by Joyce Alec
A broad smile crept across his face as he made his way through the crowd, finding himself extraordinarily pleased with the evening’s events. Yes, he might be no further forward with the puzzle that was Lord Shafer, and, yes, Lady Ashton was still hoping they would find an answer as to why he had been meant to visit her on that particular day, but the happiness that came with Lady Moore’s conversation filled his entire being.
“A glass of champagne, my lord?”
Stephen gladly accepted the refreshment from the footman who held out the tray towards him, taking a large mouthful which, unfortunately, he could not spit back into the glass when the familiar, acrid taste filled his mouth. Forced to swallow, his eyes leapt towards the footman, who was now standing a little to Stephen’s left, his eyes glittering darkly. The face niggled at his mind, suddenly realizing that he was looking at the same footman who had served both himself and Lord Shafer that night.
“You!” he croaked, taking a step towards the man. “Did you really think that I would not recognize you?”
The footman shrugged, a small, dark grin twisting his lips. “I do not think it matters all that much whether you recognize me or not, my lord. It will certainly be the last time you see me. Now, why do you not finish the rest of your champagne?”
“Champagne be damned!” Stephen shouted, hating the familiar heaviness that had already begun to settle in his head. Throwing the glass down at the footman’s feet, he took a step towards him, ready to grasp him by the collar and shake him until his teeth rattled. “Tell me who you are and what it is you are trying to do to me!”
Unfortunately for Stephen, the laudanum-laced champagne was already making his head spin, and so he staggered instead of strode forward, his hand grasping nothing more than air as he reached for the fellow. All he could hear was a mocking laugh as he struggled to keep himself standing.
“Lord Johnston!”
Closing his eyes, Stephen dragged in air, hating that he was sure to be making some sort of scene. “Lady Ashton,” he said thickly. “Water, I need water. And then I must go home. The champagne…” He gestured hopelessly to the shattered glass and liquid staining the floor, as two other footmen began to clean it up.
“Do you mean to say that you have been…?”
Wide, scared eyes looked into his own. “Yes, Lady Ashton,” he whispered, feeling weaker with every second that passed. “The footman, he offered me champagne, and I took it. I did not think.”
Lady Ashton’s expression set firm. “Come, Lord Johnston,” she said, gesturing for one of the footmen to help him to walk to the door. “You must return home, and I will not allow you to go alone.”
“You cannot,” Stephen replied, through what felt to be ever thickening lips. “Your reputation, my lady.”
She tossed her head. “I will ensure that my reputation – and your own – does not suffer,” she replied firmly. “Now,” she continued, addressing the footman who had taken Stephen’s arm. “Ensure Lord Johnston is given something to drink and thereafter, take him at once to his carriage. Ensure to inform the driver that he is to be taken to bed at once. There is a grave illness upon him.”
“At once, my lady.”
Stephen found himself unable to argue, walking along as best he could with the footman as Lady Ashton returned to the ball, giving every appearance of being both concerned yet detached from his present situation. His eyes grew heavy, his lids beginning to droop as he made his way into the carriage, assisted by the footman. The driver set off at quite some pace, evidently having taken the footman’s words to heart, and the rolling of the carriage almost forced Stephen’s eyes to close.
“No!”
With every ounce of strength he had, Stephen forced his eyes to remain open, unwilling to give into the desperate urge to sleep, to rest easily into the welcoming darkness.
Gritting his teeth, Stephen forced himself to sit upright, his mind unsettled, his body clammy. The urge to lapse into a gentle euphoria, to forget all his troubles and relax into a calming sleep continued to prey on his mind, but he could not allow himself to do such a thing. Should he allow it, then everything he remembered, everything he was determined to recall, would go from him.
“My lord?”
The butler and footmen were by the door almost at once, evidently having been woken from their beds or pulled from whatever enjoyments they had been partaking in. Stephen, having expected to be out for what would be a very late evening, had insisted that they retired and did not wait up for his return, as he often did, but now how grateful he was for a reliable and trustworthy complement of staff.
“You are unwell,” the butler stammered, as Stephen attempted to remove himself from the carriage. “Is it the same malady, my lord?”
Stephen closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, glad for the strength of his footmen who helped him to the ground. Once there, he shook off their assistance, standing just outside his front door and surveying the steps that led up to it.
“I have been drugged,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I saw the very man involved.”
“What can I do for you, my lord?” the butler asked, as Stephen began to attempt the stairs that led to his front door. “What is it you require? The doctor? Brandy? The Bow Street Runners?”
“I need,” Stephen grated, “to wait for Lady Ashton. She will arrive shortly and is to be treated with all propriety. Also, you are to inform my staff that should any of them say a word about her presence here, should there be any gossip or slander, then they will be removed from my household without any sort of recommendation.” Each word took an effort, but Stephen forced every bit of strength in order to speak clearly, refusing to let the laudanum take effect.
“Of course, my lord,” his faithful butler replied at once, hurrying to open the door for him.
“And coffee. Lots of it,” Stephen stated, getting one foot in front of the other despite the weakness and tiredness that ran through him. “And fetch my brandy from the study. It may be of use later.”
