“And?” the Queen said.
“I told her she would have to ask Your Majesty.” He bowed and closed the door.
“Nosy witch,” Granny muttered.
Squeezing the rubber ball in my pocket, I was certain Lady Beryl was on to us. Again, Florence read my mind. “We cannot let her know we suspect her of Lady Julia’s murder, not until we discover her accomplices. Your Majesty must not confine her or question her, not yet. If this plot runs deep she will not give it up and may even be eliminated by her cohorts.” She punched her right fist into her left palm, a habit that indicated a firm thought coming our way. “We must visit the fashion house in the morning! I am certain it holds the key.”
“Before you see our dressmaker, we wish you to leave for Brocket Hall,” The Queen had reverted to the royal we as if to take control of the plan. “We desire to have Lord Melbourne at our side by tomorrow evening.” The Queen said. “We do not want to send such horrible news by courier on the chance his health is truly fragile. We shall trust your judgment as to how you inform him.”
Florence appeared stumped. “I fear leaving you here with Lady Beryl, despite all your Dragoons and the most formidable Baroness Lehzen,” she gave a brief nod to the Queen’s guardian. “Sane or insane, she may try again. She bears close watching where Your Majesty is concerned.”
“We will instruct Captain Wainright to double the guards. He can be trusted to share in your suspicions. We know he is devoted to us.”
“I do have a plan, Your Majesty. Let me suggest that you instruct Lady Beryl to accompany us to Brocket Hall; we can keep her under surveillance and away from you. The outing will last only one day, but perhaps she may reveal something during the journey. If there is a plot afoot we will cause its delay by her absence.”
Florence looked from me to Granny. I am sure my eyes were as huge and blank as those of my grandmother. Travel in a coach with a backstabbing lady-in-waiting? I took a deep breath. For Queen and Country!
Chapter 7
The following morning we embarked in a royal coach headed to Brocket Hall. On one hand it was nerve-wracking to be sitting smack next to Lady Beryl, a probable murderess, and on the other it was heavenly to know that Moon was riding on the back of the coach. Not sure whether the fates were with me or someone had put in a good word, but he was assigned as one of the footmen for our journey. I squeezed my hands in my eagerness to get him alone in order to warn him and to—I hadn’t figured that part out yet.
Wearing a day dress with the only crinoline in my trunk, a cumbersome thing that was more suited for dancing at balls and fetes, I felt like a balloon blown to capacity.
I could not prevent my eyes from dropping to Beryl’s hands. Was Florence right? Did she really use those things to plunge a knife into the back of a defenseless girl? I inched away from her, only to look up and see my friend casting her cautionary glare at me. Escorting or being escorted by a murderess had its bad points, especially when we weren’t supposed to know about her vocation.
Launching into conversation, Florence first asked Granny if she had recovered from the shock of yesterday. It was a silly thing to ask as one does not recuperate from peering at a bloody body. The query was a sneaky starting point to begin prying into Lady Beryl’s motive.
“Lady Julia was my first stabbed-to-death body. It is not something one recovers from just like that—” She snapped her gloved fingers soundlessly. “A person would have to have no conscience at all.” Granny cut her eyes to the murderess—okay, suspected murderess.
I felt helpless in such confined quarters. My India rubber ball would be useless if the killer was armed with another knife. I aligned my elbow with Beryl’s ribcage thinking if things got out of hand I might be able to send a sharp jab into her middle. The thought of her corset discouraged that plan as the whalebone would probably protect her and damage me. Instead I gave Granny a frown, warning her to back down.
Florence pursued her subtle line of questioning, keeping Athena safely situated in her pocket on the chance she received the wrong reaction. “Lady Beryl, how are you coping with the tragedy? Were you able to sleep last night?”
“Sleep? I shall never sleep again. Does Captain Wainright have any suspects?” she asked, all innocence.
“I have no idea. I am not privy to his investigation.” A tiny twist of frustration marked Florence’s face as she persisted. “Did Lady Julia have a beau? Most often they are in some way involved in this sort of tragedy.”
