Murder in Park Lane

by Karen Charlton

  Anger flashed through Lavender. If a former horse dealer like MacAdam could ride in a carriage with the Fitzgeralds, he certainly wasn’t creeping round the back like a tradesman on the say-so of a slovenly footman. He stepped forward, raised his tipstaff and set it firmly against the edge of the door. ‘If I were a tradesman, I’d use it – but I’m not. I’m a Principal Officer with the police office at Bow Street and I’m conducting a murder inquiry. It’s essential I see Lady Louisa as soon as possible – and I warn you against obstructing me while I’m undertaking my duty. Think carefully, my man.’

  The footman grudgingly let him enter the dark, musty hallway of the great house.

  ‘I’d also like to see her son, Master Matthew Fitzgerald,’ Lavender continued. ‘Is he at home?’

  The man’s lip curled in disdain. ‘Son? There ain’t no son of the ’ouse as far as I know. She’s a spinster. Mind you, I wouldn’t put it past ’er to ’ave ’ad a by-blow in her youth.’

  The news that Bentley had lied to him – again – made Lavender pause. The footman turned on the heel of his filthy buttoned shoes and strode towards a large pair of double doors at the back of the hallway before Lavender could rebuke him for his insolence. He disappeared inside the room, presumably to announce Lavender’s arrival.

  Lavender smoothed down his coat, wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of dog that permeated the whole house, and frowned. He felt like he had stepped back in time two centuries. The hallway was full of heavy old Jacobean furniture: ancient dressers and chairs carved from age-darkened wood. The marble floor was filthy and covered in muddy paw prints. Dog bowls and half-chewed bones lay abandoned on the floor beneath a scuffed settle in a dirty pool of spilled water. Piles of books and other items were piled on the bottom steps of the grand, unswept staircase as if some maid had left them there to take upstairs and then forgotten their existence. Even the large oil paintings added to the gloomy atmosphere of the house. These weren’t ancestral portraits but smoke-blackened paintings of long-dead racehorses, their owners and their owners’ dogs. And all the dogs were the same breed: red Irish setters.

  Biting back his mounting anger, Lavender strode towards a discarded grooming brush that lay on one of the hall tables and picked it up. The matted flame-coloured dog hair in the brush was the same he’d found on the clothes of MacAdam and Collins. Mrs Palmer had lied to him when she’d disclaimed any knowledge of an acquaintance who owned dogs.

  But he didn’t have time to dwell on her duplicity for long. On the same table was a crumpled pamphlet from a Surrey race meeting held the previous day. Beside it was a discarded pair of women’s gloves. Young Will had claimed that all the lodgers at Mrs Palmer’s house travelled in the Fitzgeralds’ coach. Maybe there was some truth in Bentley’s claim he’d visited a Surrey racecourse the previous day – but his companion clearly hadn’t been the son of the house.

  Bored with waiting, and desperate to meet Lady Louisa Fitzgerald, preferably without her blasted dogs, Lavender walked over to one of the doors that stood ajar. He pushed it gently and peered inside the gloom. It was another reception room, but was obviously unused; the drapes were closed and the furniture shrouded with dust cloths.

  To his relief, the surly footman stomped back down the hallway and informed him Lady Louisa was ready to receive him.

  Her ladyship’s drawing room was as oppressive and antiquated as her hallway and even more claustrophobic. The tall, black-wood furniture seemed to lean in towards Lavender and compress him. He was instantly surrounded by three great, hairy red hounds, who growled threateningly. He held out a placatory hand, only to snatch it back when one dog dropped a rancid bone to snap at the fully fleshed one on offer.

  ‘Rufus! Donal! Eoin! Enough!’ The dogs turned their heads to acknowledge their mistress’s order but continued to eye their visitor.

  Ignoring them, Lavender braced himself and spoke firmly. ‘I apologise for arriving without an appointment, Lady Louisa, but I need to ask you some questions about your association with Mrs Palmer of Park Lane – and her lodgers.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied the woman by the fireplace. ‘Mr MacAdam’s death is very disturbing. Mrs Palmer sent me a note yesterday – and called earlier – to tell me about it. Very tragic.’ Her voice was confident, deep and gravelly – almost masculine. She didn’t sound disturbed. She seemed more interested in her dogs’ behaviour.