“Where is it you wish to sit, my lord?” the butler asked, as the footmen followed closely behind him, ensuring that he would not fall backwards down the stone steps.
“The library,” Stephen said, aware that it was the closest room to where he was. “Send someone to light the fire, if you please. There may be a slight chill.” Somehow, even though his mind was still a little hazy, he managed to make his way into the library and sat down heavily in a chair by the fire, seeing the maid scrambling to set the fire almost at once.
His body relaxed the moment he settled into his seat, feeling the laudanum still battling to overcome him. His thoughts were slow, struggling to let himself think clearly. Someone had deliberately drugged him again, although for whatever reason, he could not understand. Why had they wanted him to be unconscious for some days more? Or was this another attempt to take his life?
“But the footman,” he said aloud, his brows furrowing as he struggled to get words from his lips. “He said I would not see him again.” Why had he said such a thing? Was it because he had thought Stephen would not be long for this world? Surely that could not be so, not when the man was aware that Stephen had not drunk all of the champagne? What would have occurred should he have only taken a small sip? There would have only been a small amount of laudanum in each sip. Would he have noticed it? Or was the footman hoping that the thrill of the ball would have made him less inclined to become aware of the taste?
A sudden scream rattled his bones, jerking him violently in his chair. The scream came again, louder and stronger this time, sending a shudder of fright all through him. It had the effect, however, of giving him a good deal more strength, allowing him to make his way towards the library door without stumbling even a little.
“Whatever is that noise?” he shouted, one hand still resting on the wall as he made his way along the corridor. “Who is screaming? What is the meaning of this?”
At that very moment, the door behind him opened and Lady As
hton was shown in. The screaming stopped just as she entered, and as Stephen caught her gaze, he saw the way her face began to lose all color.
“Lady Ashton,” Stephen said gruffly. “You need not be here. I am all right, as you can see.”
Her eyes met his, her lips quivering. “What was that noise, Lord Johnston?”
Stephen shook his head. “It matters not,” he stated firmly, his instincts telling him that she ought not to be anywhere near him. “Please, Lady Ashton, return home. I think it would be best if—”
“My lord!”
The butler rushed towards him, wringing his hands as he approached, evidently unaware of Lady Ashton’s presence.
“My lord, there is…there is…”
Stephen stood as tall he could, ignoring his thundering heart. “Mr. Paulson,” he said firmly, addressing the man. “What is the matter? Who was screaming?”
The butler’s face was paler than Stephen had ever seen it.
“My lord,” he whispered, evidently struggling to find his voice. “There is a dead man in your study.”
6
For a moment, Mary thought she might faint right where she stood. The whole world had suddenly grown silent. No one moved, no one spoke. There was nothing but the sound of her breathing and the quickening thump of her heart.
“My lady.”
Lord Johnston turned towards her, walking towards her as fast as he could manage. His hands grasped hers, making her aware of just how cold she was. Managing to lift her eyes to his, she looked into Lord Johnston’s face and saw the fear lurking in his eyes.
“You must return home at once,” Lord Johnston stated firmly. “You must not linger here. Please, Lady Ashton, do as I ask.”
She could not look away from him, her mind scrambling to understand all that he had just said.
“This is—”
“This is no place where you should be,” Lord Johnston said, gripping her fingers tightly. “Please, for your own safety and your own reputation, please leave my house and return home. It is best that no one knows you are here.”
She shook her head blindly. “No,” she replied, suddenly aware that, aside from her, Lord Johnston had very few friends around him. “You have no one else to turn to, no one else to vouch for you. Should I return home, then you will have no one to verify that you were only a few minutes ahead of me here. You could easily be found guilty of the murder of this man!”
Looking into Lord Johnston’s eyes, she could see that the reality of their current situation had only just now begun to take hold.
“Do you not understand, Lord Johnston?” she whispered, feeling a little more life come back into her limbs. “They attempted to drug you again so that you might return to your bed in a slumber. A slumber that would render you fully unconscious for most of the evening. Then, in the morning, when your staff began to prepare the house, they would find the gentleman dead and, given that you were residing in your home all through the evening and early morning, you would immediately be thought of as the person responsible! For whom amongst your staff would kill a gentleman from society?”
Lord Johnston closed his eyes tightly, swaying just a little. “You are quite right, Lady Ashton," he murmured eventually. "Yet, I do not think that you will be required to see the gentleman.” Dropping her fingers, he turned to the butler and quickly issued a stream of instructions that had the footmen scurrying this way and that. Mary remained exactly where she was, glad that she had chosen to come after Lord Johnston after all, despite the untimely death of whomever it was in the study. So many questions clung to her mind, refusing to leave her. Who would have managed to make their way into Lord Johnston’s home with another gentleman, without any sort of introduction or explanation? Then, this person seemed to have made their way into Lord Johnston’s study and proceeded to take the life of their companion? All without Lord Johnston’s staff being aware of his presence?
