by Louise Allen
‘I agree,’ Luc said. ‘It would be exceedingly risky to count on it. They could have ended up committing murder and gaining nothing but a few thousand in legacies, and there is no whisper that I have heard that Horace is in any financial difficulty and needs money urgently.’
‘And that is supposing that he is of such depraved character that he would murder his nephew and implicate his own brother in the crime,’ Lady Radcliffe said firmly. ‘Do you not agree, Cassandra?’
‘What? Oh, sorry, I was chasing the tail of a vague memory. Someone said something today that is nagging at me, but I cannot, for the life of me, recall what it is. But yes, I agree, I cannot see Mr Horace Prescott or any of his family embarking on such a Machiavellian plot.’
We sat around digesting the results of too much cake and insufficient murder inspiration. Then Lady Radcliffe said, ‘If the weather is fine tomorrow I propose that Cassandra and I take the landau, collect Miss Jordan and Miss McNeil and take them for a drive.’
‘Will it not appear strange to the Prescotts that you are singling them out from the other ladies?’ James asked.
His mother raised one immaculately groomed eyebrow. ‘Let them think what they like,’ she said, every inch the Countess.
‘It sounds like an excellent idea,’ I agreed vaguely, still chasing the elusive wisp of conversation.
We gave up on crime-solving after that and spent the rest of the day playing outside with the boys, who were still intent on wheedling a boat out of Luc.
‘I do not think that we should be in any great haste to rent this property out,’ Lady Radcliffe said as she and I strolled around what she, very optimistically, referred to as The Rose Garden. ‘It is conveniently close to Town – an easier drive than that to Whitebeams. It might prove useful.’
‘It could be absolutely charming,’ I said. ‘And it has little land to worry about, which is convenient. But perhaps that is not an issue. In my time, unless one has considerable resources, maintaining something the size of a park would be impossible.’
‘Indeed?’
‘The cost of staff,’ I explained. I had told her once that my entire apartment would fit inside her drawing room at Whitebeams and that I employed no servants, but I am not certain that she really believed me.
* * *
The next day was bright and sunny, so we sent a note around and received one in reply from Rowena to say that she would be delighted to come and that it was an excellent idea to include Miss Jordan.
I will make certain that she accompanies me, whatever it takes.
‘Interesting,’ I remarked, re-reading it as the barouche, the top folded down, drove the short distance to Tillingham Hall. ‘Rowena has obviously realised that something is strange. Beyond the murder, that is. Something involving Arabella.’
‘Worrying, would be more the word I would use,’ Lady Radcliffe said, frowning. ‘There is something very unhealthy going on and I do not like those young ladies being involved.’
‘They do have their mothers with them.’
‘Yes, there is that,’ she agreed as we stopped at the front door and the groom jumped down to knock.
Rowena emerged almost immediately, as though she had been hovering in the hall, too impatient to wait in the drawing room. Her red hair blazed out from under the brim of her straw Villager hat and her blue eyes were alert and intelligent – and serious, despite her ready smile.
‘Come on, Arabella, we don’t want to keep Lady Radcliffe’s lovely horses standing.’ She turned as she spoke, hooked her hand firmly through the arm of the young woman hesitating behind her and almost towed her down the steps.
Arabella Jordan was pale. So pale that freckles that I had not noticed before stood out across her nose and on her cheeks. When I had first met her I had thought her petite: now my immediate reaction was that she was suffering from an eating disorder, she seemed so fragile.
The groom helped both young ladies up into the barouche and they sat, as befitted the youngest in the party, with their backs to the horses.
‘I am so looking forward to this, Lady Radcliffe, thank you so much for inviting us.’ Rowena was being deliberately bright and cheerful, but when our eyes met I saw anxiety and an appeal in them. ‘The gardens at the Hall are charming, but it is lovely to be driving along and having such a view of the countryside. You must point out all the best sights, Arabella.’
‘I do not know this area very well,’ Arabella said, her voice flat. ‘My home is further south.’
‘Oh, but I thought you and your siblings played as children with the Prescott boys,’ I said.
