Under the Guise of Death

by Under the Guise of Death (epub)

  Jasper acknowledged to himself that in his mind the latter was a real possibility. If it were so, it would mean a devastating loss for Sir James. Imagine how he had been face to face with his daughter last night, unable to speak to her, to ask her where she had been, what she had done. Now she was dead and would never speak to reveal anything any more. The compassion he felt for the bereaved father mingled with his own frustration that she had escaped them and him, and carried her secret into the grave.

  The door opened, and Sir James came in, looking straight at him, with a tense expression. As he reached out his hand to greet him, Jasper noticed the stubble on his chin and the crease in his collar as he had not quite folded it the right way. A man who had dressed in a hurry even forgoing his shave, because he wanted to know what his visitor was here for. If only it had been better news…

  “I’m sorry to say,” Jasper began, “that Vernassi got a message this morning that a dead body had been found on a bridge. We went there together and… the body is of the woman who disturbed your party last night.”

  Sir James stared at him. His pale blue eyes flickered. “So the person who sent her killed her. That must be it. They met after she left the party. Biancci followed her. And Arundell. I never liked him. He has emptied Bantham’s pockets.”

  Jasper blinked. He had not expected Sir James to respond in this rational manner, immediately seeing suspects and discussing them openly.

  Sir James gestured at him. “Have you spoken with them yet? Is one of them in custody already?”

  “I came straight here from the bridge where the body lies.”

  “To me? Why?”

  “Because I want you to see her.” Jasper’s stomach tightened as he said it. “I want you to establish that she is not your daughter.”

  Sir James took a step back. “You think there is a chance that she is?” he asked in a low, almost husky voice.

  Jasper rushed to say, “I said that I want you to establish she is not your daughter. Just to make sure you know this for certain as you go forward. You had a shock last night and—”

  “Don’t play games with me, Inspector. You think there is a chance that she is my daughter. That Olivia never died in the car accident. But she died here. Close to me.” Sir James’s voice broke.

  Jasper pressed his heels into the thick carpet. He couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind and for a moment he wished Sir James wasn’t so perceptive and so painfully direct. But then he realized that if they had to work through this together, they had to be open and voice their opinions and do the best they could to get it resolved.

  “You said Vernassi asked you along to see the body.” Sir James cleared his throat. “Did you… think it was her?”

  “It’s the woman who appeared at the party last night. Whether she is your daughter I can’t tell. I never met her in person, didn’t have time to see her up close and study her movements, get to know her appearance. I only saw photos of her during the investigation into the car accident.”

  “My son-in-law identified her.” Sir James stood and looked at Jasper, with a strange fire in his eyes. “He said it was her. If it now turns out that it was not—”

  “We’re not quite that far,” Jasper rushed to say.

  Sir James didn’t seem to hear him. “You said they can identify a body even when it’s damaged. What did you mean? How did they make sure it was her?”

  “I meant that…” Jasper looked for words to put it delicately. “That even after the car caught fire, they could establish with reasonable certainty that the body inside it was Lady Bantham. Going by the description of her height, posture, hair colour. The clothes she wore, especially the clasp on her belt, the shoes and the jewellery.” Jasper held Sir James’ gaze. “If someone else died in her car, that person was wearing her clothes, shoes and jewels, and driving in the car that Lady Bantham left in. How?”

  “Yes, yes, you must be right. She did die back then…” Sir James halted, then broke into a curt, desperate laugh. “Here I am, Jasper, wishing desperately she died back then so I don’t have to face that she died right here. What is this? How can this be happening to me?”

  Jasper took a deep breath. “I can ask Lord Bantham to…”

  “No. I will do it. I should have done it three years ago. I should have made sure it was her, not rely on someone else’s word for it. I am coming along.”

