Death Comes to the Nursery

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Before we start, you should be aware that your father refused to divulge any information about his mistress to me,” Robert volunteered. “In truth, he claimed that all was well, and that she was still living happily in Maida Vale.”

  Neville grimaced. “She’s not there. She ran off over a month ago, taking a substantial sum of cash and all the jewelry my father foolishly bestowed on her.”

  “You did not approve of the liaison?”

  “Why would we?” Trevor answered him. “She is younger than us, and hardly the kind of woman a man of our father’s class should be associating with.”

  “It is not uncommon for elderly men to take young mistresses,” Robert pointed out. “Perhaps he was lonely.”

  Trevor snorted. “Or he was beguiled by a pretty face and an avaricious mind.”

  “I thought your father was a renowned businessman? I doubt he would allow himself to be ‘beguiled,’ ” Robert continued. “Does your father realize that Flora Rosa is missing?”

  “Of course, he does,” Trevor said.

  “Then why did he deny it?”

  Neville sighed. “I think he is feeling ashamed for being bamboozled, and the thought of anyone outside the family knowing what happened is embarrassing for him.”

  Robert sat back as the waiter placed his pot of coffee in front of him. “Thank you. Where do you believe Flora Rosa is now?”

  Neville cleared his throat, his anxious gaze on his brother. “I assumed—we both assumed—that she had taken up with another man.”

  “Why would you assume that?” Robert asked.

  “Why would we not?” Neville raised his eyebrows. “Flora is well known as an actress and an ambitious woman. There are many gentlemen who would be happy to become her protector.”

  Robert considered his options and decided to be blunt. He had an awful sensation that he was running out of time to solve Flora’s murder.

  “Then I regret to inform you that she is dead.”

  “God, no!” Neville blurted out, his voice shaking with emotion.

  “I . . . I beg your pardon?” Trevor croaked. “Did you say dead?”

  “Murdered, actually,” Robert said. “That’s what I came to tell your father today. I need someone to come down to Kurland St. Mary to identify her body.”

  The brothers glanced at each other.

  “We both met her. We could identify her,” Trevor said hesitantly. “We had no idea . . . we thought she’d just moved on to another man.”

  “It’s certainly complicated,” Robert said diplomatically. “But if one of you were willing to come down to Kurland St. Mary and make sure that we have the right woman, we could get on with the business of giving her a proper burial.”

  Trevor patted his brother’s arm as Neville struggled to speak. “It’s all right. I can go. I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

  “No, you can’t—I mean, I must—” Neville shot to his feet, his face pale. “If you will excuse me for a moment, Sir Robert?”

  Trevor waited until Neville was out of earshot before turning back to Robert. “I do apologize for my brother’s behavior. He’s terribly upset. He was the first person to meet Flora Rosa, and he was vastly taken with her. He made the mistake of introducing her to our father, and that was that.” He grimaced. “The little bitch changed her allegiance in a flash.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but perhaps, as things stand, your brother was well rid of her.”

  Trevor sipped his coffee. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but I think we’re all well rid of her. Hopefully, next time, my father will form a liaison with someone more suitable.”

  “Would you object if I went to visit Flora’s house in Maida Vale?” Robert asked.

  “Not at all.” Trevor produced one of his cards and wrote the address on the back of it. “Just give this to Mrs. Pell, tell her I sent you, and she’ll be happy to let you in.”

  * * *

  As they traveled away from the center of the city, Lucy glanced out of the carriage window, watching the houses gradually become less grand and the vistas less opulent. When Robert had returned from meeting Viscount Gravely and his two sons, she had been hard pressed to hide her frustration at the way the discussion had gone. She couldn’t fault Robert for his direct attempt to alert the Gravelys to the fate of Flora Rosa, but she wished she’d been there to aid him.

  “What if Dr. Fletcher is right?” Robert suddenly spoke after sitting in frowning contemplation for the past half an hour.

  “Right about what?” Lucy asked.

  “That the murderer came to kill Polly Carter and accidentally killed Flora instead?”