‘Mr Alexander’s and Mr Horace’s sons, yes. Their estates border Papa’s.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Foolish of me to forget. So poor Lord Tillingham was not amongst your playmates?’
‘He was older,’ she said. ‘Six years older than Marcus, even.’
‘That seems like centuries when one is a child, doesn’t it? The difference somehow disappears as one gets older.’ I wasn’t too sure about that, not when it was a case of a nineteen-year-old girl being more or less instructed to wed a man thirteen years her senior. ‘After all, you were quite comfortable marrying Lord Tillingham.’
‘Yes,’ she said, her smile firmly in place now. ‘It was very suitable.’
I could almost feel the intensity of Rowena’s gaze on me. She wanted to talk, but not in front of Arabella. The carriage was bowling along a road running south, with the towering scarp of the Chiltern Hills on our left and gently sloping fields to our right. I could see a village in the distance: red tiled roofs and slow curls of smoke from the chimneys. And just ahead, a dense little coppice by the side of the road.
‘Oh dear, I should have…’ I lowered my voice and whispered so the coachman and groom could not hear. ‘I should have used the privy before we came out.’
Lady Radcliffe was as fast on the uptake as always. ‘Hedges!’
The groom twisted around on his seat. ‘My lady?’
‘Pull up by that stand of trees.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘You go with Cassandra, Rowena. Just to keep a look-out. I cannot see anyone, but there might be a hedger or ditcher or someone,’ Lady Radcliffe said.
The driver reined in. The groom jumped down and opened the door for us, gazing into the far distance and doing his well-trained best to look as though he had no idea what we were about.
Rowena and I picked our way into the coppice along what might have been a path made by animals, but more likely by local courting couples. Once we were no longer able to see the carriage I sat down on a fallen tree trunk and Rowena perched beside me.
‘What is it? Something is wrong.’
‘Arabella is frightened,’ Rowena whispered back. ‘Not grieving, but scared. She was genuinely relieved when I arrived, and I was a complete stranger. Now she stays in her room, but whenever she has to come out she clings to me.’
‘Who is she so scared of?’
‘I do not know. She hasn’t confided. But she avoids the men, all of them except Adrien.’
‘Do you think one of them has made an improper advance to her?’
‘I don’t think it is that.’ Rowena worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, then blurted, ‘I think she knows who the killer is.’
‘Then why doesn’t she tell someone? She could tell you, or Lady Radcliffe, or me.’
‘I don’t know.’ Rowena shook her head in exasperation. ‘We could try asking her directly. Surely she’ll feel safe with us and away from Tillingham Hall?’
‘We had better get back,’ I said. ‘Otherwise Lady Radcliffe will think we are flirting with some handsome hedger.’
‘More likely a poacher,’ Rowena said with a flash of her old spirit.
Chapter Fourteen
When we were on our way again I asked if there was a viewpoint we could drive to. ‘It is so gloriously clear, I am sure we could see for miles.’
Arabella nodded. ‘It is r
ather steep, but the horses are fresh. The next turning on the left.’
We wound our way up through the heavy woodland, startling a herd of fallow deer that ran across our path, making the horses shy. I thought at one point we would have to get out and walk, but the pair were strong and steady and we emerged out of the woods onto sheep-cropped turf dotted with gorse bushes and a view that took the breath away.
‘We could take the carriage rug to sit on and go and admire the prospect from over there.’ Conscious of listening ears on the box I pointed to a level patch of grass near the edge.
‘What a good idea. It will rest the horses.’
We settled down at our chosen spot and I turned to Arabella. There didn’t seem to be any point in beating about the bush. ‘What are you frightened of?’ I asked. ‘Or should I say, who?’
She made a sound like a kitten whose tail has been trodden on. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You are as pale as flour, you have lost weight and you look utterly miserable,’ I said. ‘And I do not believe for a moment that you are grieving so deeply for Lord Tillingham that you can neither eat nor sleep.’
