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

by Ashworth, Heidi

  “Then tell me; to whom did you carry Lady Clara’s missive?”

  “I should prefer not to answer that question.”

  “Very well,” I said briskly. “I find I have another. When Señyor Rey and I questioned you at Gilbert House, you said that it was you who went to inform the butler of Johnny’s death. However, the butler insists it is not so. Why should you lie about such a thing?”

  Huther drew a deep breath. “I was afraid, so I hid myself. I was not proud of that. I chose, instead, to characterize myself as helpful.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  His eyes grew large and his face broke out again in perspiration. “The one behind the knife.”

  The man was truly frightened. Doubtless, he knew, or at least suspected, the identity of the killer. I decided to force the truth from him by other means. “I believe you to be lying, Huther. I think it was likely you who killed Johnny. As a servant in the household, you had access to the kitchen. It was a simple matter to steal the key in order to make it seem as if it were someone else. You told Johnny to dress and meet you in the vestibule at a certain time during the night so as to go on some sort of adventure. And then you killed him.”

  “No! Why? Why should I?” he all but screeched under his breath.

  I was favored with a flash of inspiration. “Because he saw something; something that would put you in a very difficult position if he were to tell anyone of it.”

  Huther’s reaction was electrifying. “I didn’t do it!” he hissed in a panic. “I swear that I did not!”

  “But you know who did.”

  He looked for a moment that he would agree then began to vehemently shake his head.

  “Then tell me, to whom did you take Lady Clara’s message?”

  He wished to tell me, I could see that it was so. His face began to change color with the effort of forcing his lips together. His eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets as his entire frame swayed back and forth.

  I vented a languid sigh. “I believe I shall alert the constable.”

  “No!” he cried so loudly that people turned to look in our direction. He again surveyed the room before he fell against me and pushed me deeper into the shadows. “Throckmorton. It was Throckmorton,” he hissed before he closed his eyes and collapsed in a heap at my feet.

  Throckmorton. Somehow I was not surprised. Quietly, I leaned over and placed a finger beneath Huther’s nose; he yet breathed. A better man than I might have alerted someone to his plight. Instead, I slipped my leather pumps from beneath his prone form and stepped out into the light of the game room. Huther had been looking for someone; someone of whom he was terrified. I thought perhaps he had found him.

  I effected an air of nonchalance as I walked about, inspecting the faces around me from the corner of my eye. Evelyn was capable of inducing fear in a man such as Huther but, unlike myself, my cousin had been adhering to Rutherford’s expectations. At any rate, why should Evelyn want Johnny Gilbert dead? Throckmorton was not present, nor had I expected him to be. Everyone else in the room was most likely who they appeared to be; mostly men with more money than they knew what to do with and who wanted a bit of sport.

  I turned my attention to the few women who were present. My gaze was drawn first to Miss Woodmansey, who looked quite charming on Rey’s arm. There was another lady in a mask and domino who seemed to have arrived under the protection of Lord Vane, one of Evelyn’s cronies. Lastly, there was Lady Clara whose husband, Manwaring, had now joined her. They sauntered about the room, arm in arm, chatting with those of their guests who, I presumed, were losing the most money. Soon they would come upon Huther still collapsed on the floor.

  Deciding that I had learned enough for one night, I strode directly to Rey and Miss Woodmansey and informed them of my desire to depart. They immediately complied, leaving me to wonder what I had done to deserve such loyalty. I was grateful to have them by my side when we left the room and were once again plunged into darkness.

  We felt our way to the staircase, myself in the lead. If we were to meet with misadventure, I wished to protect my friends. We descended the stairs in a velvet-dark silence, save the swishing of Miss Woodmansey’s skirts. As the carpet on the treads absorbed our hesitant footfalls, I was suddenly filled with dread; were anyone following us, we would be none the wiser. Huther had feared that the true killer was in the house; the very thought caused every hair I possessed to stand up on end. The flesh on my back crawled most particularly despite the fact that it was Rey and Miss Woodmansey who were directly behind me.

  My concern was now for them. “Wait a moment,” I whispered. I stepped aside, taking Miss Woodmansey’s arm. As I drew her forth to go ahead, I knew Rey would follow. “I shall be just behind you,” I murmured. The darkness deepened just before we reached the front hall. I strained my eyes in search of the glimmer of light that should have been cast by the lone candelabra by the front doors. It did not come. I arrived at the only conclusion of which I was capable: someone had put it out.