  “I suppose it is possible,” Lucy allowed. “But my inclination is to believe that Flora Rosa was killed for herself. She certainly stirred up something of a hornet’s nest in her life, didn’t she? I can’t imagine what it would be like to have men fighting over me.”

  “I’d fight for you,” Robert observed.

  “Of course, you would, my dear.” She smiled fondly at him. “But we are speaking of Polly Carter, who appears to have been working as a seamstress at the theater while Flora Rosa acted on the stage and acquired a large crowd of admirers.”

  “But what if Flora saw Polly being killed and fled to Kurland St. Mary to avoid the same fate?” Robert speculated.

  “Flora had the protection of a peer of the realm. Do you not think she would’ve asked him to direct the authorities to investigate Polly’s murderer?”

  “I suppose that would’ve been the sensible thing to do.” Robert pondered the matter for a moment. “What do you make of the two sons being involved in the matter?”

  “It sounds remarkably embarrassing to me.” Lucy shuddered. “Why on earth would an older man take his son’s mistress away from him?”

  “Because he could? And because Flora realized that the father would be more able to support her financially? We don’t know for certain that Flora was Neville’s mistress, just that he met her first. Needless to say, neither of the Gravely sons have much love for Flora Rosa any longer.”

  Lucy held onto the strap as the carriage turned a sharp corner into a tree-lined street of modest terraced houses with small front gardens.

  “Were they really shocked to hear that she was dead?”

  “I’d say so.” Robert paused. “Although neither of them seemed particularly surprised. The only person who showed any real emotion was Neville, the younger son. He was so devastated he could barely speak.” Robert sighed. “In truth, the sons seemed relieved that Flora was no longer around to bother their father.”

  Lucy had no answer for that. The carriage, which they had rented at the local mews, slowed down and eventually stopped opposite one of the identical yellow-bricked houses.

  Robert looked out of the window and checked the number on the door. “This must be the place.” He got out from the carriage, spoke to the driver, and then came around to help Lucy down. “I told him to come back in two hours. That should give us sufficient time to search the place and interview the remaining staff.”

  Lucy went ahead of him, opened the cast-iron gate, and went up the central path to the square-set house. It was modest in size, consisting of a bow-fronted window on either side of the front door with two identical stories above it.

  Robert knocked on the door, which was opened by a middle-aged woman who didn’t look particularly pleased to see them.

  “Are you Mrs. Pell?” Robert asked. “I have a note for you from Mr. Trevor Gravely.”

  Mrs. Pell insisted on inspecting Trevor Gravely’s card very carefully before she allowed Lucy and Robert inside the door.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” She stomped off to the back of the house, leaving Lucy and Robert alone in the narrow hall.

  “Charming,” Robert murmured.

  “Where shall we begin?” Lucy asked.

  “How about we start at the top and work our way down on either side of the house?” Robert suggested. “I doubt we will find m
uch to interest us, but we should be as thorough as possible.”

  “Agreed.” Lucy raised the hem of her skirt and went up the stairs. “And when I am finished, I will go and speak to Mrs. Pell in the kitchen.”

  “You think you will finish more quickly than I will?” Robert asked.

  “Naturally.” Lucy raised her chin.

  “You are probably right. And when I am done, I will question any male staff still in residence.”

  Neither of them spent much time in the attics because it appeared that most of the staff that had tended Flora Rosa either lived out or had already left. Lucy was more certain of success when she opened a door on the first floor and was engulfed in a wave of stale perfume.

  Robert disappeared into the opposite room, which smelled of cigar smoke and which had probably been occupied by Viscount Gravely.

  Lucy stood with her back against the door and surveyed the bedchamber. There was a large four-poster bed made up with pink and lace linen, two comfortable chairs by the fire, and a chest of drawers. An ornate dressing table took advantage of the light pouring through the front window of the house. To Lucy’s disappointment, it was remarkably devoid of substance or character. Flora’s room at Kurland Hall had displayed more of her tastes and personality than this blank space.