‘And you are as jumpy as a cat and are clearly uncomfortable when the gentlemen are present,’ Rowena said. ‘You aren’t unhappy, you are scared.’
‘You can tell us, my dear.’ Lady Radcliffe spoke kindly, Good Cop to our two Bad Cops. ‘We can protect you. We only want to get to the truth of all this.’
‘Do you know who the killer was?’ I demanded when all Arabella did was shake her head and look away.
‘Of course not! Nobody is frightening me. I want to go home.’
‘Then why do you not do so?’ Rowena said. ‘You were here for the funeral, nobody can expect more from you.’
‘Mama says I must stay. And Mrs Horace Prescott says so too.’
‘They want you to marry one of Horace’s sons,’ I said. ‘Percy probably, he’s the eldest. But you can always say no.’
‘I think Percy is rather nice,’ Rowena said. ‘He has a sense of humour and he is kind. Don’t you like him?’
‘Yes.’ She almost wailed the response. ‘I daren’t. I daren’t. It isn’t safe.’ And she burst into tears.
We mopped her up and hugged her and did our best to soothe her but, although Arabella stopped crying, she refused to say another word. In the end we gave up and walked back to the carriage with her sniffing miserably between us.
‘I feel as if I have been tormenting a kitten,’ Rowena whispered to me as we picked our way between the gorse bushes.
‘If the foolish girl would just tell us what is wrong, we could make it right,’ I murmured back.
‘I think she has worked herself into such a state that she simply is incapable of thinking logically,’ Rowena said and I feared she was correct. ‘Surely she can’t believe they are all killers! Yet she bleats about not being safe with any of them.’
‘Send a message if you think we can help,’ I said.
‘I will. I know Adrien is worried about her too.’
That was all we managed to say. Lady Radcliffe directed the coachman to take us back immediately and we dropped off the two young women and returned to Rook’s Acre where we found both Adrien and Jerald lurking about near the front door. Rowena thanked Lady Radcliffe prettily for the drive, sent me a speaking look and went to Adrien’s side.
‘We had such a lovely drive,’ I heard her say.
‘Will you not come in and take tea?’ Adrien asked us.
I looked across at Lady Radcliffe, but she was staring at the front porch where Jerald stood, an expression of baffled frustration on his face. There was no sign of Arabella.
‘Thank you, no, Adrien,’ Lady Radcliffe said. ‘We must be getting back.’
‘Ill-mannered, but I cannot help that,’ Lady Radcliffe said briskly when we were driving away. ‘We need a council of war. That child positively ran into the house.’
* * *
As it turned out Luc and James had gone riding, each taking a twin up in front of him, so Nanny Yates told us when we went to find out why the house was unnaturally quiet.
We sent for tea and I curled up on the sofa with the latest copies of Ackermann’s Repository, La Belle Assemblée and The Lady’s Monthly Museum in the hope that a careful study of the fashion plates would clear my mind, although I could almost hear Lady Radcliffe thinking, which was distracting.
I turned the page and forgot about her for a moment, staring in fascinated horror at an engraving captioned Lady Amersham in Court Dress at the Levée for the Prussian Ambassador. Lady Amersham was rigged out in an outfit that looked like nothing less than one of these crocheted crinoline ladies that people used to put over loo rolls in the 1950s. I knew that hoops and ostrich plumes were required dress, but I hadn’t appreciated that, with waistlines rising ever higher, the hoops rose too, so the great bell of the skirt began under the unfortunate lady’s armpits. Lady Amersham’s elbows stuck out almost at right-angles and she had the desperate expression of a woman who feared she was never going to get out of the gown again.
I shook my head over the idiocy of the garment and then noticed the gentleman in attendance on her ladyship. He too was in Court dress, as described to me only the day before by Marcus Prescott – a heavily embroidered tailcoat and waistcoat, silk stockings and buckled shoes, a chapeau bras flattened and tucked under his arm, and, by his side, a slim little sword.
‘That’s it!’ I jumped to my feet as Luc, entering the drawing room at that moment, stopped dead in the doorway. James, on his heels, crashed into the back of him.
