Murder in Park Lane

by Karen Charlton

  ‘Lavender!’

  She spun round on him like a tiger, her face contorted with rage. ‘He deserved it! He wouldn’t listen to reason. I gave him everything he needed – the money, the love – but he still threw it back in my face and deceived me with that chit of a girl – that dirty little chee-chee!’

  ‘Good God!’ Sir Richard exclaimed. Mrs Palmer looked like she was about to faint.

  ‘You’re mad!’ Lady Louisa was frozen with horror in the centre of the room. ‘Stark raving mad!’

  Lady Tyndall shrugged. Her voice dropped. ‘He deserved to die. He knew I loved him – yet he still deceived me.’

  ‘Whom did you plan to kill next?’ Lady Louisa stumbled over her words. ‘I enjoyed MacAdam’s company. Did you plan to murder me too?’

  ‘Why don’t you understand, Louisa?’ Lady Tyndall screamed in the face of her former friend. ‘He got what he deserved! A man like that – from his background – rejecting a lady like me! Why can’t you see it? I’ve no regrets – no one can blame me for what I did.’

  ‘Constable.’ Lavender gave the signal. Woods pulled out his handcuffs and moved towards Lady Tyndall.

  ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘No! Get your grubby little hands off me!’ She fought like a cat when Woods tried to restrain her. Lavender had to assist and she resisted them with the strength of a woman half her age. In the pandemonium that followed, a chair was knocked over and someone stood on the whippet. It yelped, adding its squeals to the cries of the horrified women and Sir Richard’s desperate calls for calm.

  Finally, they clapped the irons on the woman’s wrists and dragged her sobbing outside to the prison wagon. Young Will watched them wide-eyed with shock from beside the horses. ‘You’ve arrested the old trot?’ he asked in awe.

  Lavender tossed him a coin and sent him on his way as Woods slammed the door of the wagon shut and bolted it.

  ‘Gawd’s teeth!’ Woods laughed. ‘She’s a lively old tabby, I’ll say that for her.’

  Lavender leaned back against the vehicle and let the relief flood through him.

  Woods turned his head and looked at Lavender. ‘That was well done, sir, you got a confession – in front of witnesses, too.’

  ‘We’ll need it if Magistrate Read is right about the furore her trial will cause.’

  Woods grinned. ‘It’s in the hands of the courts now, sir. You’ve done your job and hauled another murderer off the streets of London. No one can ask any more of you.’

  ‘We’ve done our job,’ Lavender corrected him.

  ‘Yes, we have, haven’t we?’ Woods stood up taller and puffed out his chest with pride. ‘We’ve done well. We’ve solved the mysterious murder of a lothario – and uncovered and solved another ghastly crime as well. They’ve had two for the price of one out of us this week.’

  Lavender smiled. ‘Yes, we’ve done well, Ned.’

  But Woods hadn’t finished congratulating himself yet. ‘I said right from day one that this murderer might be a woman, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you did – and Magdalena warned me that even sweet little old ladies are capable of great passion.’

  ‘Huh! There isn’t anythin’ “sweet” about this one. But you should have listened closer to me, sir.’

  Lavender grinned when they climbed up to the driver’s seat on the wagon. ‘Of course, I should have done. Come on, let’s get back to Bow Street and release Ike Rawlings – that poor man you encouraged me arrest.’

  Epilogue

  Easter Sunday, 1813

  Westcastle Square, Marylebone

  Magdalena sat on the stool in their bedchamber in front of the mirror while Teresa pinned up her hair. Lavender sat in the armchair watching them. In his arms lay seven-week-old Miss Alice Sofía Lavender, who looked very cute and dainty in her white lace christening gown. Fully satisfied after a good feed from her mother, little Miss Lavender had burped politely and delivered a small posset of milk, which Lavender had managed to catch before it soiled his new gold waistcoat. Now, rather than fall asleep, she lay wide awake, staring up curiously into her father’s face.