  It was fairly obvious that someone must have been in and tidied up everything after Flora’s departure. Was it Mrs. Pell? Or had Polly Carter come to the house and removed all traces of the woman she was trying to help?

  Refusing to be thwarted, Lucy set about opening drawers, peering into cupboards, and checking under the bed. The dressing table held no hairbrushes or cosmetics, and the perfume that still lingered in the sir had long been packed away. From all accounts, Flora had not arrived at Kurland Hall with much luggage, so where had everything gone? Where were her London gowns, hats, and outdoor wear?

  Robert said the Gravely sons had suggested that Flora had been given a lot of jewelry, yet Lucy had found only one necklace and a couple of rings among Flora’s possessions. The more Lucy thought about it, the more she was convinced that the rest of Flora’s things must be somewhere else.

  In the back of one of the dresser drawers, Lucy discovered a note that had half-slipped under the back of the drawer, leaving a ripped piece behind. She carefully drew it out and considered the words.

  Meet me after the performance, or else I’ll tell him—

  She didn’t recognize the handwriting but did wonder at the implied threat. Was this simply another note from an unwanted admirer that Flora had stuffed in the drawer? Or had she kept it for a reason? Lucy was beginning to believe that the life of a beautiful actress involved far more hazards than she had ever imagined. Perhaps it was better to lack talent and looks, and be loved just for yourself.

  There was an interior door leading into a shared dressing room that reached across the front of the house to the room next door. Lucy walked into it and noticed that none of the cupboards had clothes in them. She went to open the door into the other side and found it locked.

  “Robert? Are you still in there?” Lucy knocked on the wooden panel.

  Her husband opened the door and regarded her keenly. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  “Not really. I suspect that someone has cleaned up very carefully.” She looked up at him. “But where are all Flora’s things? She certainly didn’t take them to Kurland St. Mary.”

  “Maybe she pawned them to afford her ticket on the mail coach, or perhaps the servants here disposed of everything on Viscount Gravely’s orders.”

  “Was there anything of interest in his room?” Lucy asked in return.

  “Nothing—except the man obviously likes cramming his personal rooms with as many artifacts as a museum.” He pointed at the far wall. “I wonder if he personally shot all those stuffed animals?”

  “I thought you said that he was sickly?”

  “He is now.” Robert grimaced. “Perhaps he is trying to recapture the glories of his youth—which would also explain his desire to set up a woman young enough to be his granddaughter as his mistress.”

  She showed him the scrap of note, and he sighed.

  “Poor Flora. I am beginning to feel that most of the men in her life were not very kind to her.”

  “I suspect you are right.” Lucy eased a hand onto the small of her back as the baby kicked hard. “Do you think you could deal with the two downstairs rooms while I go and speak to Mrs. Pell?”

  Robert’s keen gaze searched her face. “Are you overdoing it?”

  “I would certainly like to sit down for a while, but other than that, I am feeling quite well,” Lucy retorted.

  “Then go.” He offered her an elaborate bow. “And good luck getting Mrs. Pell to reveal anything at all.”

  Lucy went down the stairs and made her way to the back of the house, where Mrs. Pell was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea beside her. The housekeeper didn’t bother to get up or even offer Lucy a greeting, which didn’t really surprise her. Having dealt with the awfulness of Mrs. Fielding, who had been both her father’s cook and bed warmer in the rectory for years, Lucy wasn’t easily cowed.

  Lucy rubbed a hand over her rounded stomach. “Do you have another cup somewhere? I would love some tea.”

  “Third cupboard on the right of the stove. Help yourself.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Lucy found a cup and took it to the table. She sat directly opposite Mrs. Pell and helped herself to the contents of the teapot and the plate of shortbread that sat beside it.

  “What wonderful shortbread, Mrs. Pell. Did you make it?”

  “I did.”

  “Then Flora Rosa was a lucky woman to have you as her cook and housekeeper.” Lucy munched determinedly on the dry biscuit. “And the house is kept so well. I wish my housekeeper was as dedicated as you are, Mrs. Pell.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Mrs. Pell offered her the plate again. “Have another piece.”

