The Sign of the Raven

by L. C. Sharp

  Having left her footman to pay off the chairmen, Juliana followed the Coddington footman into the house. He stood by to receive her hat and gloves. Such a fuss!

  Another footman led her upstairs.

  Apparently, Lady Coddington was receiving today. A tea tray sat on a table by the door with six used tea dishes, and as Juliana entered, a maid followed her with another tea tray. This she placed reverently by her ladyship’s side. A hatchet-faced woman dressed in hard, uncompromising black stood behind the widow’s chair, her face graven into harsh lines.

  Lady Coddington, pale faced, a black-edged handkerchief clutched in her left hand, stood to give Juliana her right hand. “We meet again,” she murmured.

  “I came to offer my family’s deepest condolences,” Juliana answered. “If you require anything from us, you only have to ask.”

  “You are very kind,” her ladyship said. She nodded to her maid, who poured the tea. “But nothing can console me at present. We have sent for my husband’s heir, but it will be some time before he gets here. How sad he will be to learn the melancholy truth that he is the new baron!”

  “Indeed,” Juliana murmured. “I trust he will be with you soon.”

  Without much effort, they had discovered that the new Lord Coddington was a diplomat pursuing a promising career abroad. Having a fortune of his own, he would have little motive to want his cousin dead.

  Another sniff. “I sent messages this morning. All possible speed, I said.” She buried her nose in her handkerchief, before she remarked, “Your lady mother kindly visited. I thought you would accompany her.”

  A gentle fishing expedition if Juliana ever heard one. “I am married, and part of another household,” she said. The firework display had been the first time they’d exchanged words since her marriage. Juliana did not regret the coolness.

  “Ah, yes, of course. You married against their wishes.”

  So the lady was not entirely prostrate with grief. She had bestirred herself to recall old gossip.

  Juliana was not averse to clarifying the reason ice had grown between her parents and herself. “I had a choice. Lord Mandrell or Sir Edmund. I believe I chose well.”

  “Lord Mandrell!” Speculation sparkled in Lady Coddington’s eyes. “A widower looking for an heir.”

  “So I was led to believe.” Old and spiteful, Mandrell had four daughters and an heir he hated. Ash had saved her from that. “My life is now filled with interest.”

  “You’ve changed.” Her ladyship reached for her tea dish. She sipped, delicately, then replaced the flower-encrusted porcelain dish in its deep saucer. “I mean in appearance. Were you not always dressed at the height of fashion?”

  “This is the height of fashion,” Juliana pointed out. “Smaller hoops and delicate decoration. Or so my new French maid has led me to understand.” Let her chew on that.

  “Really!” Her ladyship gave Juliana’s attire a closer look. “I have naturally ordered my dressmaker to furnish me with appropriate clothing, but I will not stay in deepest mourning after my son has formally assumed the title. That would not be fair to him.”

  The tears had gone as if they’d never existed.

  “Naturally,” she murmured.

  “Do you intend to reenter society? I understand your husband is a man of property. I had thought he was from trade, but your mama assured me he was no such thing. He’s a gentleman.”

  Juliana swallowed her anger. If Ash served customers from behind a shop counter, Juliana would still have married him in preference to the odious Lord Mandrell.

  “I never left society,” she informed her ladyship. “I merely move in different circles.”

  After all, she was going to the Newcastle ball. At least she didn’t have to spend her days gossiping about people she disliked or events that turned out tedious in the extreme. Or the fashion for rosebuds over last year’s preference for daisies.

  None of it mattered. But finding a murderer did.

  “I see. Then I may expect to see you when I am out of mourning.”

  “Have no doubt of that.” After a brief pause, Juliana turned to her real business here. “I do have an unfortunate task to perform on behalf of my husband, but you need not concern yourself with that.”

  “Really? What is it, pray?”

  “I need to see the clothes your late husband wore last night.”