  Lavender stared back, still unable to believe in the perfection of his beautiful daughter. She had a lovely head of wavy, dark brown hair, similar in colour but softer than his own. She’d inherited her mother’s olive complexion and long black eyelashes. Lavender hated to see those tiny eyes wet with tears, but fortunately, she rarely cried. His little girl had slipped into the world in late February without much fuss and had barely murmured since. Magdalena recovered quickly from the birth and suffered no ill effects apart from the inevitable exhaustion. She claimed the placid nature of their child was due to the fact that little Alice had very little to complain about. She had constant attention from everyone in the household and their family and friends were forever calling round to coo over the child.

  They’d decided to postpone her baptism until her half-brother, Sebastián, returned home from school at Easter and they’d turned the event into a party. All of their friends and Lavender’s extensive family had been invited. Mouthwatering smells of baking and roasting had filled the house for the last two days and twelve-year-old Sebastián had haunted the basement kitchen, begging Mrs Hobart for samples of the food. Lavender had bought Magdalena a new dress for the occasion and had ordered himself the pale gold striped waistcoat he’d admired in the window of Drake’s Tailors in Chelmsford.

  Yet even at this moment of joy, when his heart swelled with paternal pride and satisfaction, nagging doubt crept into his mind. ‘Is there something wrong with her eyes?’ he asked.

  Teresa paused in her ministrations of her mistress’s thick, glossy hair as Magdalena half turned her head towards him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s looking at me in a strange manner. Is everything all right with her eyes?’

  Magdalena turned back to her mirror. ‘Betsy reminded me this week that this is the age when they start to see things clearly for the first time.’

  ‘So what is she doing? Why is she looking at me this way?’

  ‘Dios mío!’ Magdalena stood up and flounced across the room, trailing a shower of hair pins behind her. She paused with her hands on her ample hips and observed her husband and daughter. ‘There’s nothing wrong with her eyes, Stephen. Stop imagining things.’

  ‘But what’s this funny expression on her face? Why is she looking at me like that?’

  ‘She looks at you like that because she’s your daughter and has your eyes. That’s how you look at people.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes. She’s examining your face for clues.’ As Magdalena flounced back to her stool, little Alice followed her mother’s irritated movements and her tiny rosebud mouth curled into a smile.

  Stephen sat silently for a while, reassured about his daughter but unsure whether he’d just been insulted or complimented by his wife. Sometimes it was wisest to say nothing. At thirty-two years of age, Magdalena found this second round of motherhood quite tiring and she could be a little testy at times.

  Teresa finished Magdalena’s hair and helped her mistress into her gown. Magdalena chose the black silk and lace dress with the intricate beading that he’d bought her for Christmas several years ago, when they’d first met.

  ‘Aren’t you going to wear your new gown?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, walked to the full-length mirror and smoothed the material over her flat stomach. ‘I’ve always loved this one and I wanted to see if I could fit into it again, so soon after the birth.’

  ‘It fits perfectly,’ he said, ‘you look wonderful. You’ve regained your figure.’

  ‘That’s exactly the right thing to say, Stephen,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘You’re not the only one to regain their figure this year,’ Lavender added. ‘You should see Ned Woods now. Betsy has done a fine job restricting his food and ale. His waistcoat doesn’t strain over his stomach any more.’

  Magdalena smiled. ‘Teresa? Pass me the pearls, please.’

&
nbsp; Lavender had bought Magdalena a present of an expensive string of pearls with matching earrings after the birth of little Alice. Teresa brought out the box and fastened the necklace round her mistress’s throat. They glowed luminously against the flawless olive skin of her neck and breast and were a perfect match for the glistening beads of the gown.

  Magdalena fixed the earrings on to her lobes and stroked the necklace gently. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said.

  Suddenly the door burst open and Sebastián Garcia de Aviles Morales del Castillo, known to his school friends simply as Garcia, flew into the room.

  ‘I’ve told you before, Sebastián,’ Magdalena said calmly, her eyes still on her mirrored reflection. ‘You must learn to knock at this door.’

  ‘Oh! Sorry, Mamá!’ Sebastián walked backwards out of the room with great ceremony, closed the door and knocked loudly and pointedly from the other side.

  Lavender and Magdalena exchanged an amused glance.

  ‘Shall we just leave him out there on the landing?’ Stephen suggested.

  Magdalena giggled. ‘Enter,’ she said loudly.

