by Anne Ashley
Hugo nodded. ‘Well, she certainly hadn’t been strangled. There was no sign of bruising round the throat. There was, however, a deal of laudanum in that hot toddy you made her.’
Ruth frowned. ‘I recall you saying something of the sort at the time. And it is true Dr Maddox prescribed a draught containing laudanum. I asked him particularly about that. But he assured me the dose wasn’t strong, just sufficient to help her sleep when the need arose.’
‘But what had been contained in that nightcap had been strong,’ he assured her. ‘It was quite discernible in the dregs that remained.’
Perplexed, Ruth frowned. ‘Why should she have taken laudanum? That toddy would have been sufficient to send her to sleep. You saw me make it yourself,’ she reminded him. ‘I wasn’t exactly sparing with the brandy, which she always preferred in preference to rum.
‘You assisted me by carrying it upstairs,’ she further recalled, when he continued to stare at her searchingly, much as he had done at the time of the death. ‘She must have added the laudanum herself, except...’
‘Except what, Miss Harrington?’ he prompted, when she turned her head to stare resolutely down at the hearth in silence.
‘Except, if she did add anything to that nightcap herself, I cannot imagine she added too much by accident. She did suffer periods of disturbed sleep, haunted by recurring nightmares. At such times she would make use of the draught kept in her bedside cupboard. But she knew precisely how many drops to add to her nightcap.’
The deepening frown betrayed her growing concern. ‘Something else about that night has been troubling me, too, of late. Lady Bea wasn’t prone to vastly contrasting mood swings, at least not during the decade I lived under her roof. To a certain extent she was an indolent creature, fiercely protective of her peace and quiet, rarely bestirring herself unless necessary. I never knew her to betray the least enthusiasm for anything. Yet, that night she was strangely animated, like an excited child who had been presented with a new toy. I recall I put the change I perceived in her down to presiding over a table with more guests than had been under her roof in many years. But in recent days I have thought long and hard about that particular evening.’
At last Ruth raised her eyes from the contemplation of the logs in the hearth and looked directly at the gentleman with whom she had always felt so surprisingly at ease. ‘Do you recall what she spoke about that night, sir? I thought at the time it was a most inappropriate topic of conversation for the dining table.’
‘I’m afraid, Miss Harrington, you must put my appalling recollection down to my declining years,’ Hugo responded, after having cast his mind back unproductively. ‘I must beg you to refresh my memory.’
She obliged without hesitation. ‘Lady Beatrice raised the alarming subject of committing murder, remarking, among other things, how easy it would be for someone to conceal such a crime.’
‘Ah!’ Hugo raised one finger triumphantly. ‘It’s such a relief to know I’m not quite yet in my dotage. Yes, I do now recall. She remarked about concealing a corpse on a battlefield, if I remember correctly.’ His gaze once again grew searching. ‘And you now suppose that that conversation ultimately resulted in the lady’s demise?’
‘Well, don’t you, if she didn’t die of natural causes?’ she returned in a flash. ‘Remember, she declared that any one of us seated round that table could be a murderer and that no one else would know—that it was impossible just by looking at someone to know whether he or she was capable of committing such an act.’
Tossing what was left in his glass down his throat, Hugo went across to his desk and began to rummage through a particular drawer for a certain something he’d placed there for safekeeping several months before. It was a moment or two before he was successful. He then rejoined his guest by the hearth, placing the fruits of his search in the palm of her hand.
‘A piece of lace...?’ Ruth continued to study the remnant in frowning silence, all the time realising that it must be in some way significant. ‘Where did it come from, sir?’
‘I extracted it from Lady Beatrice’s clenched left hand,’ he finally revealed, after resuming his seat. ‘And it was torn from the left side of the pillow directly beneath her head. I should add that I discovered all this whilst you and the doctor were speaking over by the door.’
For safety’s sake, Ruth placed her glass on the table by her chair. Although it would have been true to say that, increasingly, she had begun to suspect her benefactress’s death had not been all that it had seemed, to have her worst fears confirmed did come as something of a shock.
