all about Felicia and her baby boy. She also wrote to Dido, thanking her for her recent hospitality and repeating in print what she’d said, constantly, to her daughter’s face: that she was a fine, strong woman and in spite of what her terrible husband had done, she would always have a place in the right sort of society. And in the family.

  “But mama,” Dido had said, just before Adelia had left. “Will we ever have justice for what he did?”

  “I am sure of it,” Adelia had lied.

  That little exchange had preyed on her mind ever since. She was now starting to wonder if every case that they investigated, every murderer that they brought to justice, wasn’t in fact some kind of substitute for the one real criminal they had never caught. Yes, the man who had pulled the trigger on Dido’s friend had been caught and had hanged for it. But the man behind it all had fled the country in disgrace, and the lack of a true ending still rankled. But if Theodore was willing to take this case on, though it was a year old, perhaps he’d consider seeking justice, at last, for Dido. After all, that had been their first case. Now they were far more experienced. Perhaps they had a chance.

  Adelia was broken out of her musings by a tap at her chamber door. Anne poked her head into the room. She was dressed in sober and almost shabby clothes that weren’t out of fashion because they were so plain as to have never been in fashion. She smiled sweetly but she wasn’t smiling at Adelia. Patrick was clinging to her skirts and he peeped into the room with awe on his face.

  “Mama, Patrick would like to invite you to our morning romp.”

  “Your – what?”

  “He is a child of great energy. Rather than inflict such harassment on his poor nurse, we spend every morning on great adventures in and around the house until he is quite exhausted, or at least, temporarily exhausted. Would you join us? We’re going to make the most of the warmth in the yellow room on the east side of the house. You’ll adore it, I promise you. It is my favourite room in the house.”

  Adelia was delighted to accept. And she found the room as lovely as Anne had promised that it would be. They settled into deep armchairs while Patrick raided a basket in the corner and began to try to dress himself as a knight, although he was far too young to work out how to do so, and ended up simply draping material over himself and shouting “Rar!” He seemed happy enough.

  Anne had taken the chair in the sunlight. She leaned her head back and sighed. “Bernard made this room for me, as soon as we moved in here,” she said.

  “It is wonderful. Does it get the morning light all the year round?”

  “Yes. And that’s why he did it. If I do not simply soak myself in brilliant light in the morning, I get dark thoughts. It is worse in winter. Winter is a struggle. Oh, I am so glad that spring is here again. I feel myself renewed once more. With every flower that blooms, my mood lifts. But I have learned to live with the cycle.”

  “Goodness, Anne. As a child I know you often felt things so very deeply, and I am sorry to hear that your … bleaker sorts of moods … have continued to plague you. Yet you seem so happy now, or at least, in this moment. Indeed, you are happier than I had expected to find you.”

  “Oh, you were worried that I was still a gloomy girl of fifteen, filled with unnameable rage and anger at everything, weren’t you? I’ve learned how to manage it. I speak about my feelings more openly and that has made a great difference. Bernard has been an absolute rock. I could not have married a better man, and I remember you in my prayers every night, mama, for your wisdom in choosing this man for me.”

  Adelia was stunned. If she had been holding a tea cup, she would have surely dropped it. She felt that she had learned more about her daughter in the space of three minutes than she’d ever discovered over the preceding twenty-two years.

  Then Anne laughed, and someone else tapped at the door and entered, and a shadow entered with her. It was Emily Johnson. She nodded at Anne and made a half-bob of a curtsey at Adelia, and crossed to a darker corner. She settled into a wing-backed chair and didn’t smile until she looked at Patrick. He toddled over to her to show her his “cloak”, which was a large linen shirt hung over his head. Suddenly, Emily’s face lit up and the years of care fell away from her. She looked fresh and youthful again.

  As Adelia watched Emily interact with the young boy, she remembered what Anne had told her of Emily’s past. She allowed herself to feel more sympathetic to the poor spinster. She clearly do
ted on the child, and was obviously willing to support Anne, which was surely no bad thing.

  Emily might have her foibles, but she did seem like a good person, and Adelia resolved to trust Anne’s judgement in the matter.

  After lunch, with still no sign of the return of the men, the three women gathered in the main parlour as it was Anne’s day to be At Home.