“Might I ask if your staff were ever aware of a presence in this house?” she asked, attempting to inject some sort of strength into her voice. Moving towards the butler, as Lord Johnston began to precede them both as they walked towards the study, she looked up at the white-faced man, who was now visibly trembling. “Did you see anything, Mr. Paulson?”
The butler shook his head, his eyes darting to her face for a moment before dropping to the floor. “No, my lady. Lord Johnston made it clear that we were not to await his return and so, given that our duties were at an end, I ensured the house was locked up tight and made my way below stairs with the rest of the staff. Of course, a footman was to be dispatched to wait by the door for Lord Johnston’s return and unlock it for him. But that was not to be for some time yet, given the early hour. We were enjoying our evening, I will confess. A simple dinner with good conversation that lasted well into the night.”
“That is not something you need either apologize for or feel guilty for,” Lord Johnston said firmly, turning his head to glance at the butler. “You did as you were instructed.”
Mary gave the butler a tremulous smile in an attempt to encourage him that he had done as Lord Johnston had instructed, but the butler did not notice, given the fact that he was now staring, wide-eyed, into the waiting study.
“I think it best you remain here, my lady,” Lord Johnston said gently, showing none of the weakness that had been running through him a little less than an hour ago. “The scene may be distressing.”
Mary was well aware that to see a dead man was not something that anyone would find particularly enjoyable and gave a short, jerky nod before resting one hand on the doorframe and turning herself away from the now open door. Lord Johnston walked inside, with the butler following quickly behind.
“And you say you just saw him like this?” Lord Johnston asked, his voice rasping with the shock of what he had seen. “This was the scene when you first unlocked the door?”
“Yes, my lord,” said the butler. “I came to fetch your brandy myself, and when I walked in—”
Mary could not help herself. “Was the door open, Mr. Paulson?”
“Yes,” the butler replied at once. “But that was usual. Lord Johnston often makes his way to his study for a short time before retiring, no matter how late the evening.”
“That is true,” Lord Johnston agreed, his voice still a little shaky. “I do not think that someone – whoever it was that did this – could have known about such habits of mine, however. I believe that must have been purely by chance.”
Mary closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the doorframe. “But how could they make their way within, if the front door had been locked?” she asked, aware of how she was shaking inside. “Mr. Paulson, you said that you locked the door before you made you way below?”
“I did,” the butler pleaded, as though he was afraid that she did not believe him. “I am sure that I did such a thing. That is one of my most important duties, and I have never once failed to do so.”
“Mr. Paulson.”
Lord Johnston’s voice was firm, and Mary could just imagine him putting one hand on the butler’s arm. It was evident that the man was greatly shaken and clearly quite at a loss as to what he ought to do next.
“Go and reassure the others,” Lord Johnston said firmly. “Make sure that there is nothing missing, that the whole house is still secure. And then pour yourself a brandy and rest for a few minutes. I insist upon it. A man from Bow Street will be here shortly, and I will need you to be entirely clear with them on what has occurred. Do you understand me?”
There was a moment of silence. Then, with nothing more than a murmur, the butler walked past her and down the hallway.
“If you wish to come in, Lady Ashton, you may do so,” Lord Johnston said, quietly. “There is nothing much to be seen, I am afraid. The gentleman is sitting in my seat and has collapsed across the table. There is a knife in his back. I do not know who he is. I am certain I have never seen him before.”
Mary wanted to shake her head and remain exactly
where she was but, at the very same moment as she was about to refuse, she found herself hesitating.
“It might be useful to know if you are acquainted with him,” Lord Johnston continued carefully. “But I would not wish to push you beyond what you are able to endure.”
Lifting her chin, Mary drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, steadying herself. “Is there much blood?”
“None that you will be able to see,” Lord Johnston admitted, his voice moving closer to her. She felt his hand touch her arm and turned towards him, her eyes fixed on his.
“You need not,” Lord Johnston continued, his hand loosening on her arm. “I must apologize to you, Lady Ashton. We are barely acquainted, and now, for whatever reason, we are thrown together into what I can only describe as a rather torturous and dark situation.” His gaze dropped to the floor, his expression somewhat distressed. “I ought never to have called upon you, Lady Ashton,” he said slowly, his eyes slowly traveling back up towards her. “This may, I think, lead to a situation which you will not thank me for.”
It was as if she had been thrown into an icy river, for her entire body was frozen as a cold hand wrapped around her heart. Lord Johnston was quite correct in what he was suggesting might become a consequence of this evening’s events. If she lingered here, if she stayed in Lord Johnston’s home until the morning or, in fact, even a little later, then her reputation – even as a widow with her own fortune and her own ability to pick and choose the gentlemen she spent time with – could be dashed to ribbons. She would, mayhap, have to marry Lord Johnston in order to salvage any hope for a contented future.
“You should return home, Lady Ashton,” Lord Johnston stated calmly, still looking deeply into her eyes. “I would not have you ruined for my sake. The Bow Street Runners are not yet here, and they need not know of your presence. You are kind and compassionate in your willingness to aid me in this matter, but I must insist that you—”