Still not quite wanting to believe it, she forced herself to say what she felt sure her companion had suspected all along. ‘You believe then that, some time during that night, someone entered Lady Beatrice’s room, and smothered her with her own pillow...after first having attempted to drug her with laudanum so that she would put up no struggle, or cry out?’
Without waiting for the answer, Ruth went over to one of the tall sash windows and stared out on to a sizeable patch of well-maintained garden that was showing even more evidence of spring than her own back at Dunsterford Hall.
‘Had she been strangled then I would instinctively have suspected a man. But a woman could quite easily smother someone, most especially if the victim had been drugged first. Did you ever suspect anyone in particular?’
When again he didn’t attempt to respond, she turned to look directly at him. Although he continued to stare steadfastly down at the carpet near his feet, his seeming reluctance to meet her gaze she felt was answer enough.
The wry smile that touched her lips was in no way forced, simply because she couldn’t find it within herself to feel in the least resentful. ‘I see,’ she said softly. ‘And quite understandable, if I may say so. After all, I had most to gain by the lady’s demise. Moreover, I of course had easy access to her bedchamber.’
After contemplating the patch of carpet by his feet for a few more moments, Hugo at last met her gaze; a gaze so level, so earnest, that it told him all he needed to know. ‘I will not insult your intelligence, Miss Harrington, by suggesting I never considered such a possibility for a moment. That said, even at the time, I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe you capable of such a thing... And now I’m convinced of it.
‘Which means, of course,’ he continued after wandering across to the decanters, ‘that if a murder was committed—and I strongly suspect if not murder, then something untoward definitely occurred in that bedchamber—then one of those putting up at the house that night must surely be the guilty party, as I don’t for a moment suspect it was one of the servants.’
Declining the offer of a second glass of Madeira, Ruth resumed her seat by the hearth, then waited until he had rejoined her. ‘No, I don’t believe it was one of the servants, either. Apart from anything else, why on earth should any one of them wish to dispose of the person who provided him or her with a livelihood? It just doesn’t make sense. But then, I cannot imagine any one of those taking shelter that night calmly entering Lady Beatrice’s bedchamber, with malice aforethought, and placing a pillow over her—
‘Oh, good Lord!’
Her expression, somewhere between comical dismay and mortification, amused Hugo. ‘What is it now, Miss Harrington? Don’t tell me you’ve already solved the mystery and have hit upon the guilty party?’
‘No, sir... But whoever it was didn’t gain entry to Lady Beatrice’s bedchamber from the passageway. The door was locked. I locked it myself.’
‘May I be permitted to know why you locked it?’
‘Because I was asked to do so by Lady Beatrice herself. She said she felt somewhat nervous with so many strangers in the house.’
‘With good reason, as things turned out,’ Hugo commented drily. Then he grew serious again, concentrating his thoughts. ‘Which means access was gained via your bedchamber, I imagin
e.’
‘There was no other way,’ she confirmed.
‘And you heard and saw nothing?’
‘I’m not certain,’ she answered, scrupulously truthful. ‘I do recall being disturbed by something that night. I did wake, as it happens, if only briefly. But I heard and saw nothing, except the flicker of candlelight beneath the communicating door. As I’ve already mentioned, Lady Beatrice was sometimes an indifferent sleeper and would often read well into the night. So I thought nothing of it and went straight back to sleep, little realising...’ All at once an involuntary shudder ran through her. ‘It’s a wonder I wasn’t murdered as well.’
Hugo smiled reassuringly. ‘I doubt you were ever in any real danger, Miss Harrington. No, Lady Beatrice Lindley was the intended victim. Her death, I strongly suspect, was, indeed, the direct result of what had been uttered at the dinner table. And I also strongly suspect that the reason for it lies somewhere in her past...quite distant past.’
‘Yes, I rather think you’re right, sir,’ Ruth agreed, before rising to her feet. ‘So, I shall not uncover the truth back at Dunsterford Hall, shall I?’