  “Thank you.” Lucy smiled at the woman. “Do you have a family, Mrs. Pell?”

  “I have three of my own, and two grandchildren; one boy is three and the other five.”

  Lucy undid her coat to show her rounded stomach. “I have a two-year-old son and another child due at Christmas. Which is why I am appreciating your shortbread, as I find I get tired and hungry during the day.”

  “My daughter was the same way,” Mrs. Pell said grudgingly. “Like a little rabbit, always nibbling on something.”

  Lucy chuckled. Mrs. Pell’s expression softened fractionally as Lucy asked her a thousand questions about her grandchildren and family. Growing up in a rectory and having to take her mother’s place in coping with the parishioners had given Lucy the perfect set of skills to converse with anyone. After a while, she guided the conversation back to her original purpose.

  “I suspect you are wondering why Sir Robert and I are invading your house while your mistress is missing.” Lucy sipped her strong tea.

  “You’re not the first to come barging in here, my lady, and I doubt you will be the last.”

  “Oh? Who else has come?”

  Mrs. Pell crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Did a woman named Polly Carter ever come here?” Lucy asked. “Her cousin Agnes works in my nursery. I had hoped to deliver a letter to Polly from Agnes while I was in London.”

  Mrs. Pell stared at her for a long time before she reluctantly opened her mouth again. Perhaps it was not going to be as easy as Lucy had anticipated. “Polly did mention she had a cousin called Agnes.”

  Lucy fought to conceal a spurt of triumph as another piece of the puzzle slid into place.

  “Agnes is very good at her job. I believe she was attempting to persuade Polly to forgo her work at the theater and come and work for me.” Lucy patted her stomach. “As I am expecting again, I am eager to add to my nursery staff.”

  “Polly was a good girl,” Mrs. Pell commented.

  “I spoke with her mother recently. She hadn’t seen P
olly for a while.” Lucy ventured into more problematical territory. “Has she been to see you since your mistress left?”

  Mrs. Pell made a great show of pouring herself more tea and pursed her lips in thought. “I don’t rightly know when I last saw Polly.”

  “She didn’t help Flora Rosa leave here?”

  “That dratted girl left in the middle of the night without telling anyone where she was going,” Mrs. Pell said. “And the mess she left you wouldn’t believe!”

  “How horrible for you,” Lucy said sympathetically. “Did you have to clean everything yourself, or did you have help?”

  “We had a maid back then—Marjory, who also works next door—and she helped me set things to rights.” Mrs. Pell shook her head. “I had to send young Paul, the boot boy, to tell Viscount Gravely that she’d gone and to send the stable hands out looking for her.” She sighed. “No one could find a trace of the stupid girl.”

  “Well, leaving in the middle of the night is never very wise,” Lucy agreed. “How awfully trying for you and your staff.”

  “Viscount Gravely didn’t come himself, but he sent Mr. Neville and Mr. Trevor, and they did their best to help. Mr. Neville was beside himself.”

  “Where do you think Flora went?” Lucy asked.

  “To another man?” Mrs. Pell sniffed. “We all know that actresses are just better-dressed whores, don’t we?”

  “Has anyone seen her with another man since she left?”

  “Not that I know of. She’s probably staying indoors until the fuss dies down and her new protector can come to some kind of financial arrangement with Viscount Gravely.”

  “Was she hard to work for, then?” Lucy added more tea to Mrs. Pell’s cup.

  “To be fair, she wasn’t much trouble, and she was always very pleasant to me. She didn’t hold parties here, and she kept very much to herself, entertaining only the viscount when he turned up, which wasn’t often, and going to work at the Prince of Wales.”

  “When you decided she was unlikely to come back, did you box up her clothes to send them on to her?”

  “No need. She stripped the place bare when she left.” Mrs. Pell’s truculent tone emerged again. “It was my day off. I’d been down to Southend to see my sister. When I returned, she’d up and gone during the night.”