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

by Issy Brooke

  Bamfylde grinned as if he had not just had the moment of triumph snatched from him. “Exactly so! We have seen it written down. We have evidence. What do you think to that?”

  Adelia was not quite as impressed as the men were, but she had to concede that it was another piece of direct evidence to link the two men in spite of Calcraft’s protestations that they were not. They had guessed at much. But she was surprised at how recently it had been officially dissolved. Calcraft had led them to believe it had all been in the past.

  “And what about the workhouse in Great Yarmouth, and that charity, in which both Florence Spenning and Emily Johnson are involved?”

  “So far we believe it to be utterly unrelated.”

  “But it is not unrelated to Florence Spenning,” said Adelia. “I am sure, absolutely sure, we are missing something there. I am still thinking about her, and Miss Johnson.”

  Theodore leaped to his feet. “Then let us go and speak to Mrs Spenning again.”

  “We’ve tried.”

  “All of us,” he said. “All four of us, like this, right now. Let us quite run her to ground.”

  “Theodore, that is appalling!” Adelia said.

  “We must act immediately and she knows things. She is playing a game with us, and I am done with it. Come on. We’ll wait in the hall while you ladies prepare your dress.”

  They surged into Mrs Spenning’s house as she opened the door and she fell back in alarm. She called out, “Sirs, my ladies, my lords, I am not at home to…”

  “We will take but the barest minute of your time,” said Theodore.

  Adelia wanted to haul him back and tell him to take care but she could not. She couldn’t berate him in public, and anyway, there was a small part of her which wanted to see how this all unfolded.

  “I am afraid that I cannot…”

  “We are here to ask you about The Philanthropic Endeavour for the Improvement of the Poor,” Theodore said firmly.

  There, thought Adelia. Was that a flicker of tension across the young widow’s face? Just the barest hint of recognition? It was not reflected in her words.

  “No,” said Mrs Spenning. “I mean, why would you ask me? I have never heard of such an … endeavour.”

  “Yes,” said Adelia. “Yes, you have. Your husband was one of the trustees until his death.”

  “My husband,” she spat out, suddenly full of hissing hate. “Even though he is dead, he plagues me still. You are all evil. How can you live with yourselves?”

  “Mrs Spenning!” cried Anne. “Evil? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Not once have you come to see me for me, myself, alone,” she replied, pointing a white finger at Anne. “Never. You, and you, and you, and you – you come to ask about him. But for the last year, and for all the long, lonely years before then, I have been alone here, alone. And now I am alone and yet I am not alone, for he is here still, isn’t he? It is always about him! Him! Him! Him!”

  Adelia inched her way past Theodore and got closer to Mrs Spenning. “You are trapped here, aren’t you?”

  “I would not have stayed out of choice,” she said with venom in her voice.

  “Where would you have gone?” Anne asked.

  “No,” said Adelia, before Mrs Spenning could answer and turn the conversation on a tangent. “That’s irrelevant. The point is, Mrs Spenning, you’ve no choice, have you? Can you tell us about Mr Spenning’s will? Have you enough money to live on?”

  “I can survive, yes, here,” she said. “You’ve worked it out.”

  Indeed, Adelia had, and she could see the insight dawning on the faces of the others, too. Mrs Spenning had been provided for in the terms of her late husband’s will but only if she stayed in the marital home.

  Bamfylde now pushed past his father, and went to Mrs Spenning, standing on the other side to where Adelia was. Mrs Spenning looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if she were unused to so many people all crowding around her. Before she could protest, he said in the most gentle voice, “Mrs Spenning, what can we do to help you?”

  She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut as if she were biting back a rejection. She swallowed, and flared her nostrils, and fought for control over her emotions.

  “This investigation…” she said, in a small voice, then stopped.

  They all let the silence drag on.

  She tried again. She said, “If he were killed, if it were not an accident … does it matter?”

  “It does matter,” Adelia said. “Doesn’t it matter to you?”