‘What is what?’ Luc demanded.
‘What killed Lord Tillingham.’ I brandished the journal at him. ‘A dress sword. That’s why the killer could get so close with a weapon without alarming him: he would have expected them to be wearing a sword.’
‘Of course.’ James perched on the arm of the nearest chair. ‘And the wound was small, made by a thin, clean blade.’
‘In fact, if Tillingham was standing at his desk, perhaps leaning forward like this – ‘ Luc took up the pose using a console table that stood at the back of one of the sofas, ‘– the sword would be long enough to stab him in the heart, even across the width of the desk.’
‘And we couldn’t locate a weapon because the killer simply walked out with it by his side,’ James added.
I sat down again, the triumph fading. ‘The trouble is, five of the Prescotts were at the reception and therefore in full Court fig. Alexander, Horace and a full set of Horace’s sons all attended and I assume the rest of the menfolk own dress swords too. Oh well, at least that is what was niggling at me after our visitors left yesterday. Marcus had been telling me how uncomfortable Court dress was and how he had avoided attending.’
Lady Radcliffe told them about our outing and Arabella’s mysterious terrors. ‘I simply do not understand the girl. If she is in fear for her life why does she not confide in Adrien? He appears to hold no terrors for her. Or Rowena? Arabella cannot believe that she is involved in any of this. And if we are wrong and she does not trust Adrien either, why not throw herself on our mercy? She must realise that our family has enough influence to protect her against anything the Prescotts can do.’
‘Unless we are wrong and Arabella did kill him. I expect her father has a dress sword and perhaps she used it because it allowed her to kill at arm’s length. It could be complete coincidence that half the Prescotts were in Court dress that night,’ I said. ‘Her terror now could be the very real fear of being hanged.’
‘But how did she get in?’ James argued. ‘Over the locked gate? By herself? And you are describing a young woman cold-blooded enough to run a man through and then remove herself from the house unseen, who then goes to pieces after the event. It cannot have been a spur of the moment attack, she must have planned it.’
‘True. But in that case what or who is she afraid of? I cannot –’
‘Papa! Papa! Quickly! Come quickly!’ It was Charles, his face blubbered wi
th tears, his eyes wide with fright and his little chest heaving.
‘What is it?’ Luc swept him up in his arms.
‘Matthew… Moat,’ he managed.
Luc thrust the shaking child into my arms and ran, James on his heels. I passed Charles to his grandmother, reasoning that I was more likely to be helpful at the moat than soothing a distraught little boy, and ran too.
We found Matthew clutching a spindly branch of a dead pine tree that extended a good ten feet up over the murky water of the moat. He must have been inching out, slipped, and was now clinging upside down like a small, desperate, sloth.
‘Matthew! Hang on, we’re here,’ Luc shouted up and was answered by a faint wail.
‘Can we get him to drop?’ I suggested. ‘If we are in the water we can fish him out the moment he lands.’
‘It is too deep for us to stand and if he hits the surface wrongly…’ James didn’t have to finish. The child could break a limb, or worse.
I started stripping off my skirts, then kicked off my shoes and pulled off my stockings.
‘What are you doing?’ Luc demanded as I ripped my petticoat vertically at the front, pulled it through and tucked it in at the waist.
‘Climbing. I’m the lightest of us.’
The tree trunk was rough and gave a good, if painful grip to my bare feet. And, like all conifers, it seemed to have numerous snags and broken bits of branch, making it easy enough to reach the branch Mathew was clinging to.
‘Hold on,’ I called to him. ‘I’m coming to get you.’
I lay flat on the branch and began to inch out along it, then froze when there was an ominous cracking sound.
‘Stay still, Matthew. James has gone for a ladder,’ Luc called up.
The branch sagged and I knew I couldn’t wait for James. I scooted forwards, reached down, got one small wrist in my hand. ‘Let go, Matthew!’
Brave little boy, he did as I told him, falling down to the full stretch of my arm. I swung him back blindly towards the bank and let go, trusting to Luc to catch him.