  The door flew open again and Sebastián rushed back. He went straight to their full-length mirror and edged Magdalena out of the way to see his own reflection. ‘I just wanted to say, sir – thank you for this topping waistcoat.’

  Magdalena sat down on her stool, watching her son fondly. Teresa left the room to get herself ready for the baptism.

  ‘It’s my pleasure, Sebastián,’ Lavender said. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ When he’d ordered his own waistcoat from Drake’s Tailors, he’d sent in an additional order for a dark blue silk waistcoat for Sebastián.

  The boy preened like a peacock in front of the mirror, admiring the garment. ‘I feel quite the swell wearing it,’ he said, ‘and I’m sure Jasper and the others will agree.’

  ‘Remind me again, please,’ Magdalena said, ‘which one of your school friends is Jasper?’

  ‘Oh, he’s not a friend as such – he’s in the form above mine – but everyone knows he’s an expert on men’s fashion. His uncle is a friend to Beau Brummell.’

  The corners of Lavender’s mouth turned up into a smile. ‘I can see how that makes him an authority on the subject.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a real swell, is Jasper. A proper – what did you call it? – authority on breeches, coats, cravats and waistcoats. Will there be cricket at this baptism?’

  ‘That’s not traditional,’ Magdalena said. They were both used to Sebastián’s mercurial mind and his rapid changes of subject. ‘However, once we return to the house, I’m sure Eddie and Dan Woods will be happy to join you in a game outside in the square.’

  ‘Well, as long as they don’t let their sister play.’

  Lavender saw Magdalena take a sharp intake of breath and knew the cause. Sebastián had been aloof with his own sister since her birth and generally ignored the child.

  ‘Would it hurt to let Rachel join in the game?’ Magdalena asked gently.

  ‘Of course it would hurt, Mamá!’ Sebastián looked stunned by his mother’s ignorance. ‘Rachel’s a tartar at cricket. She bats far better than Dan – and belts between the stumps like a runner at Ascot.’

  This surprised Lavender. Both of Ned’s sons were natural athletes. It was strange to think of their little sister bettering them. ‘Well, in that case, you’d better not let Rachel play,’ he said. ‘You can’t let a mere girl show you how it’s done, can you?’

  Sebastián stared at him thoughtfully. Lavender recognised the look in his dark eyes. Magdalena had the same look when she was hatching a plan. ‘I suppose I could let Rachel be on my team . . .’

  ‘That might work,’ Lavender said.

  Sebastián walked across and stared down at little Alice in his arms. ‘When will Baby Alice be able to play cricket?’

  ‘It may be a while yet,’ Magdalena said gently, hiding her smile.

  ‘By the way, I’ve been talking with Lewis minor.’

  ‘Is he the authority on men’s waistcoats?’

  ‘No, I told you before that’s Jasper. Lewis minor knows a lot about families.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, he has ten brothers and sisters so there’s not much he doesn’t know.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lavender, ‘another authority. So, what has Lewis minor said about us?’

  Sebastián fixed him with his frank gaze. ‘Well, Lewis minor thinks that now I’ve got a sister – and we’re a proper family – that I should stop calling you “sir” and call you Papí instead.’ He shrugged as another thought came to him. ‘Or I could call you padre, if you’d prefer?’

  Lavender was speechless. The boy had taken the wind out of his sails.

  ‘The anglicised version, Papa, might be better,’ Magdalena said.

  ‘Very well, Papa it shall be.’ Sebastián flew out of the room as quickly as he’d entered it.

  Lavender swallowed hard, trying to overcome the emotion surging through him. ‘I never expected that. It seems I’ve gained two children this year instead of the one.’

  Magdalena came across and kissed him on the top of his head. ‘He adores you, Stephen,’ she said. ‘He always has.’

  The baptism went smoothly. Apart from their family and closest friends, Magistrate and Mrs Charity Read and Sir Richard and Lady Allison were also present. In a kind gesture, Magdalena had included Sylvia Palmer in their invitation. She’d been living with her brother and his wife for some months now. Lavender studied Mrs Palmer during the service. She looked older and more drawn than he remembered. But living with Sir Richard would age anyone, he reasoned.