“I kept her too busy to have a beau.” Lady Beryl replied. Her boast sounded like the snort of a hog.
“You must have an inkling as to why she was at the Queen’s parlor door? Have you thought about it any further? Could she have been carrying a message?”
“I wish you wouldn’t dwell on the death of my favorite of the Queen’s ladies. It is very distressing.” Beryl turned her head, fixing her eyes on the passing scenery. The inquisition was over before it had begun.
The journey to Brocket Hall seemed to take forever although in truth it was but less than two hours. When one is rubbing skirts with a possible murderess time has a way of dragging.
Lord Melbourne’s home was a stately building, not beautiful, but if buildings had genders, Brocket Hall would be a masculine edifice. It was a solid block of brick the color of a sunset with a plain gable roof, simple entrance, and large windows.
Our coach pulled to the front entrance, which had no portico. Moon jumped from his post to unfold the stairs and handed my embarrassingly eager grandmother to the ground. Florence called out “Mrs. Throckmorten, please wait for the rest of us!” Granny cut her a look of irritation at being detained.
I was next to exit the carriage, and despite having a murderess—I mean Lady Beryl—directly behind me, my only thought was of Moon. The footman took my gloved hand casting a flirty look that lasted only an instant, but sent my heart pitter-pattering. Now I was certain nothing had changed between us. We were still connected in an unconnected way. He held my hand a moment longer than necessary. I was thankful I was wearing gloves for my palms were as wet as freshly watered flowers.
Lady Beryl stepped out after me. If she kept that expression on her face it would cramp forever. What would Lord Melbourne think when he learned we had brought a killer to call? I should advise him to hide anything sharp.
The butler answered our rap, surprised to see visitors. “We bring news from the Queen,” Florence said. “His Lordship is not expecting us.” The servant, an elderly man with a comfortable face, had the kind of countenance that reminded me of a pair of well-worn bedroom slippers. How would that sound if I complimented him? I decided against it. Not many people wish to be told they look like an old shoe.
The servant escorted us into the vestibule and then to a small reception area. I studied the rich but understated décor; the ceilings were painted in shades of pink, blue, and turquoise. The furnishings I saw were elegant but tasteful. I noticed that every large portrait along the entryway held a resemblance to Lord Melbourne.
I could not help but wonder at what the walls of Brocket Hall must have heard over the years. The scandals that Lord Melbourne’s wife tangled in must have led to heated arguments between the couple. Shaking the thought off, I reminded myself that His Lordship did not seem the sort of man who would raise his voice to a lady. Filing my musings under conundrums, I listened as Florence introduced our party to the butler.
“My name is Deacons,” the slipper-faced man said. “I will announce your arrival to His Lordship. He is in the rose garden.”
Florence had already instructed Granny and me that if we were to judge Lord Melbourne’s health, the best way was to give him little to no warning of our arrival. How he appeared when not expecting visitors would tell Florence a lot about his health.
As the butler turned and walked away, we tiptoed after him. Lady Beryl was not aware of the reason for our mission and so she hesitated in the foyer—an uneasy backstabber not certain what she was getting herself into.
The butler walked out a set of wood framed glass doors and into the sunlight; his unwanted posse, including Lady Beryl, at his heels. The garden was beautifully landscaped with arbors and trellises bearing all manner of colorful blooms. Despite its being early autumn the flowers seemed to be at their peak.
It was then that I saw Lord M sitting near a hedgerow, his countenance half turned toward us. He looked smaller than I recalled, his frame bent in the white garden seat. He did not turn at the sound of the butler approaching although he must have heard him.
Before the man could clear his throat to announce his presence as all good butlers do, a tall, thin lady with straw-colored hair twisted in a knot at the top of her head, and curls dangling at her ears, danced from the shrubberies oblivious to our presence. Dressed in yellow from head to toe, the woman was at least as tall as Florence but thin as a sapling.
