The Devil in Beauty: A Lord Trevelin Mystery (The Lord Trevelin Mysteries Book 1)

by Ashworth, Heidi

  I forced aside a throb of my own grief. My pain was not for Mr. Gilbert, but for Willy, who it seemed had, since the accident, endured his mother’s patent preference for her younger son. It was a rejection that might have prompted a lesser man than Willy to murder. “Then we must think of what else might have happened; an intruder, perhaps? A burglary gone awry? Is there any evidence that a stranger was in the house?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Gilbert said in a low voice. “A key to the kitchen door has gone missing. The knife,” she whispered, “was from the kitchen as well.”

  “The constable didn’t seem the least interested in that information, however,” Mr. Gilbert bellowed. “They claim Willy took the key to make it appear as if someone entered the house from outside. But that is ridiculous, as Willy could not have taken the key. He cannot manage the stairs to the kitchen on his own.”

  “They are most certainly catching at straws,” I allowed. “However, someone has taken it. Whoever has it is most likely the person responsible for so much misery. Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert, have I your permission to question your household?”

  “Yes, of course. We are grateful for your assistance, as well as that of he you have not named,” Mr. Gilbert replied.

  We both knew we spoke of George Canning. I acknowledged Mr. Gilbert’s words with an inclination of my head. “Tell me more about John. Why was he not away at school?”

  Mr. Gilbert tsked and turned away. “She could not bear to part with her son, even for the sake of his education,” he said scornfully.

  I felt Rey’s gaze on me and we shared a glance that begged the selfsame question: Was John not as much Mr. Gilbert’s son as his wife’s?

  “Did he have a tutor, then?

  “Yes; Mr. Huther,” Mrs. Gilbert said so quietly I almost did not catch her words. It made me wonder what it was about Mr. Huther she did not wish us to hear.

  “Is Mr. Huther still in the house?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Gilbert said, with what I thought to be some resentment.

  “Very good; I shall wish to speak with him as well. What of Johnny’s friends and his other pursuits?”

  “He has been very much on his own, as his friends are all away at school,” Mrs. Gilbert replied, her hesitation vanishing. “To think, if I had sent him to Eton or Harrow he would even now be living!”

  “Mrs. Gilbert,” Rey soothed, “there is one and only one who is responsible for the death of your son: he who wielded the knife. Please do not hold yourself to account for the dreadful deed. It is too awful to contemplate.”

  “And yet contemplate it I do,” she cried as she wrung her handkerchief between her fingers.

  It felt as if it were myself she twisted in her hands. I, too, knew regret. I regretted the duel, the time I had spent in the company of my cousin, the consequences of our folly; those were merely the ones I had begun to examine. As such, the pain I now felt was for Willy’s mother.

  Drawing a deep breath, I pushed on. “Let us assist in discovering who has done this,” I urged. “Only then may you know some measure of peace.”

  “We shall aid you to the best of our ability,” Mr. Gilbert assured him. “John might have been all that his brother is not,” he said darkly, “but we cannot bear to lose Willy, too.”

  I did not doubt the sorrow Willy’s father felt at such a loss, and turned away from the face of his sorrow. “Then let us begin. We shall start with the keeper of the household keys. It would be best if we were provided a room other than your salon in which to speak with your staff.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Gilbert agreed. “I shall ring for Bugg. He will arrange everything to your satisfaction.”

  “Mr. Gilbert, whilst we await the butler I must tell you that Señyor Rey and I have been to Newgate.”

  Mrs. Gilbert gasped as her husband finally came to life. “Did you see him?” he demanded. “How is he? Is he all right?”

  “Mr. Gilbert, if you are so anxious to learn of his condition why have you not been to see him yourself?”

  Mrs. Gilbert gasped again. “To Newgate? It would not do!”

  I swallowed an angry response and thought carefully on my reply. “He is very concerned for you both, and wants you to know that he is innocent of this crime.”

  Mr. Gilbert seemed once again angry. “Of course we know that! To think otherwise would be ridiculous!”