  The dogs sniffed Lavender’s calves then retreated and threw themselves down on the carpet.

  Meanwhile, their smirking mistress, a big-boned, flat-chested and white-haired woman, held out a china plate of half-eaten cake towards a small whippet at her feet. The little dog whimpered with excitement as she fed it morsels. The setters’ eyes tracked the route taken by the cake to the whippet’s mouth but they stayed down, drooling on the carpet.

  ‘Mrs Palmer visited you today?’

  ‘Yes, she’s just left. She told me all about poor Davy’s murder and warned me you were asking questions about my carriage and my dogs.’

  ‘Warned you? Do you have anything to hide, Lady Louisa?’ The room stank of coal smoke and dogs and was dark. The windows were filthy and the heavy drapes hadn’t been properly pulled back. The equestrian theme was continued in here with bronze statues of hunters and thoroughbreds on the mantelpiece and more ugly paintings of racehorses lining the walls.

  She glanced up from the whippet, smiling with amusement at his comment, and waved her large, bony hand towards the chair opposite in an invitation to sit down. ‘No, I don’t have anything to hide, Detective, and as I’ve just tried to explain to Sylvia, we shouldn’t play games and withhold evidence from an officer of your standing – although she pleaded with me to do so.’

  He stepped over the sprawling hounds cautiously and went to join her by the fire.

  ‘We’ve all read about your success in the news-sheets,’ she said slyly, as he sank down into the lumpy, horsehair-stuffed chair she’d offered. ‘You’re quite the darling of The Times, aren’t you, Lavender?’

  She was a plain woman with a large, square face, a prominent nose and strong jawline. Her bony facial features matched her angular body. This woman had never been a beauty in her youth but her eyes glimmered with intelligence. ‘I’m glad to hear you propose to be honest with me, Lady Louisa, because I’m heartily sick of the lying and evasion I’ve experienced in this case so far – especially from Mrs Palmer.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t call Sylvia a liar,’ she said reproachfully. ‘She just tends to be a bit vague with the truth. You’ll learn all you need to know from her when you need to know it.’

  Lavender bit back the angry retort that sprang to his lips. The woman was toying with him now and had enjoyed his discomfort from the moment he’d stepped into her dog-infested drawing room. But it wouldn’t help the case to antagonise her. ‘How are you acquainted with Mrs Palmer?’ he asked.

  She pointed to a large portrait in one of the alcoves beside the fireplace. ‘My dear father, Lord Fitzgerald,’ she explained. ‘He was one of Colonel Palmer’s oldest and dearest friends. My father was also godfather to Clarissa’s husband.’

  ‘Clarissa?’

  ‘Clarissa is Lady Tyndall. She, Sylvia Palmer and I have been good friends for many years – especially since they were widowed. We’ve a close and supportive relationship – along with some other single and widowed women of our acquaintance.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Mrs Mary Willis and Miss Deborah Anderson – although Deborah has abandoned us recently and married a parson in Dulwich.’

  ‘Is Mrs Willis the widow of Doctor Willis, the former physician to the King?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Does this answer your questions about our acquaintance, Detective? Do our long-standing friendships break some ancient law?’ Despite the humour in her question, he heard a slight reproach in her voice.

  ‘Again, I apologise for the intrusion, Lady Louisa. I’m also interested in your acquaintance with Mrs Palmer’s l
odgers.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said slowly. ‘So, you do want to know about that – Sylvia said you might.’ She put down the plate in front of the whippet, to the quivering indignation of the setters. But they didn’t move. They just glared their hatred of the smaller dog. The remains of the cake were wolfed down in a second.

  He smiled reassuringly. ‘Yes, I saw Bentley climb into your coach yesterday and both MacAdam and Frank Collins had red dog hairs on their clothing, presumably from your dogs. You must all be well acquainted.’

  ‘You’ve a nice smile, Detective,’ Lady Louisa observed. ‘It makes you quite handsome when you smile.’