Hugo automatically rose also, but stared down at her suspiciously as a rather disturbing possibility was at that precise moment crossing his mind. ‘You’re not thinking of attempting to take the matter further, I trust, Miss Harrington? If you take my advice you’ll return to Somerset and forget about the whole thing. The world believes Lady Beatrice died of natural causes. This might yet turn out to be the case. It might be best all round if things are left as they are.’
Ruth couldn’t mistake the genuine concern in his eyes, in his deep, attractively masculine voice also, and was moved by it. None the less, it quite failed to weaken her resolve.
‘Sir, thanks to the generosity of Lady Beatrice I shall live a very comfortable existence for the rest of my life. It’s the least I can do to attempt to discover the truth about the happenings of that night. I hold myself entirely to blame for not securing the services of a second doctor at the time. Had I done so the authorities might have decided to look into the matter. I doubt very much they would be interested in doing so now, with so little evidence to go on—a piece of torn lace and the sketchy memories of a dinnertime conversation.’ She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘The whole thing seems so implausible. I don’t even know whether I quite believe it myself, entirely... But, as I’ve mentioned before, I owe it to Lady Beatrice to do my utmost to uncover the truth if I can.’
Hugo ran impatient fingers through his thick and slightly waving hair. ‘So, what do you intend to do now?’ he demanded somewhat testily.
‘Why, travel on to London, of course, and discover all I can about Lady Bea’s past,’ she answered, surprised that he felt the need to ask, especially as he had suggested that course of action in the first place. Honest to the last, she added, ‘I don’t quite know how I’m to set about it, as I’m not of Lady Beatrice’s world. But I dare say something will have occurred to me before I reach my journey’s end.’
Hugo stared down at her, now, in exasperation. Had she been a raw recruit under his command during his years in the army he would have known exactly how to deal with the situation. As it was, he felt powerless to prevent her from doing precisely as she wished. Which, of course, only fuelled his frustration still further and, amazingly, gave rise yet again to that overwhelming desire to protect her.
Unfortunately, before he could attempt to reason with her further, she disarmed him completely by boldly reaching for his right hand and holding it, oh, so gently captive between both her own.
‘Sir, I cannot express my thanks adequately enough for your assistance in this matter,’ she said, releasing her clasp far too soon for his liking. ‘I shall not importune you further by taking up any more of your time. But I should very much like to write to you to let you know how I progress, if you do not object?’
Hugo declined to answer. Instead, he saw her safely to her hired carriage, where he made his final farewells. Then, he wasted no time in returning to his library, where he once again rummaged through a certain drawer in his desk, until he had succeeded in locating several folded sheets of paper. Just why he had retained them, he didn’t know. Yet, now, he felt he had been destined to do so, just as he had been destined to stay in that certain house on the edge of a moor for one unforgettable night all those months ago.
Half-smiling, he went over to the bell pull situated by the hearth, and gave it a sharp tug.
‘Send Finn to me, Mrs Bailey,’ he ordered when she entered in answer to the summons. ‘Then arrange for the two large trunks to be brought down from the attic. I have decided upon a protracted stay in the capital. If all goes to plan, I shall be leaving early in the morning.’
Chapter Five
‘London!’ Still somewhat awestruck, Agatha gazed dreamily above the breakfast table at a spot somewhere behind her young mistress’s head. ‘Whoever would have thought it, eh, miss? You wait till I tell them all back at Dunsterford Hall that I’ve been to London. They’ll scarce believe me!’
‘Oh, I expect they will, Aggie,’ Ruth countered, nowhere near as excited as her maid at the prospect of visiting the metropolis for the very first time in her life. ‘As soon as Mr Pearce receives the letter I sent him yesterday, he’ll visit the Hall and deal with everything there on my behalf.’ Her frown betrayed her concern even before she added, ‘I can only hope he manages to arrange the transfer of ample funds, enough for our needs, fairly swiftly. I’ve sufficient, I hope, for the time being at least.’