  “Dead is dead,” she said. “I won’t pretend that we were happy together for we certainly were not, but I did my duty. And I suppose he did his duty. I had, and still have, somewhere to live. It is just that … oh, when he died, I thought that it would make me free. Yet here I am. Stuck and doomed to remain here in the place that I hate and the place that hates me.”

  “Perhaps we can…” Bamfylde began to say, but she interrupted him by throwing up her hands and speaking very loudly indeed.

  “And now I must ask you all to leave.”

  “Mrs Spenning…” Adelia and Anne said at the same time, and Theodore tried to persuade her to answer another question, but she backed away, her voice almost a shout now, summoning servants and alerting the neighbours.

  They had no choice but to leave her alone.

  And, Adelia reflected, it was not a wasted journey. It confirmed her suspicions. As they walked back to Litton, she said to Theodore, “I think we have been looking at the wrong will – don’t you?”

  “I am not sure,” he replied. “But I take your point. She is still involved, is she not?”

  “She is.”

  “We must set a watch on Mr Calcraft,” Bamfylde said, coming up to their side. “We cannot allow him to slip through our fingers.”

  “Do you think he might leave soon?” Anne asked.

  “I think he is in imminent danger of leaving at any moment. I shall take the first watch tonight.”

  “Bamfylde!” said Theodore. “You can’t do that.”

  “I can. And I will. If a parcel of food can be got up for me at Litton, then I can make myself perfectly comfortable in that little stand of hawthorns opposite the end of Calcraft’s driveway. I am not spying on the man. I am simply observing his movements.”

  Theodore protested again but Adelia stopped him. This kind of action was exactly what Bamfylde needed, and it was certainly better that he undertook the night shift rather than his older parents.

  So it was agreed, and they returned to Litton to make the necessary preparations.

  21

  “Nothing, absolutely nothing happened,” grumbled Bamfylde. But there was a light in his eyes that morning, nonetheless. Nothing might have happened but he was clearly glad that he had been there anyway. He was sheltered by the hawthorns, wrapped up in a greatcoat and a blanket, and he still looked frozen. “And I had no idea how cold it would get just before sunrise.”

  “I would wager you’re looking forward to a nice hot breakfast,” said Adelia. “If your father has left you any…”

  “Excuse me!” said Theodore, nudging her.

  She laughed. “Go on back to Litton, Bamfylde. We will take over for the day.”

  He left. She stamped her feet and looked past the spiky branches. They could not see the house from this point but they had a clear view of anyone entering or leaving.

  “We’re doing this to indulge your son, really, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Though he has a point. And I am so enjoying spending time with him. But … dear heart …”

  “What is it?”

  “Are you perfectly well with this arrangement?”

  “What arrangement? Oh, Theodore, your son is not an arrangement. He is your son, and therefore a part of this family. Have I not pressed you, for years, to make amends with him? I am delighted that you have done so.”

  He looked away, chewing the inside of his cheek. He seemed to want to say many things, but she k
new that he lacked the words. It didn’t matter. She had an idea of what he might be feeling, and even if she didn’t truly know all of it, she accepted it, and him, and the son, and the situation. She could tell him so, over and over, but only her actions would really make sense, not hollow words.

  She reached out and slipped her hand into his, feeling his fingers closing automatically over her own. He pulled it to his chest to warm her, and she smiled.

  But their tender moment was broken when Theodore suddenly squeezed her hand so tightly that she squeaked, and he shushed her. She pulled her hand free. He crept to the edge of the bushes and cocked his head.

  “Can you hear that? Wheels on gravel, and a voice. He is having his carriage prepared.”

  “Well, we cannot follow on foot. And you are too old to run after it, and I do not expect you will succeed in trying to hang on the back, either.”

  “Of course not.” He was already walking away. “Let’s get a gig as fast as we can – I know Bernard has a little, light thing – we will follow at a distance.”