  “Of course. He, however, is not in a position to think clearly. He is feeling quite low and suffers from the cold. His clothes have become soiled with the little food he has attempted to feed himself. Better victuals would be appreciated, as well.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Gilbert said. “I shall arrange for someone to bring him everything he needs. Thank you for calling on him in such a vile place. How you were able to bear it, I cannot imagine.”

  It was at this moment that the butler answered his summons. He was given instructions by Mrs. Gilbert, and after the appropriate bows for our host and hostess, Señyor Rey and I followed Bugg from the room.

  As we walked along the first-floor gallery, I took note of the portraits hung of the Gilbert boys hung on the walls. They were a moving reminder that with the end of John’s life came the loss of hope for an heir to carry on the family name. I felt the loss almost as keenly as if it were mine. As an only child, whose father and mother had already gone to their reward, I knew how I would mourn if all hopes of progeny were to be forever extinguished. The paintings of the boys together prior to Willy’s accident were the most cutting, and I found I must look hastily away.

  Bugg, who was as proficient as promised, showed us into a chamber suitable for our purposes. It was small enough to encourage the intimacy required and gracefully appointed so as to prevent the questioning from feeling like a wearisome interrogation. Rey, disposed on a divan by the mantelpiece, looked nearly average-sized in front of the petite fireplace. He drew up a small table upon which he placed a piece of parchment and a pencil. I further inspected the room and noted the dainty tables and the equally dainty chairs placed in close proximity to a variety of mirrors. Suddenly, I realized the purpose of the space was to allow ladies some privacy to refresh a coiffure or mend a tear in a flounce during the course of a ball or rout.

  “I am pleased that the ladies with whom we speak shall feel comfortable,” I murmured, “but I am persuaded Mr. Huther shall feel himself an oaf in such a room.”

  “Is this not a circumstance much to be desired?” Rey queried. “As the only man in the house besides Señyor Bugg, he is the man most suspected for this crime. I shall enjoy watching his discomfort.”

  “Perhaps, but the butler must not be overlooked,” I insisted as I paced to the window and looked down upon the mews. “Nor is he the only man upon the premises. There are the groom, the boot boy, and the coachman.” It was then that I was struck with a new thought. “Why is it you are unconvinced that someone other than a man could have perpetrated such a crime?”

  Rey frowned. “Perhaps I am mistaken, but I feel a woman would be too soft and of emotions too maternal to have thrust a knife into a boy so young.”

  “In truth, I have thought the same. If Johnny had been a different sort of young man, it might have been possible. As matters stand, even if a woman were to have reason to dispose of him, I am persuaded she could not do it. His face was too angelic,” I added softly, recalling the paintings we had passed in the gallery.

  “Yes, but the murder occurred so early in the morning,” Rey replied. “Was he asleep when the knife went in? Such circumstances might have made it possible.”

  “I do believe you have arrived at an important notion. We shall ask each of those we question as to when they were first aware of what had happened, where they were at the time, and where the body was found.”

  There came a scratch at the door, and I bade whoever stood on the other side to enter. A middle-aged woman, her waist girdled with a chain of keys, appeared. She bobbed a curtsy and quickly took up the chair in which I indicated she should sit.

>   “I am Trevelin, a friend of the family, and this is Señyor Rey, a…friend of mine,” I added with a slight hesitation. That I felt the Spaniard a friend was as astonishing as the fact that I had made the admission aloud. It was a testament to my loneliness that I found pleasure in his company after so short an acquaintance. “Who is it I am addressing?”

  “Mrs. Lynne, the housekeeper, my lord,” she said, her voice brisk. “Might I ask why it is that I am to be questioned again? Am I thought to ha’ done this?”

  “Should you be thought to have?” I replied.

  “Someone must ha’, but ‘twas not I!”

  “Then you do not agree with the authorities that Mister William is to blame for his brother’s death?”

  “No, I do not,” she stated emphatically. “He ne’er would ha’ done what he is said to ha’ done. I ha’ been hopeful that there would be more questions in search of the truth, but only from those whom the authorities presume to be involved. That is not me.”