  He dropped his smile and cleared his throat. ‘Mr Bentley claims he travelled to the horse races in your carriage with your son, Matthew, yesterday. But I’ve since learned from your footman that no such young man exists.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said again, slowly. ‘I’m afraid Mr Bentley has told you a falsehood, Detective. Alfred was with me. He accompanied me and my maid to Surrey.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I enjoy his company,’ she confessed. ‘Sometimes I tire of female company and the ceaseless chatter of my maid. Like all of Sylvia’s lodgers, Alfred is a good-looking young man and quite charming, although Frank has always been my favourite. He’s a very funny man.’

  Her frankness confounded him into silence for a moment.

  A smile twitched at the corners of her wrinkled old mouth. ‘Does this shock you, Detective?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Alfred is pleasing to the eye,’ she said firmly. ‘They all are. Frank has that silly wart on his face, of course, but it doesn’t disfigure him. And just because a woman reaches sixty, it doesn’t mean she’s immune to flattery – can’t appreciate the attentions of a handsome man – or that she loses her sense of fun.’

  ‘Quite so,’ Lavender said hastily. ‘Were all of Mrs Palmer’s lodgers so accommodating when you required company?’

  She nodded. ‘We all shared a mutual interest in horses and racing. Apart from being handsome and charming, they are – were – all so . . . so obliging.’

  I’ll wager they are, Lavender thought grimly. How much had she paid them for their companionship?

  ‘Are you married, Detective?’

  Her sudden change of subject threw him for a moment. ‘Yes, ma’am – Mrs Lavender and I are expecting our first child this winter.’

  Her eyes twinkled and again her mouth curled with amusement at his discomfort. She muttered something under her breath, which he thought sounded like the words: ‘That’s a shame.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Who proposed yesterday’s outing to the races?’

  ‘Well, I did, of course.’ She laughed. ‘It would hardly have been appropriate for a penniless clerk to ask out the daughter of an earl, would it?’

  He hesitated, and for the first time she seemed to sense the censure in his mind.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing untoward, Detective.’ She waved her large hand dismissively in the air. ‘There’s nothing improper in our behaviour and Sylvia is being a silly goose if she thinks any society gossip would be interested in the company kept by a woman of my age. Personally, I think she’s more bothered about the reaction of her prudish younger brother to our amicable arrangement than anything else.’

  ‘Arrangement?’ Lavender almost dreaded her reply. He had the uneasy sense he was about to discover something immoral, if not illegal.

  ‘Yes, Sylvia knows how much I enjoy the company of handsome young men and has always been accommodating. She never hesitated to introduce me to her lodgers.’

  ‘And Sir Richard . . . ?’

  ‘Sir Richard knows nothing about this – and she doesn’t want him to. I trust you’ll respect her privacy? Sir Richard and Lady Allison want Sylvia to sell up her home and move in with them, but she values her independence.’

  Lavender gave a silent sigh of relief. He was glad his colleague was unaware of the secret trysts his sister had been facilitating between her friend and her lodgers. But how best to approach the issue of money?

  ‘I understand Mr Bentley lied to his employer about his whereabouts yesterday and he probably lost a day’s pay for his absence.’

  Lady Louisa smiled again. ‘I paid Alfred generously to reimburse him for his lost wages. I always do when he takes a day away from his dreadful little job.’

  ‘Did you have the same arrangement with Frank Collins and David MacAdam?’

  ‘Yes. They’ve all benefited from their willingness to accommodate the whims of an old lady. I haven’t seen Frank for a while, of course – he’s been away on business – and when Davy became involved with Miss Howard, he had less time to spend with me.’

  ‘You knew about MacAdam’s courtship of Miss Howard?’

  ‘Of course! I encouraged it! I wanted to see Davy happily married and I looked forward to the wedding – it’s been years since I was last invited to a wedding. A few days ago, I went to the jewellers with Davy to purchase the ring he bought for Miss Howard. This was the last time I saw him alive.’

  Her mention of the ring reminded Lavender of the moneylender Summersgill. ‘Did MacAdam ever ask to borrow money from you?’

  She snorted. ‘Yes, once – for the ring – but I refused. I’m not a complete fool, Detective. I gave him a small gift of money occasionally to thank him for his kind attention to an old lady, but I didn’t loan him any money.’

  Lavender almost rolled his eyes. Did the woman not realise the scandal that would ensue if her aristocratic acquaintances got wind of the fact she paid impoverished younger men to escort her around town? But if she did, did she care? ‘Two women visited Bow Street morgue this morning to pay their respects to MacAdam. Was that you?’