  “I don’t expect many people to call,” she said ruefully. “Empton is such a broken-down little place and most people are not of the visiting sort. Sometimes a lady or two will come over from the town but that’s ten miles away, and beyond that the nearest place is Great Yarmouth though often if I need things, I will go the other way, and make a day of it in Norwich.”

  “Who are the main people in Empton?” Adelia asked.

  “I suppose we are. The vicar’s wife, Mrs Thubron, will come as usual. She will press me to get Bernard to attend church and start paying more for the upkeep of the building. The Spennings were important, I suppose; Mr Spenning was a great landowner around here. But we never see Mrs Spenning. She never did pay a call here, even before his death, but anyway you’ve already met her and…” she tailed off, and Adelia understood why. The merest mention of the strange lady had set Emily off the previous night, after all.

  “Mrs Macauley will come,” Emily said, ignoring the reference to Mrs Spenning. “I heard a carriage just this moment, I am sure of it. The Macauleys are the only other family of reputation, really. He’s in business, new money I am afraid, but it will do.”

  She was right; within a few moments, Mrs Macauley had been announced. She sat down without removing her hat or gloves, as properly as if she had been in Kensington itself. She greeted everyone warmly, with particular regard, it seemed, for Emily. She took a seat next to the spinster and leaned close to her, even while she was chatting amiably to Anne and Adelia.

  She knew already why Adelia was there.

  “Detectives!” she exclaimed. “I have followed your husband’s exploits in the press, but surely you must take some role yourself? I would. I could not bear to be left out of such fun. The papers don’t say so, but I know you must be involved. You simply must! We women like to pretend that men are in charge but who feeds the men? Who listens to them? Who has their ear at night? It is us. We are the invisible power and I can see that you, Lady Calaway, are not to be trifled with.”

  “It is true. We do act almost as equal partners.”

  “Almost!” scoffed Anne. “I know the truth. Mrs Macauley is quite right. You are in charge, mama, and papa is merely your servant. When it comes to clues, he can tell you what he is looking at, but he wouldn’t know where to look unless you directed him.”

  Mrs Macauley screeched with laughter.

  Emily repressed a tight smile. “I suppose you work on a purely amateur basis?” she asked Adelia. “By which I mean, you do not take payment, do you?”

  “No, of course not. That would surely influence our investigation. We remain impartial.”

  “Good.” Emily flared her nostrils and settled back in the chair a little, evidently pleased.

  “So, who did kill Walter Spenning?” Mrs Macauley said, amusement dancing in her eyes. “If he were killed, that is. The police might be right, you know, and he just slipped in his boathouse, a tragic accident. But if they are wrong … well, you’ll be pegging my Gordon as a suspect straight away, won’t you?”

  “Your husband?” Adelia said in astonishment.

  “Indeed so. Mr Gordon Macauley did not get on with Mr Spenning, oh no, not at all! And everyone knew it. Mr Spenning cheated my Gordon out of a great deal of money – Anne, have you not told Lady Calaway this sordid tale? Oh, everyone knows. It is not a secret. Hundreds of pounds, Lady Calaway, hundreds! If that isn’t a motive for stabbing someone through the neck, I don’t know what is! I wanted to do it myself, if I am honest.”

  The story emerged piecemeal, told as a duet between Mrs Macauley and Anne. Emily, who clearly knew the details too, didn’t contribute. It was a complicated series of bad business decisions, fraudulent claims to a patch of land, and the sale of a row of houses that were not worth at all what was paid for them.

  Adelia could not help but say, “Was Mr Macauley poorly advised? Surely he must bear some responsibility for not undertaking all the necessary checks before parting with his money, especially as the miserly character of Mr Spenning seems to have been well-known.”

  “As to that,” Mrs Macauley said, apparently unbothered by any insult Adelia might have been offering, “as to that, it comes down to that weasel of a solicitor, Mr Hedges.”

  “Your husband’s solicitor?”

  “Everyone’s and no one’s. But he is mostly Mr Spenning’s man, and Mr Calcraft’s too, though less so these days, I hear. Still, he’s the man who has written most people’s wills and has the storing of most people’s deeds and the signing off of most people’s business transactions. He’s done rather well for himself.”

  “And does he live in Empton?” Adelia said, thinking that here was a suspect far more likely than poor duped Gordon Macauley.