  * * *

  Lady Bantham sat in front of her dressing table, slowly pulling her brush through her long, loose hair. The brush was made of pure silver with the finest pig hair bristles and was supposed to make the hair shine. But Lady Bantham paid little attention to the glow of her locks, just stared into her eyes. Eyes that willed with frantic determination that last night had not happened. Oh, she was good at pretending things had not happened. Her mother’s death, her hard times in London, the poor living quarters, the hunger, the curt ‘no’ at every door as she had begged, house by house, for a job as a maid. Now that she had everything, it was easy to forget when she had had nothing.

  But her kingdom was falling. Her carefully crafted world was teetering, threatening to break down in a pile of rubble. What if that horrible triumphant creature of last night was indeed the first Lady Bantham? Her marriage invalid, her position here turned to nothing, her dreams of bearing him an heir and becoming untouchable fallen to dust. George Arundell asking for his money back and…

  She closed her eyes a moment to push back the anger welling up inside of her like it had last night. Just claw her eyes out, just push her into a canal, just beat her head against an alley wall until she stopped moving. Something, anything to remove the threat.

  But it had been stupid. Lady Bantham died again and she gained nothing. For at the time when she had said “I do” to Lord Bantham, the woman he had first married had been still alive. Their marriage had never been valid, might as well never have taken place. The woman’s death now didn’t matter. She should have been dead back then.

  Pain pricked the back of her head as if hair had been ripped from it. She snapped her eyes open and looked down on the brush to see if it was full of hairs she had torn out. But the soft bristles were clean. The jabbing sensation on her head continued, crawling into her neck and shoulders. Her stomach pitched, and she threw the brush down on her dressing table. She tried to steady her breathing but her heart beat too fast. It was wrong, all wrong.

  A knock on the door, and her maid put her head around it. “Lord Bantham has been called away, your ladyship. He said to tell you he might be out until after lunch. Urgent business.”

  Yes, she bet he would be consulting a lawyer about his position now. Perhaps he would return, ready to throw her into the street. But she wouldn’t go without a fight. She had something to twist his arm with.

  She stared into her own determined eyes. She’d protect him, if he protected her. If not, she would have to return to England in shame, destined for a return to poverty and humiliation. But his fate would be worse. If he scorned her help, refused to agree to a deal with her, she’d go to Jasper with her story and seal her husband’s fate. Stick his neck in the noose with her own two hands.

  * * *

  Jasper led Lord Bantham to the body covered with the sacking. Bantham said, “Is this really necessary? I have already done this.”

  “With another corpse.” Jasper studied him from aside. “For you do agree with me that if this woman here is your wife, that someone else died in England, three years ago.”

  It was a considerable problem. Who had died and why? How had it been contrived, with whose assistance? He didn’t assume a woman had driven herself into death just because…

  Bantham said, “You have a crude way of putting it, Jasper.”

  Jasper didn’t defend himself. Sir James had looked at the body, leaned down over it and brushed the hair away to inspect her neck. He had nodded and said, “She had a birth mark right there. This is my daughter.”

  Jasper had asked him if his daughter had had
any more telltale marks that could reveal to them whether it was really her and Sir James had with difficulty mentioned that the forefinger of her right hand was shorter than that of the left, something she had been teased about as a girl in boarding school. Jasper had looked at the hands and ascertained that indeed the forefinger of the right hand was shorter. He had told himself that he needed to verify this detail with someone from her boarding school days. He wasn’t going to accept anything at face value any more.

  Bantham stood beside him as he folded away the sacking. Bantham sucked in air audibly. “It’s the woman of the balcony.”

  “Yes, but is it your wife?”

  Jasper glanced up at the man. He could understand his reluctance to confirm it. After all, it would mean that his identification back then had been false. Done on purpose or quite innocently?

  Bantham cleared his throat. “At the time…” He swallowed. “I didn’t look too closely at the body. Her face was damaged by a head wound and her features were contorted because she had inhaled smoke. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. To be honest, I was certain it was Olivia. She had left the estate only hours before. She had been wearing the belt with the clasp they showed me, the shoes they showed me, the…” His voice broke and he hid his face in his hands. “I thought it was her.”