  She gave a short, barking laugh and shook her head. ‘Certainly not. I consider that a ghoulish practice. I prefer to remember Davy as the vibrant young man I knew.’

  ‘Did you think it entirely appropriate for a commercial traveller to pay court to a wealthy young woman like Miss Howard?’

  She shrugged. ‘I didn’t see any fault with it – after all, her grandfather was in trade, wasn’t he?’

  ‘MacAdam spun the Howard family a string of lies about his ancestry. He claimed to be the second son of a baronet.’

  She shrugged again and laughed. ‘Well, they were fools to believe him! And let’s be honest, Lavender, the little chee-chee was hardly likely to attract a husband from the aristocracy, was she?’

  Stung by her prejudice, Lavender replied sharply. ‘Unfortunately, “husband” is the opportune word here, Lady Louisa. Did you know MacAdam was already married?’

  For the first time in their conversation, Lady Louisa’s confidence faltered and a shadow passed over her features. ‘No, I didn’t. Sylvia told me about this today.’ Her gaze shifted to the whippet at her feet. The animal was licking parts that shouldn’t be mentioned in polite society, never mind displayed in such a manner, but its mistress seemed amused rather than offended.

  Lavender seized the advantage. ‘Did MacAdam have any enemies? Do you know of anyone who would want to kill him?’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Detective! We flirted and talked about horses and racing. Why on earth would he share information like that with me? Are we finished now?’ She picked up a bell and rang for the footman, who reappeared quickly. Lavender wondered if he’d been listening at the door.

  ‘I’ve just a couple more questions, Lady Louisa.’ He pulled his notebook out of his pocket and showed her his sketch of the unidentified coat of arms. ‘Have you ever seen this emblem before?’

  ‘No.’

  Disappointed, he returned the notebook to his pocket. He stood up to take his leave. ‘Did you ever lend your own carriage to David MacAdam?’

  She continued to watch the antics of the whippet. ‘No, I didn’t – but I can’t vouch for the others.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘Yes, I told you.’ She glanced up at him, frowning as if he were an i
mbecilic child. ‘Mary Willis, Deborah Anderson and Clarissa Tyndall.’

  He paused, his mind reeling with this latest revelation. ‘Are you telling me that Mrs Palmer’s lodgers escorted all of your friends around town?’

  She laughed. ‘Stop it, you bad boy!’

  For a moment, Lavender thought she was addressing him, then he realised the whippet’s activities had become too much to tolerate, even for her ladyship.

  She nudged the dog with her slippered foot then turned back to Lavender. ‘Of course they did. My friends and I have no secrets from each other and once they saw how much I enjoyed the company of these young men, they soon joined in the fun.’

  Lavender’s jaw dropped. ‘What? All of them?’

  ‘Yes, although Deborah has now settled for her vicar in Dulwich. Mind you, we had no idea Davy would turn out to be such a rogue.’

  Conscious that his mouth was now flapping like that of a fish out of water, Lavender gave a small bow, thanked her ladyship, veered round the prostrate hounds and left with the footman.

  Once he was out of the door, an almighty dog fight broke out in the drawing room, punctuated by high-pitched squealing from the whippet and yells from Lady Louisa. He could only assume that the setters had made up for their lack of cake by punishing the whippet for its vile manners. He brushed a hair from his sleeve and sniffed. He’d ask Magdalena to get his breeches and coat cleaned as soon as he was home.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gawd’s teeth! Let me get this straight in my old noddle.’ Woods’ eyes were wide with surprise.

  They’d met up back at Bow Street. Lavender had an urgent need for a strong drink and suggested a visit to The Nag’s Head. While they strode across the street towards the welcoming glow in the small windows of the tavern, he’d told Ned what he’d learned from Lady Louisa Fitzgerald.

  The ceiling of the ancient inn was low and smoke-blackened. Behind the bar, tiers of mirrored shelving displayed a wide range of brandies and other spirits in a wonderful array of glass bottles, which glittered in the light from the chandeliers of dripping tallow candles. The place was popular with the Bow Street officers and the landlord nodded to them in recognition. They crossed the uneven floorboards to the back of the inn, where they found a couple of vacant settles next to the stone fireplace.