  Lady Caroline Clare and Ned and Betsy Woods were the proud godparents. Miss Alice Sofía Lavender stayed wide awake while she was blessed by the vicar of St Saviour and St Mary Overie and given the names of her two grandmothers. She didn’t even flinch when the vicar wet her head, preferring instead to stare up into his face, looking for clues.

  Everyone returned to the house after the service and Lavender and Magdalena spent an enjoyable two hours drifting between their dining room and drawing room, entertaining their guests. Magdalena always flowered when they had company but after a couple of hours, Lavender felt himself wilting. Their baby girl was passed from the arms of one adoring adult to another, her progress around the room followed jealously by four-year-old Tabitha Woods, who declared loudly that little Alice was ‘my baby’.

  The cold collation of beef, ham, larded oysters and small savoury pastries, prepared by Mrs Hobart and Teresa, vanished quickly into the mouths of their hungry guests. And the youngsters, led by a ravenous Sebastián, made short work of the large selection of desserts, especially the quivering blancmange, the sweetmeats and the marzipans. Shortly afterwards, Sebastián, Eddie and Dan Woods found the cricket bats and stumps and led several of Lavender’s nieces and nephews out into the lawned area in the centre of the square. Lavender was pleased to see the freckled face of nine-year-old Rachel Woods amongst them.

  Feeling rather stifled and hot by the sheer number of people in his house, Lavender found Woods and suggested they went outside to watch the game for a while. ‘I want to see your Rachel play,’ he said. ‘I understand she’s a bit of a tartar when it comes to cricket.’

  Woods puffed out his chest with pride and followed him out of the front door to the railings that edged the park. ‘Yes, she’s better than the lads were at that age – and she can outrun most of the boys in her class too. Besides which, she rides better than Eddie.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ Lavender said, smiling. ‘You forget I’ve seen your son ride.’

  Woods shrugged the shoulders of his Sunday-best coat. ‘She’s a natural in the saddle.’

  Lavender frowned and brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. A light breeze had sprung up and gently rustled the leaves in the trees above their head. It was refreshing after the stuffiness of the house. ‘But where does it lead, Ned?’ he asked. ‘Where do our daughters’ talents take them –
apart from to marriage and motherhood?’

  Woods gave him a sidelong glance. ‘You’ve been thinkin’ too much again, sir.’

  ‘I’m serious, Ned. I never gave it much thought before Alice was born but now I worry about her future. I’d hate to think of any child of mine unable to exercise her brain or find happiness in her God-given talents. The life of a woman seems very restricted.’

  ‘Well, worryin’ don’t serve no purpose as far as I can see. Besides which, they’ll all make their own way in the world – with or without us worryin’ and interferin’ – especially the gals.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes. Look at your wife. She speaks Latin like one of them Romans and sits and chats to you in the lingo by the fireside.’

  ‘Well, we don’t just discuss Latin,’ Lavender protested hastily. ‘Little Alice is proof of that.’

  ‘Quite. And Doña Magdalena is also a crack shot. She used her skill at shootin’ to get her and her son out of Spain – and has saved your life with her marksmanship.’

  ‘So, you’re saying I should stand back and let little Alice pursue her talents and find her own happiness in life?’

  ‘It strikes me, sir, that we parents don’t have much choice – especially where the gals are concerned. All we can do with the little nippers is watch them from the sidelines like we are now, and drop them the odd pearl of wisdom to help them on their way.’

  The children had formed into two teams on the grassy centre of the square. Sebastián’s team waited to bat. His black hair and dark colouring meant he stood out in the group of fairer, freckled English children. Lavender’s nieces had been sent out to field, but he was pleased to see little Rachel standing behind Sebastián in the queue. He was chatting animatedly to the young girl.

  ‘I like your fancy new waistcoat, by the way, sir,’ Woods said. ‘It’s from Drake’s in Chelmsford, isn’t it?’

  Lavender smiled. ‘You miss nothing, Ned.’

  ‘Funny case that,’ Woods added, frowning. ‘It were a pity that woman were never hanged for what she did. And it were a shame they never looked again at her husband’s death. I still think there may have been more to that than a simple suicide.’