The slender creature flitted around Lord Melbourne like a giant butterfly performing a loopy dance. Playfully, she waved a sheer scarf near his face in a much too familiar manner. This woman was taking liberties that struck me as highly disrespectful. Florence and I both turned to see Granny’s reaction; the poor dear stood there with her mouth hanging open. We had assumed the Prime Minister was lonely and now it seems we were oh so wrong.
Chapter 8
Lord Melbourne waved the lady in yellow away, but she came fluttering at him again. Perhaps a colossal flyswatter would take her down? The butler cleared his throat just as I was imagining thwacking the odd apparition.
Two heads snapped in our direction. Even at a distance His Lordship seemed pale, but upon seeing our little group he turned paper white. Was he ill or was it the shock of being caught in an embarrassing situation with a giant insect wearing yellow chiffon?
As we approached, the butterfly took a possessive stance before Lord Melbourne, who quickly moved in front of her. “Oh look dearest,” she said, “a nun, a midget, and a granny—and a lady who looks vaguely familiar have come to visit. You did not mention we were expecting guests.”
She was no beauty but she had a quick wit. So witty was she that I was ready to set our murderess on her. I wondered if Beryl was armed. Florence ignored her. I wished I could. I might be short but I was no midget.
“Lord Melbourne,” Florence performed a bit of a curtsy. “We intended to pay you a surprise social call today, but since yesterday things have changed in a most alarming way. The Queen wishes Miss Throckmorten and me to share some urgent information with you. Is there someplace we can speak, privately?”
Our host gathered his wits and greeted us. “Mrs. Throckmorten, what a delight to see you again. You are looking radiant as ever.” Granny stammered and turned beet red. Lord Melbourne raised an eyebrow as he recognized Lady Beryl from the Queen’s court, but he merely nodded not singling her out.
The butterfly refused to be ignored, inserting herself between Florence and His Lordship. With a deep sigh, Lord M presented the insect. “Allow me to introduce my wife’s cousin, Mrs. Cecile Ponsonby.” He then took care to introduce us beginning with Granny and ending with me. “I hope you have brought your sense of fun Miss Poppy as I am in need of a bit of levity.”
I almost fainted dead away. Lord M did enjoy my humor! I struggled to find something witty to say, but before I could Florence repeated her request for privacy.
Mrs. Ponsonby chirped, “Shall we go to the parlor for tea? I believe cook has made some scrumptious apricot cakes. We can have a private chat over tea.”
Florence turned on the woman, “Perhaps you can begin without us? I believe Lady Beryl is feeling peeked. Tea and cake would suit her. We shan’t keep Lord Melbourne but a short time.” She cut one of those special Florence looks at our host as she said, “It there a private room where Mrs. Throckmorten may put up her feet?”
It was an odd way to get her point across, but I was relieved to hear Florence include Granny in our meeting. I feared leaving her alone with Lady Beryl and the dingy cousin of the deceased Lady Caroline Lamb.
Before the stunned Mrs. Ponsonby could react to being excluded, His Lordship hurried the three of us to his study and locked the door behind him. His complexion had turned from white to red as he insisted on explaining the presence of his wife’s cousin. Florence put her finger to her lips when I tried to interrupt. She bent down and whispered in my ear. “For all we know this lady may be a part of the puzzle. Let us hear what she is about first.”
“There is no need to whisper,” Lord M said. “My wife had gossip-proof doors installed in this room and her bedchamber. I must explain the presence of Mrs. Ponsonby. Since my wife’s death eleven years ago, her cousin has been like a flea attempting to burrow under my skin. When I am in London I enjoy some peace from her constant flirting, but at Brocket Hall I am vulnerable to her attempts at sucking the remaining blood from my body. She has been widowed for most of her life; I am certain you can imagine why. I can’t be cruel to her and yet I detest the woman.”
He collapsed onto a settee and ran a hand through his hair. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you—my three dear friends.” He chuckled. “Today is the first time I have smiled since last I saw you. That woman is driving me mad and yet if I attempt to return to Buckingham Palace, she may insert herself there for she is not without sponsors at court.”