  Lady Coddington shuddered. “His clothes? What possible use are they to anyone? I ordered his valet to put them out for rags. I don’t want them in the house.”

  “I quite understand.” That was disappointing. So had they gone already? Her ladyship appeared quick to rid herself of them.

  “You may see them as you leave, if you wish.” Her ladyship’s mouth had tightened, and little creases showed at the corners.

  “Thank you, my lady. We are doing all we can to bring any inquiries to a speedy conclusion. Then you may grieve in peace.” At her leisure, though from her casual comment about casting off mourning, it might not be for long.

  “I have not yet regained my senses. So sudden!” Lady Coddington lifted her hand, her handkerchief fluttering.

  “Indeed,” Juliana murmured. “You must let us know if we can help.”

  “Your lady mother said the same thing,” her ladyship said, with a touch of smugness. She was almost smiling. But of course, that would never do. “You only just missed her.”

  Juliana murmured something suitable, although her senses eased in relief.

  “I will take my husband to the family vault in our country home when I may,” she said. “When they let me.” Her voice was tinged with bitterness.

  “I’m sure it will be soon,” Juliana told her.

  “You have suffered,” the widow said suddenly. “You have been through what I am suffering now. And worse. You were arrested for murder. How did you bear it?”

  Ah. Juliana wondered why Lady Coddington had come out with this, and so abruptly. Of course there were some similarities, but their cases were hardly parallel. For one thing, her ladyship was halfway across London when his lordship had met his gruesome end. Juliana had been lying next to hers. “I bore it because I had to.” Did that explain everything? Not quite. “And I knew I had done nothing wrong. Fortunately I found someone who believed me and found the true culprit.”

  “Otherwise you would have joined poor Lord Uppingham.”

  Poor nothing, she thought savagely. The second son of his father, angling for a title. And he would have had it if he’d outlived her father. Who cared about Juliana? As it turned out, the concern for her had come from a very different quarter. Not her family, to be sure.

  But she said none of that aloud. “I am glad justice was done. And that I am still here.”

  “Even though your price was to marry a man of much lower station than you.” She lifted her handkerchief but only touched her eyes. Evidently scandal consoled her.

  Juliana had had enough of the prying. Lady Coddington’s eyes were gleaming, and the color had returned to her cheeks. The scent of juicy gossip had rejuvenated her.

  Seeing that Lady Coddington was preparing another intrusive comment, Juliana got to her feet. “I must not outstay my welcome. I am pleased to find you in such good health, my lady, but you must not exert yourself too much. I should let you rest. Thank you so much for seeing me today.”

  She glided to the double doors leading outside. A footman, standing silently by the door, opened it for her, as if she was incapable of it. At one time she might well have been, never having opened a door in her life. But she was still so used to servants behaving as though they were invisible that she hadn’t noticed the man until now. Shameful to treat people like that.

  Outside, she addressed the man, who had followed her out, closing the doors softly behind her. Meeting his gaze, she said, “Lady Coddington said I could see his lordship’s cloth
es. The ones he was wearing last night.”

  She wasn’t sure whether the footman was more startled by her direct confrontation or by her request. Juliana chose not to explain herself. She wasn’t that enlightened.

  But the man took her upstairs and indicated an empty bedroom.

  Empty, but for a number of trunks and bandboxes, all filled with male clothing, folded neatly. A basket stood next to them, the clothes in it jumbled. That would contain the clothes headed for the secondhand shop. Personal servants had the perquisite of taking the cast-off clothes and selling them for what they could get, or keeping them for themselves.

  Still, to deal with his personal possessions the very day after his death held an edge of callousness. Had Lady Coddington ordered it? Did she want her husband out of the house quickly, or was it that she could not bear to see his belongings?

  An inner door opened to admit a tall, skinny man. “Bruce said you were here,” he said without preamble. As if he’d forgotten, he offered a perfunctory bow. “May I help you, my lady?”