  Mrs Macauley laughed. “Does he live in Empton and did he kill Walter Spenning? What a good question. No, and no. He lives in London and merely graces us all with his presence from time to time from his secondary base in Norwich. Of course, the police made a show of looking at a few possible suspects for the murder. My Gordon had an alibi that convinced them – it may convince you, I don’t know. As for Mr Hedges, he was at a dinner for others of his ilk in London and had been giving a speech that very night. Anyway, he did not benefit from the death. He would have rather kept the old goat alive to keep milking him for his money, don’t you think?”

  Emily had begun to fidget in her seat. It was fast approaching the time when a polite caller would leave, and Mrs Macauley knew it. She patted her dress, smoothed down her skirts and readjusted her hat in preparation for standing up. Again, she looked towards Emily in particular, who seemed to partly nod in return.

  They all rose and Mrs Macauley kissed Anne lightly on the cheeks before turning to bob her head at Adelia. Anne rang for a maid who came to the door.

  Adelia and Anne stayed where they were, but Emily followed Mrs Macauley out, begging leave from Anne for a few moments. Adelia was intensely curious. Some unspoken communication was passing between the two women, and she could not let it rest. She went to the door, raising her hand to silence Anne as she peeked out into the hallway.

  Emily had accompanied Mrs Macauley to the main doors, and they stopped by the long wooden dresser that held all the various accoutrements of an entranceway; umbrellas, spare gloves, clothes brushes and the like. There was a tray with letters to be posted and another with the post that had arrived, and Adelia thought that she saw Emily pick up a package and hand it to Mrs Macauley though her view was hampered by both ladies’ dresses and elbows and movement.

  Mrs Macauley leaned in and kissed Emily’s cheeks in farewell, and was gone. As Emily turned, she caught sight of Adelia before Adelia had a chance to withdraw.

  Fury clouded her face, as if she had been caught in some guilty secret. She tossed her head and stalked angrily to the stairs, heading up for her own rooms.

  Adelia came back into the parlour. “Are they close friends, Emily and Mrs Macauley?”

  “Reasonably so, yes. Is she not coming back?”

  “I have upset her and she has gone upstairs. She passed something to Mrs Macauley, I am sure of it.”

  Anne shrugged. “As I said yesterday, Emily has her little ways. She is easily upset. But she is so good with Patrick, isn’t she?”

  3

  The visit from Mrs Thubron, the vicar’s wife, came and went. She was a beige sort of woman, in both clothing and conversation, and when she left after her allotted fifteen minutes, Adelia could not recall one single thing that they had talked about, except tithing, which seemed to weigh heavily on her mind. Her main argument seemed to be that because the village was so downtrodden, the wealthier sort
s in the local area ought to give more money directly to the church, and that would somehow help matters.

  Emily did not reappear and Adelia was feeling rather guilty about the whole thing. She had not intended to look as if she were spying on someone else’s private business. When Mrs Thubron had gone, and Anne said that she didn’t expect anyone else to call, Adelia said how much she regretted upsetting Emily. Anne leaped to her feet.

  “I understand completely. We must us seek her out immediately and set things right,” Anne said. “I will not have lingering unhappiness and things unsaid in my household; they make things far worse in the long run. Grievances fester. Secrets twist the truth. I cannot abide it.”

  “I quite agree.” If only everyone was so straightforward, Adelia thought. There’d be far fewer murders over mistakes and lies, for a start.

  But then what would Theodore do with his time?

  They found Emily in her private rooms. She had a small but comfortable bedroom and a day-sitting-room alongside which got the afternoon sun. The door to her room was partly open, which Anne assured Adelia was an invitation to intrude. They tapped upon the door, and sang out, “hello!”.

  Emily was sitting at a wide table that filled the whole large window. Deep blue curtains were pulled far back at either side to fill the room with light. It was pleasantly furnished, if a little austere. She stood up as they entered, and Adelia caught sight of a jam jar full of water on the desk, and realised what she was doing.

  “Oh, Miss Johnson, are you an artist? How wonderful!”

  Emily half-shrugged with one shoulder and shook her head. “I merely dabble, Lady Calaway.”

  “Mama, that is not why you are here,” Anne said. “Emily is a wonderful artist but let us put things right first.”

  “You speak to me as if I am the child!” Adelia said, pretending to be affronted.

  “I am a mother now. So, I believe that I can.” Anne smiled as she said it, and Adelia didn’t mind the rebuke.