  It was understandable. The circumstantial evidence had been strong and Bantham had not wanted to taint his wife’s memory by looking at her damaged face. He had not wanted to carry that memory with him.

  “So you identified the body mainly based on the clothes, shoes and jewellery worn at the time of death?”

  “And the fact it was found in our car, which had been driven by my wife when she left the estate. Her belongings were on board and she was on her way to London where she had said she’d go shopping. She had sent her maid ahead and… Man, I had no reason to doubt it was her!”

  Neither had I. Jasper gestured across the body in front of his feet. “You can look at this corpse without fear of seeing a gruesome wound.”

  “How did she die then? Was she poisoned?”

  “No, stabbed, but very cleanly. Through the heart.”

  “Through her treacherous heart.” Bantham looked at Jasper with sparkling eyes. “She let someone die for her and left to lead a good life. Now she came back to… What for? What for?” He shouted it to the body, leaning down as if he wanted to grab her by the shoulder and shake her.

  Jasper caught his arm. “Lord Bantham, please.”

  “What for?” A sob came into the man’s tight voice. He straightened and stumbled a few paces away. “What for? You had everything. We were happy. We were even…” He turned to Jasper with a fervent expression. “She was pregnant. The dead body in the car. But… if Olivia went away alive and well… Does that mean there was never a child? An heir? Or did she take it with her? Do I have a son somewhere?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t know where she stayed in the city. Where she has been the past three years. And we can’t ask her either.”

  Bantham shook his head. Tears trickled down his cheeks. “I don’t understand. Why did she do it? Why…?” He suddenly froze and stared, his nostrils flaring like a bull seeing a matador and getting ready to charge. “That fiddler,” he snarled. “He was there when Olivia vanished. She must have met him and fled to Italy with him. They must have lived here together all that time.”

  “But why show herself to you last night? Besides, Biancci seemed as upset as you were to see her there.” Jasper hadn’t been able to see the hooded monk’s expression but the way in which he had stormed off, after her, had suggested enormous agitation.

  Because he had not expected her to be there?

  Or because he had not wanted her to be there, to show herself off, to break the silence? It was an intriguing possibility.

  Bantham formed his hands into fists. “I will find him and break his neck. It’s all his fault. He turned her head, he made her think about leaving. We were happy, we were…” His voice broke and he wanted to push past Jasper.

  Grabbing his arm, Jasper said, “There’s no point in being hasty, your lordship. You’re the stranger here and if you threaten or attack a citizen, you will soon be behind bars. Let me investigate.”

  “Oh, yes, you did such a great job last time.” Bantham wrenched his arm from Jasper’s grasp. “Let me handle this. An eye for an eye.”

  “I will not let you harm any people,” Jasper said quietly. He gestured to a policeman nearby and said in his best Italian, “Escort Lord Bantham to his house and stay with him there. Until I come.”

  The policeman nodded. Bantham snorted that this was outrageous really, but he did go with him. Jasper looked at them as they removed themselves, wondering if the sly lord would try an escape and outwit the policeman. He’d better get to Biancci himself.

  Fast.

  Chapter Eleven

  Leonardo lay back in the pillows of his soft bed and moaned every time he tried to move his head. It hurt like hammers had struck upon it and he couldn’t even open his eyes. He vaguely recalled getting home last night and drinking something foul-tasting. What had Marcheti given him?

  Voices resounded outside his bedroom door, and Marcheti entered with another man. The light pouring in from the corridor with its tall windows stabbed Leonardo’s head even through his closed eyelids and he groaned.

  Marcheti said, “You see he’s not well, Inspector. He must rest. You cannot question him now.”

  Inspector. Police? Leonardo sucked in breath as the painful process of thinking brought back images of blood on his hands and dark alleys he had stumbled through. Of a woman’s laughter floating around him, loud and ridiculing, heating his blood. How he had wanted her to die.