  The footman must be Bruce. Juliana tilted her chin and assumed her haughtiest manner. “You may indicate what garments his lordship was wearing last night.”

  The valet, for that must be what he was, stared, but as Juliana continued to stand rigid and arrogant, he sighed and went over to the basket. He rummaged through and pulled out clothes Juliana vaguely recognized.

  Her mind flashed back to the sight of Lord Coddington, lying on his stomach, the full skirt of the brocade coat spread out around him, the blood seeping into it. Gritting her teeth, she took it from the man. It stank of black powder, pungent and acrid. “Thank you. Was this a new coat?”

  “No, my lady. His lordship had it a year at least.” The valet folded his arms and widened his stance in a protective way.

  “Did you search it?”

  “No!” The valet’s revulsion echoed off the silk-clad walls.

  Since she could expect no help from him, Juliana spread the coat out on the empty bed, which had Holland covers protecting it. The brocade glinted evilly, where the brown stains did not tarnish the thread. Juliana braced herself. She knew where to find pockets in a man’s coat, and she went straight for them.

  Perhaps they had missed something last night. But apart from a handkerchief, stiff with blood, the coat pockets were empty.

  The valet brought the waistcoat over to her, holding it with the finger and thumb of each hand, at arm’s length. He dropped it next to the coat. Juliana gave her attention to it. The gold threads Parrish had found in the wound had their duplicates here.

  The garment had been stripped of its buttons, ready for the ragbag or pawnshop. She doubted any pawnshop would take it in this state, but they might display it and charge the public to see it. A repellent thought, but entirely possible, if the valet had his wits about him when he sold it. The waistcoat a man had been wearing when he was murdered would raise a good sum.

  She felt in the pockets. Two tiny placketed ones at the front where his watch and chain would have rested, and the small ones in the side seams, meant for coins and keys.

  This time she found something. She pulled it out and discovered a coin. No, not a coin. A token in some base metal, with a design stamped on it, like the ones they’d found on Coddington’s coat. She couldn’t make out the stamp in the gloom of the curtained room. Was it the same as the ones they’d found in Coddington’s coat? Holding it out on her palm, she showed the valet. “Do you recognize this?”

  “A token, my lady, such as men use in gaming houses.”

  “Did his lordship enjoy gaming?”

  A pause. “Sometimes.”

  Most men did, but that pause was telling, as if the valet knew more than he wanted to say. “Did her ladyship know about his gambling?”

  He cleared his throat. “Of course, my lady.”

  This was like wringing water from a stone. “Did she share his interest in gambling?”

  “I could not say, my lady.”

  Or would not. Of course he knew. Was that why Lord Coddington had gone to events on his own? Or did he have another interest? There was only one way to find out. “Did Lord Coddington have a mistress?”

  “My lady!”

  She graced him with a slightly raised brow. “You think I don’t know of such things?”

  She had sometimes wondered if Ash had one, but she’d never asked. He might give the answer she did not want, and it surprised her that she cared. They did not have that kind of marriage. But convenience had turned to friendship and affection, and now, here they were.

  “If he had a woman in keeping, you would know.”

  The man remained silent, lips primmed tightly.

  “Come on now. If he had a woman, she could be responsible for his murder, could she not?” She was losing patience. “My husband and I try to deal with these matters discreetly. We can make inquiries and dismiss the possibility without ever having to mention it publicly, or we can ask the question openly at the inquest or a subsequent trial. The choice is yours.”

  The valet lifted his respectful gaze and met her eyes. After a fraught few seconds, he sighed. “His lordship had a mistress, but I am not sure if she was still in his keeping. He tends to keep one for a few years. As far as I know, her ladyship does not know. Or if she does, she keeps the knowledge close.”

  “So if I asked her?”

  “She will not respond in any coherent way.”

  Juliana believed that, having witnessed her ladyship’s incoherency earlier. “Were you fond of Lord Coddington?”