  “Oh, Theodore, we have no chance…”

  “We must try. Hurry! Oh, I’ll go on ahead.”

  To her slight irritation, he sped off. She walked briskly, her good boots getting muddy already, trying to hold her brown walking dress up away from the worst of the splashes. At best, she thought, we’re going to follow a man to a bakery for his daily loaf and back again.

  But at worst…?

  Edwin Calcraft did not go to a bakery.

  Calcraft was in a cart, rather than his carriage as they had first assumed, and as he rumbled into Great Yarmouth they followed at a great distance. When they were out on the open road, they had to stay out of sight. The landscape was flat and unless you were round the curve of a bend or behind trees, you were far too exposed and it was impossible to be stealthy. On the other hand, such visibility meant that Calcraft could not easily slip away from them. All they had to do was ensure they didn’t attract his attention or get close enough to be recognised, and as they got closer to town, there was enough other traffic on the road to hide them and allow them to draw closer.

  Theodore had hold of the reins and Adelia clung to the edge of the seat. “If he only wanted provisions, he would have gone to the nearer town,” said Theodore. “I expect he is going to see Mr Yate.”

  “We cannot go in and eavesdrop.”

  “We will think of something when we get there – oh! Hang on.”

  “I am, I am. I have not stopped hanging on since – ah, Theodore!” Adelia was flung to the side as the cart made a sudden sharp turn and Theodore likewise propelled the gig at a rapid pace around the corner.

  They were heading for the docks.

  “Is this it?” she cried in alarm. “Is he making his escape right now? We have to alert the police! I know we have no real evidence, but they must listen to our suspicions…”

  “What suspicions? He is strange and he has a past history with Spenning. But he looks as guilty as Florence Spenning ever did, and I will not make a fool of myself in front of the police for a second time.”

  They thundered down the crowded street. People shouted and a few bored small boys threw things, but that was normal for this area. Everyone was in a great hurry and everyone was in constant danger of being run down, or of running another down. The harbour was a forest of masts. The small herring boats had two or three masts, and they jostled in the water as close to one another as the people on the land.

  On the jetties and the docksides, there were stacks of nets and strange wicker pots and crates and coils of rope, and women with harsh voices and knives swarmed around, their sleeves rolled to their elbows. Adelia thought the accents sounded strange – many of the women seemed to be Scottish, not local Norfolk lasses.

  Calcraft had paused to ask a muscular stevedore something, and he was directed to a warehouse towards the end of the quayside. He set off again.

  Theodore jumped down from their gig and was set upon by small boys, clamouring for the privilege of watching the horse. He paid one, and made sure to flash a coin to prove he would pay again, double, when he returned to find the horse and gig safe. He helped Adelia down to the ground.

  She wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to look like a snobby lady but the smell of fish guts and salty air was appalling. They hurried on towards the warehouse.

  Calcraft had left his cart and climbed a set of unstable-looking wooden stairs to an office on the first floor. They paused at the bottom, gazing up at the closed door.

  “Fireworks, mister? Missus?” said a lanky young man of around fourteen. He appeared from the larger doors on the ground floor. “What’s your requirements? We’ve just had a shipment in, direct from the Far East. We’ve got red dragons and whirling wheels and rockets that can reach the moon, too.”

  “You’re a fireworks wholesaler?” Theodore asked.

  Well, thought Adelia. This is more interesting than buying bread, or writing a will.

  “We import and distribute them all over the country, sir. What’s your fancy?”

  “Theodore!” said Adelia, suddenly alerted to the office door opening on the wooden balcony above them. “Look up! He’s coming out.” She grabbed his elbow and smiled at the young man. “We must go.”

  The lad tried to persuade them to come inside and see for themselves, but they spun around and rather rudely made off towards their waiting gig. When they got there, they allowed themselves to peep back at the warehouse.