  “All of you who live in the house are involved, Mrs. Lynne, and all shall be questioned again by me and Señyor Rey.” I indicated the Spaniard with a wave of my arm. “Though, I confess, there are none to my knowledge who feel you capable of such an act, or that you have any reason to have done so. It is our hope that you might have seen or heard something that could lead us to the killer; that is all.”

  “Very well, then,” she said as she folded her hands tightly in her lap. “I shall be most pleased if there is anythin’ I know that might be of use, but I already told the constable everythin’.”

  “Yes,” I readily agreed, “of course you have. And yet, they have Mister William in custody. I imagine you are unaware that he and I were boys together at school. I am most anxious to discover some indisputable fact that shall lead to his release, and as soon as possible.”

  Tears sprang to Mrs. Lynne’s eyes as she looked up at my face. I fancied that she too quickly averted her gaze from my ruined mouth, but I could not be certain. “I shall do all that I can to help, you may be assured o’ that, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lynne. I am persuaded you shall have much to say that shall throw some light on our comprehension,” I began. “Perhaps you might start with when you first learned that Master John had been killed.”

  “Yes, o’ course,” she said as tears spilled from her eyes and down her plump cheeks. “It was early yet, too early for the Gilberts to be stirrin’. The exception would be Mister Willy; he does not go out or stay up late. He generally awakens long before the others.”

  “Yes, I understand. Who else was up and about?”

  “The maids were just risin’ in order to light the fires in the bed chambers; Cook was below stairs, having already started on breakfast. Bugg was in his pantry. I ha’ not been below stairs as of yet and was countin’ the linen in the second-floor closet when I heard Mister Willy’s shout. It was fearsome, to be sure, but I could not make out the words.”

  “Why ever not?” I wondered aloud.

  “My hearin’ is not what it used to be,” she said stiffly, “and he was two floors below.”

  “Willy was on the ground floor? In his nightshirt? How is that?”

  “He cannot manage stairs very well, my lord. He sleeps in a small room directly off the library.”

  “Then,” Rey said slowly, “it seems that it would be safe to assume that Mister William found Master John on the same floor. Why was he not abed at such an early hour?”

  “I can’t say,” she said with a sniff, “though I ha’ also wondered what he was doin’ up so early in the morn. And he was dressed as if to go out, which I thought very odd.”

  I put my finger to my scar as I paused to consider her words. “I suppose a case against Willy could be made,” I mused, “by assuming that he, the night prior, had in some way indicated to his brother that he wished him to rise early, dress himself, and appear on the ground floor so that he could be dispatched with more readily.”

  “He must have arisen very early, then, my lord. No one saw or heard anythin’ until Mister William raised the alarm.”

  I nodded. “Precisely where was Master John’s body found?”

  “By the front door, my lord.”

  “And no one saw him there before Mister William found him?”

  “My lord, the servants use the back staircase. There ha’ been no reason for anyone to ha’ crossed over into the front of the house so early in the mornin’.”

  “Very well, but why was he in the hall? Might Master John have had an assignation with someone? A friend, perhaps, who might have waited for him by the front door?”

  “And when the door was opened, he was killed?” Rey suggested.

  “We cannot know for certain, unless there was a witness to the events just prior. Mrs. Lynne,” I asked, “did you see Mister William before he was taken away?”

  “Yes, I did. I ha’ never seen him so taken with grief, even after the ridin’ accident.”

  Rey leaned forward in his seat. “What was Mister William wearing, señyora?”

  “He was in his nightshirt; that’s how early it was to be sure.”

  “Was there anything amiss?” I pressed. “Anything not as usual?”

  Mrs. Lynne cocked her head. “No, nothin’ that I noticed. Should there ha’ been?”

  “No, there should not have,” I returned, somewhat in awe of Willy’s ability to arrive at the one clue that should certainly exonerate him. “I suppose Mister William soils his shirt on occasion. Does he don a fresh one before he retires?”

  “I cannot say; ‘tis a duty I don’t’ see to, my lord,” Mrs. Lynne said, her mouth a prim line.