  “My name is Jasper,” a voice said. “I am here to ask you a few questions about last night. I heard you are not well. Did you drink too much at the party?”

  “Really, Inspector,” Marcheti said, “everyone drinks more at parties than they like to admit after the fact. Leonardo is young and indulgent.”

  Leonardo wanted to protest that he was a moderate man, that Marcheti always admonished him to be one, but his tongue was too dry to get any words out.

  “If he has not been drinking,” the man called Jasper said, “then why is he in bed? Did something else happen?”

  Cold air wafted across Leonardo’s face as a shadow leaned in. “His head seems to be bandaged. Did he hurt himself?”

  “Yes, an unfortunate fall. But it will be well. With enough rest.”

  “Was anyone else there during that fall?”

  Leonardo saw the red flash of her dress again, heard the boisterous laughter. Love you, love you? Dear boy.

  Boy, as if he was a child. He had wanted to show her he was a man. Someone to take into account.

  The male voice said, “Please, Mr. Biancci, when I ask you a question, raise your hand once to say yes, twice to say no. You need not speak when you are not able. You understand?”

  He raised his hand once. This was a very good thing. Once, twice. What would it matter later on? The so-called inspector would have nothing to go on. No evidence, no proof.

  “Were you dressed as a monk later on at the party? After you had performed?”

  Leonardo raised his hand once. He only lifted the fingers off the blanket as if he was very weak indeed. The vaguer the signal was, the better.

  “When the woman in red had shown herself on the balcony, you pushed through the crowd. Did you want to go after her?”

  Another lifting of the fingers.

  “Did you catch up with her?”

  He moved his fingers twice. Not right away, Inspector, not right away.

  “Where did you go? I mean, did you go far?”

  Marcheti said, “He ran out to see if she was in the street but after he had seen she was nowhere to be found, he came back in to me and we left the party together. We came back here and went to bed, as it was already fairly late. An artist needs his sleep.”

  “So the stumbl
e where he hit his head happened while you were present?”

  “I cleaned his wound and bandaged it and gave him a mild sedative to sleep.”

  A clever answer, Maestro. No lie in it but not the truth either. You were not there, you have no idea what happened. You’re guessing and lying to protect me. Or rather your own interests. My marriage with Giulieta. Your chance to get into her coffers.

  “So your protégé has been sleeping soundly all night? He would not know if you had left the house?”

  * * *

  Marcheti looked into the man’s probing eyes. It was an insult to him, the great Marco Marcheti, to have to answer questions, and an even greater insult that they came from a foreigner with no position here, but he did realize the man had been with Vernassi last night and it could get difficult if he voiced his irritation. He smiled and said, “Leonardo is like a son to me. I sat by his bed watching over him. I was worried about the head wound, as one can never tell in advance how serious they may be. He lost some blood.”

  “You did not leave his bedside all night?”

  “I watched over him. Why all these questions anyway?”

  The Englishman returned his attentions to Leonardo. “Did you meet with the woman in red? Either last night or beforehand?”

  Leonardo moved his fingers weakly. Once, twice, then a sort of flutter as if he had no control over the limbs.

  Marcheti narrowed his eyes. He was almost certain Leonardo had met with the woman. Last night when he had followed her or earlier. That whole charade about having heard flamenco music, her coming to threaten him that if he married another she would take revenge. Puh! Just a ruse to lure him away from the marriage he loathed and into the arms of the woman he had professed to have loved three years ago.

  But Marcheti would not be deceived so easily. It was rather inventive of Leonardo and he had almost fallen for it, believing the boy’s sensitivity to have caused the strange phenomena he claimed to see and hear. But right now he knew it had just been lies to take him in and destroy the future he had so carefully built for his protégé. A good marriage, into a family with wealth and reputation. Why risk it all for some woman who didn’t deserve him? Who had almost hurt him before?