She refused to be unduly concerned over financial matters at this early stage, even though she was sensible enough to appreciate that residing in the capital for any length of time was likely to put a severe strain on her purse. ‘I dare say we’ll have time enough to do plenty of sightseeing whilst we’re there,’ she continued, attempting to generate some of her maid’s enthusiasm. ‘But we mustn’t lose sight of the real reason for our visit.’
At this reminder, the maid’s smile faded. ‘Do you know, miss, I just can’t believe any one of those people did for Lady Bea.’ Having been taken fully into her young mistress’s confidence during supper the evening before, Agatha shook her head, genuinely perplexed. ‘They all seemed so...ordinary, somehow, not the murdering kind at all.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Ruth agreed. ‘Yet I’m more convinced than ever now, after talking things over with Colonel Prentiss, that Lady Beatrice’s death, if not murder, was distinctly suspicious. Something untoward happened that night. I sense it in every fibre of my being, just as the Colonel did all those months ago.’
‘Well, all I can say is if it does turn out to be true, then I expect the mistress deserved it. And it’s no good you looking at me like that, miss!’ Agatha continued, after receiving a reproachful look. ‘You’re bound to think the best of her. It’s only natural you should, after what she did for you in the end. But there’s no getting away from the fact that there was a spiteful, selfish streak in Lady Bea’s nature, so there was. The only person she ever really cared about was herself.
‘And another thing,’ she went on, seemingly determined to have her full say in the matter, ‘you can bet your sweet life she had a good reason for leaving you her money. And I don’t believe for a moment it had anything to do with loving you like a daughter. Why, she had no such nice feelings! If you asks me, she left you all her money to spite her family and for no other reason!’
Ruth would dearly have liked to say something in Lady Beatrice’s defence, but was too honest a person to make the attempt. The simple truth was, of course, she didn’t know why Lady Beatrice Lindley had seen fit to be so generous towards her. Oh, there was no denying they’d rubbed along very well together, had from the first. They had enjoyed each other’s company for the most part. Yet, there had been no strong bond of affection between them. As Agatha had so clearly pointed out—her
late mistress hadn’t been a female given to displays of strong emotion.
She sighed. ‘You might be right, Aggie. But I cannot help feeling rather ashamed that, in all the years I lived at Dunsterford Hall, I never really tried to get to know Lady Bea, not really; never tried to discover precisely why she chose to live the life of a virtual recluse. I just went along, year in, year out, accepting the situation as it was, never once attempting to change things. Had I done so, I just might have succeeded in bringing a little happiness into her life. She did live such a joyless existence, you know.’
Before Agatha could even attempt to utter a response, the door behind unexpectedly opened and the young serving maid who had brought them their breakfast earlier entered the private parlour to say that a gentleman had called, wishful to speak to Miss Harrington.
Curious to know who might wish to see her, as she was a stranger to the area, Ruth was about to demand the gentleman’s name, when the person in question strolled boldly into the room, taking her completely by surprise, in much the same way as she had done to him the previous day.
‘Why, Colonel Prentiss! This is an unexpected pleasure!’
‘A pleasure, I sincerely hope, Miss Harrington. But not unexpected, I trust. Surely you didn’t imagine I would permit you to embark on your quest unaccompanied? What a very poor opinion you must hold of me if you did!’
Although nothing could have been further from the truth, Ruth could scarce own as much without seeming forward, or causing a deal of embarrassment to herself. Moreover, she wasn’t altogether sure she had understood him correctly, so she merely asked, ‘Did I understand you to say that it is your intention to accompany me to London, sir?’
‘You did,’ Hugo confirmed, eyeing the coffeepot with distinct pleasure, as he had been obliged to break his fast that morning in something of a hurry so as to ensure his timely arrival at the inn. ‘But first, I should be exceedingly grateful if you would share the contents of your coffeepot with me before we set out on this adventure together.’