  “It is not my place to be fond of him.” The valet seemed almost offended. “I am his employee.”

  “Was.”

  His gaze fell. “Yes, was. Once I have dealt with his lordship’s possessions, her ladyship will have no further use for me.”

  “I have no doubt you will obtain another position quickly. Please inform us how we may get in touch with you if we need to. I doubt we will,” she went on to assure him. “But just in case.”

  “I will inform you, my lady. May I send to your lodgings?”

  “Yes. In Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”

  He bowed stiffly. “I am your servant, my lady.”

  She wouldn’t go that far.

  Chapter Nine

  Juliana couldn’t deny the relief she felt as she stepped through the front door of her house, as if shedding her outer skin.

  As she went to the stairs, Baynon murmured, “Miss Ashendon has a visitor, my lady.”

  “Ah. Should I leave them to it, or have tea served upstairs?”

  “I will make the order, my lady. A tray was taken up half an hour ago.”

  Wondering at the butler’s conspiratorial tone, Juliana climbed the stairs. She’d intended to change out of her street clothes but instead, she headed for the drawing room.

  In order to alert the people inside, she made more noise than usual opening the door. A man got to his feet, and the rustle of silk indicated Amelia had followed suit.

  Juliana assessed him. A man of moderate height, dressed modestly, but with a pleasant face bowed to her.

  “Juliana, may I introduce you to Mr. Barnaby Redring? Barnaby, this is Lady Ashendon.”

  “Mr. Redring? Mr. John Redring’s son?” Juliana said after she’d curtseyed.

  That explained the man’s presence here, although finding him alone with Amelia didn’t please Juliana. The son of the manager of Ash’s law firm had arrived.

  “Yes, my lady. My father called me back from the Scottish office. The business has expanded of late, and he needs another pair of hands.”

  “I see.”

  “I invited him to dinner,” Amelia said firmly. “Barnaby and I are old friends. We’ve known each other since I came to London, used to see each other every day until Barnaby married and went north.”

  “
We did,” Barnaby said. “But after my wife died, my father asked me to come home.” Before Juliana could murmur her condolences, he continued, “I trust I’m not ruining your plans for dinner?”

  “Of course not.” She smiled at him. She wouldn’t call him handsome, exactly, but his smile and his soft, brown eyes made him pleasing to look at. “I take it my husband knows you’re coming?”

  A flush tinged his cheekbones. “I called to let Am—Miss Ashendon know to set an extra place, but yes, Sir Edmund knows that I am expected back.”

  “And you left the Scottish office to the tender care of someone else?” Or had Ash disinvested in the north? By his own admission, he’d never been farther north than Bedford. Scotland was, in more ways than one, another country to him.

  “Yes, my lady. I waited for my replacement’s arrival, then packed my bags and came south.”

  With some relief, she inferred from his expression. The story of his marriage intrigued her, but she could hardly ask him outright if he’d been happy. Perhaps he had, and his relief came from leaving his old life, and the sad memories that went with it, behind him.

  “You trained in London?” she asked, indicating they should sit. She deliberately took her place next to Amelia, so that Mr. Redring had to sit in the chair opposite.

  “I did. After I came down from university, I went straight into the office. My father and Sir Edmund considered me suitable for the Scottish office when Catriona and I...” He trailed off.

  Something lay beneath that embarrassment, the way he did not speak freely of his late wife. And to send someone so young to run an office either spoke of exceptional talent or an effort to get rid of someone.

  The front door opened and closed, and voices murmured. Already she could discern her husband’s quiet tones. And in a very few minutes, he arrived in the drawing room, followed by a maid bearing a second tea tray. Ash opened the door for the woman, making Juliana smile.

  He caught her in the smile and gave her one of his own before turning to their visitor. “Ah, Barnaby! Back from the wilds of the north, I see. I’m delighted to see you. No, please don’t get up,” he added as Barnaby hurriedly stood and then sat again. “Have you introduced yourselves?”