“When we tell you why we have come, you will have reason enough to return with us. You must insist Mrs, Ponsonby remain behind for things are not well within the Palace walls and a new face, no matter how well connected will not be welcome,” Florence said. Sitting next to a table that held a collection of miniature portraits, she lifted a tiny frame, only to discover a layer of dust on the dark wood surface of the table. With the tips of her fingers she replaced the picture, taking care not to disturb the powder. Reaching for her handkerchief, she wiped her hands, cutting me a worried look. Things were not in top form at Brocket Hall.
Removing Athena from her pocket she uncapped a small bottle of water and poured some in the palm of her hand. Unsure whether she was concerned for her owlet or merely taking time to find the words, I did not interrupt. Granny sat perfectly still, her eyes glistening as she stared at His Lordship, making the poor man squirm under her adoring gaze.
“I will tell you all we know thus far, but please be prepared to return with us. The Queen is in desperate need of you.” Florence capped the water bottle, placing it in her pocket; she began to recount all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. As I listened to her, the horror of last evening came rushing back, fresh before my eyes.
At first Lord Melbourne appeared incredulous; shifting his eyes to Granny and then me, he seemed to be looking for confirmation. Gripping the arms of his chair, his knuckles turning white, he said, “The Queen is in danger! This smells like the work of her uncle, Lord Cumberland! I should be at her side and not here pondering my past.” He was about to stand, but seemed to freeze. “Miss Nightingale, I am certain you have sourced out a suspect in the murder of Lady Julia. Tell me.”
Tucking Athena back in her pocket, Florence locked eyes with Lord Melbourne. “I am most certain Lady Beryl is the killer.”
Lord Melbourne stammered, and then finding his words he asked, “Why is she not locked up? Why has Captain Wainright not thrown her in the Tower?” He was clearly shaken by this bit of news. Again, he cut his eyes to me and then returned to Florence. “You have traveled from the Palace to Brocket Hall in the company of a murderess?” The expression on his face was sheer puzzlement.
“My intuition tells me this was more than a random act of violence. Let us consider the killer; Lady Beryl is not a person known for violent behavior and yet she is my prime suspect. The woman has to be part of a larger scheme, why else would she take the life of her apprentice in such an open way? Locking her away would have set the blackguards to altering their plot and substituting another person for the woman who now sits with Mrs. Ponsonby. As long as Lady Beryl is with us, we have delayed their plan until you return to the Pa
lace.”
“Miss Nightingale, you are a wise woman. I will prepare myself for the journey. We shall leave within the hour. In the meantime, I shall order a meal for you.” He turned to leave but a thought brought him back. “Please do not mention anything to Mrs. Ponsonby about the death of Lady Julia. I prefer she hear it from someone else—Julia was once a protégée of Cecile. It was at her request that I…asked the Queen to take the girl into her inner circle.” At that point he escorted us from the room.
We joined Mrs. Ponsonby and Lady Beryl in the front parlor—a tranquil turquoise setting that did them more justice than they deserved. The women sat in uncomfortable silence. The butterfly sipped red wine from a crystal glass; the murderess sat with her hands in her lap.
It was evident both had been insulted by their exclusion from our meeting. As we entered the room, they turned to us, each one wearing a look of expectation. Neither anticipated we would be whisking Lord Melbourne to Buckingham Palace. The news startled both ladies in different ways.
Cecile Ponsonby leaped from her chair with a yelp when Lord M announced his plans to leave for London. “I’ll be ready in a jiffy!” She headed out of the room. His lordship called out, “Cecile! Halt!” Her eyes grew large as she waited for what she knew must be coming.
Stepping out of the line of her trajectory, Lord Melbourne said, “You may remain here at Brocket Hall or I will make a carriage available in order for you to return home. Under no circumstances can we bring you to the Palace.”
She fluttered toward him, but he inched behind Florence. “The Queen has requested my presence for a highly confidential matter.”
“Oh…” she said, sashaying closer to him with her hands on her hips. “The Queen snaps her fingers and you come running! She means more to you than the only cousin of your dear departed wife?” She stopped in her tracks as she saw his expression darken. “What about us?” She resorted to whining.
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