  Adelia’s heart was pounding. If Calcraft spotted them, he would be instantly suspicious. He would know he was under very intense scrutiny. He knew, already, he was one of the suspects, but they did not want to precipitate hasty action. They were very aware that he could leave at any moment.

  But he wasn’t looking their way. He had moved the cart forward, and was now watching intently as it was loaded with boxes.

  Theodore paid the boy who had watched their horse, and they moved the gig out of the way of the main thoroughfare, tucking down a side street to watch and wait until Calcraft’s cart went past. It was now piled high with boxes of fireworks.

  They again followed at a careful distance in case he was visiting other places in the town.

  But he went straight home, and the cart quickly disappeared up the driveway and was hidden around the back of the house.

  “So no one is currently watching him?” Bamfylde said later that afternoon, jumping to his feet as if he was about to go back to his place in the hawthorns.

  “He can hardly be about to leave, not this very day,” Theodore explained. “Sit down. Have you had enough sleep?”

  “I cannot sleep while there are things to be done.”

  “Ah, how wonderful to be young,” said Bernard indulgently. He, in contrast to Bamfylde, looked utterly worn out. He had burned the midnight oil, according to Anne, but his article for an academic journal was now almost complete.

  “We still need to watch him to learn what he plans to do with these fireworks,” Bamfylde muttered, sitting back down again rather reluctantly.

  “Could he blow up a house with them?” Emily Johnson asked.

  Anne laughed. “No, no.” Then she looked with concern at Bernard. “Could he?”

  Bernard shrugged. “I have no idea. Calaway?”

  “Perhaps,” Theodore said. He was not entirely sure. Chemistry was not his area, unless it pertained to the medical sciences. Gunpowder and fireworks were not really called for. The closest he got to the ingredients or use of such things was recommending eating lumps of charcoal in cases of poisoning.

  “Let us hold a dinner party,” said Adelia suddenly. She nodded at Anne, who nodded back. Theodore realised, too late, that plotting had been taking place behind his back.

  “I already get the feeling that any objection will be over-ruled,” he said.

  Anne said, “It is just that Mama thought that if we could persuade them all to come to a party, perhaps in a few days’ time – awfully s
hort notice but we can hardly say ‘come tomorrow’ – then it buys you a little more time.”

  “How?” Theodore asked.

  “Well, if Mr Calcraft and his son commit to coming, then he can hardly suddenly leave, can he?”

  “You are placing an awful lot of faith in his adherence to social niceties,” Theodore said in disbelief. “We have already seen that he cares nothing for it. And who else is to come?”

  “Everyone of any standing locally. The vicar and his wife, Mr and Mrs Macauley…”

  Miss Johnson spoke up into the sudden silence. “And Mrs Florence Spenning. Yes. It has to be done, does it not? She will have to be invited.”

  It was an unexpected concession. Theodore watched her carefully. She was unhappy, but there was no sign of one of her outbursts brewing. Before he could reach out for his wine glass, everyone was nodding and talking as if it were all fully decided and agreed upon.

  So, he supposed that it was.

  But he doubted that all the invitations would be expected. Mrs Macauley was going to be asked to plead with Mrs Spenning on their behalf, and Bamfylde himself offered to go and “charm” her.

  The date was set.

  Theodore ignored the rest of the talk about preparations, seating plans, food and so on.

  He was thinking very hard about the murderer, and the evidence he still needed, and how he was going to trap them – once and for all.

  22

  An astonishing reply came back from Edwin Calcraft.

  They were all sitting at breakfast. Adelia had been eagerly awaiting the responses to the invitations, though she was a little peeved that Theodore seemed to be far less concerned about their clever plan. He had not yet shared his thoughts with her, saying that he was still trying to work things out. He didn’t seem to care about the dinner party and he treated it as an indulgence, perhaps something to keep the women occupied.

  “Mama! Listen!” cried Anne as she unfolded the letter. “Mr Calcraft says he would be honoured and delighted to accept! He’s actually going to come!”