  “Forgive me.” I gave her an indulgent smile, one I knew would cause the scar at the corner of my mouth to all but disappear. “To whom does that duty fall?”

  “I am not entirely certain,” she said. “Perhaps you ought to ask Mr. Bugg.”

  “Very well. Were you present when Mister William was taken away by the constable?”

  “Yes, I was. As I said, I ha’ never seen him so forlorn. He was devastated that Master John was no more, and I am persuaded he was most anxious for the state of his dear parents.”

  A wave of sorrow assailed me but I continued. “Were Mr. or Mrs. Gilbert present when the constable took their son away?”

  “Yes, of course. They had been fetched to the front hall by none other than myself.” Her voice was strong, but the tears coursed down her cheeks.

  “Mrs. Lynne, I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for you. Do you feel able to answer one or two more questions?”

  She nodded.

  “Yesterday Señyor Rey and I called on Mister William. You say that he was in his nightshirt only, but when we saw him he was fully attired. How was this accomplished?”

  “Bugg was sent to acquire clothing from his chamber; the constable, with the boot boy’s help, dressed the poor man in the hall like a babe,” Mrs. Lynne said as she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “Was a clean shirt also procured?” I queried, my heart pounding a bit with anticipation.

  “No, my lord; there was no need.”

  “Then,” Señyor Rey interjected, his voice alive with excitement, “the constable, he would have seen that Mister William’s shirt was clean, yes?”

  “Do you not rise each mornin’ in a shirt as clean as it was when you laid your head upon your pillow?” Mrs. Lynne demanded.

  “We mean no insult to Mister William or your household, Mrs. Lynne,” I soothed. “We only wish to prove his innocence. Tell me, does Mister William require assistance to don a clean shirt each night before he retires?”

  “I couldn’t say for certain, my lord. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say yes. However, it would be best to ask Mr. Gilbert’s valet to be certain.”

  I did not relish asking my next question, but knew I must. “Was a bloodied shirt found anywhere in the house that morning or since?”

  “Not that I am aware, my lord,” she
replied stiffly.

  “Thank you. I shall ask the others of your staff, just so that we can be sure there was not. Do you not see?” I asked Mrs. Lynne, who was still clearly affronted. “Mister William could not have killed his brother without sullying his shirt with blood.”

  “Oh, yes, I do see,” she breathed. She looked up at me, the belligerence in her expression finally vanished. “You are so very clever!”

  “You will not be surprised, Mrs. Lynne,” I returned, “to learn that it was Mister William himself who alerted us to this fact.”

  She raised her hand to her mouth as she choked back a sob. “He has changed in very many ways since the accident, but his mind is as sharp as ever.”

  Indeed, I felt just the same. “Now, we do not wish to distress you any further, but we have some questions as to the disappearance of the key to the door from the area steps into the kitchen. What can you tell us about this?”

  Mrs. Lynne seemed to rally, and answered in a firm voice. “I have a set that I wear at all times. That is not the key that has gone missin’. There is an extra set of keys that hangs on a hook in the kitchen. I check them every mornin’, at mid-day, and before I retire. One cannot be too careful. It is my duty to ensure that whoever asks for the use of a particular key returns it when agreed. The mornin’ prior to that dreadful day, the key to the kitchen door, the one that leads out onto the area steps, was accounted for. It was not there that night, however.”

  “And at mid-day?” I prompted. To my astonishment, Mrs. Lynne’s cheeks glowed bright red.

  “I ha’ so many people comin’ and goin’ that day, I cannot recall if I checked at mid-day or not.”

  I favored Rey with a questioning look. “Who comes to call in the kitchen, Mrs. Lynne? Yours is a world of which we know little.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “It might be quite a few. For example, the servants who ha’ been out, whether on their day off or when they return from executin’ a task. The grocer and fish-monger often send a servant of their own to collect payment for their goods. The kitchen girls are known to ha’ a caller or two come to the door if they are walkin’ out with a boy. It seemed that there was plenty of each on that particular day.”