  Desperately, I attempted to determine from which direction danger was most likely to strike when I heard it: the plodding tread of someone walking upon the marble floor in the vestibule. My muscles tensed, ready to spring at any moment, and my heart beat like a drum such that I felt certain all could hear its beat throbbing.

  “What was that?” Rey asked, his voice tense and hushed.

  “I believe it was a footfall from down below.”

  There came a short silence, followed by a rustling of the sort made when a lady in silk throws herself into the arms of the man at her side. I repressed the desire to analyze her motives and listened intently for a repetition of what I had before heard. It did not come. Either someone had walked away, or was lying in wait for us.

  “What shall we do, my lord?” Rey whispered.

  “Remain here whilst I investigate.” The darkness was so complete that I was in danger of losing my balance. I placed my right hand on the banister and brushed the wall to my left with my fingers. Carefully, I crept down one step; past Miss Woodmansey who was doubtless still clutched in Rey’s arms, then another, and another. Just as I thought that I had surely reached the bottom, something flew at my face. Crazed with fear, I clawed at the air as my heart pounded with impending apoplexy. Little by little, I realized the danger was merely a shadow created by the light of a single candle. It was held aloft by a dark figure one step below me.

  “My lord?” It was a deep voice, and sinister; his breath noxious as it wafted, hot, into my face.

  My heart leapt up into my throat. “Show yourself!” I demanded.

  The figure below moved the candle to his face. I knew him: it was Short the butler to whom I had spoken in Mrs. Carrick’s room earlier that morning.

  Flooded with relief, my knees buckled. I went down far enough for the banister to catch me under the arm and bang painfully into my ribs. Rey rushed to my aid. Once I had found my footing, I turned to ascertain the status of Miss Woodmansey.

  “I am quite all right,” she said in a strained voice, her face still in shadow.

  Rey returned to her side and we followed Short down the remainder of the stairs, his apologies ringing in our ears all the way down.

  “My wish was only to cast light to guide your way,” Short repeated as we gained the ground floor. “I should have been here sooner, but had not expected any to depart this early in the evening.”

  He seemed quite sincere, but he could not have looked more different. He appeared to be nothing but a freakish head with chin, cheeks, and nose grossly exaggerated by the light. His eyes were deep, dark cavities overhung with fiery brows, and his gray hair resembled a vaporous, ghostly caul about his head. He looked sufficiently fiendish to be the murderer for whom we had been searching.

  “My lord?” Short asked when I made no reply.

  I gave myself a mental shake and said the first thing that came to mind. “Throckmorton; is he in the house tonight?”

  “I do not believe so, my lo
rd. All the servants, save myself, are above stairs in the game room. He might have been here earlier to pay a call on Sally in the kitchen.”

  “I did not see Sally in the game room,” I said. “Could they be somewhere together?”

  “It is not her half day, besides which, she is always needed on card party nights. But, who am I to say? Despite my best efforts, this is a rather topsy-turvy household.”

  I exchanged a glance with Rey. It was an act of futility; his eyes were pools of ink that said nothing.

  “Why is that?” I prayed he would not find my question too impertinent to answer.

  He took a step closer, prompting Rey and Miss Woodmansey to do the same. Our faces circled the flickering candle as it cast ghostly shadows that leapt against the walls. “This house,” he said quietly, slowly, even fervently, “is full of odd occurrences.”

  I frowned my displeasure. “Why did you not disclose this when we spoke earlier today?”

  “I was afraid,” he whined. “But, it is true. When everyone from the mistress to the boot boy is above stairs tending to the guests at these parties, the house…screams.”

  “Screams?” Rey echoed in bewilderment.

  “Yes! Screams!” Short nodded wildly, like a man demented. “Or sometimes it moans, or groans. But often it is definitely a scream—a very high-pitched scream.”

  I thought him quite mad. “Has anyone else heard this screaming?” I asked.

  The butler leaned back out of the circle. “No. Only me,” he said, as if his statements were perfectly sane.

  At these words, all the fear, foreboding, and anxiety I felt spilled from me like water over a fall. “Thank you, Short. We shall consider what you have said most carefully, shall we not Señyor Rey?”

  “Indeed, we must.” His rich voice, so at odds with his size, boomed in the grand hall. “But, I fear that Miss Masquerade is fatigued. I believe we should escort her home immediately.”

  The butler bowed, and opened the door. The three of us eagerly stepped out of the house into the benevolent night. Once the door had been shut, we stood for a moment reveling in the banality of the chill, October air, flooded with the light of a full moon. I took a deep breath and hurried down the black and white checkered front steps of Manwaring House, Miss Woodmansey and Rey just behind me.

  “That is a house of evil,” he pronounced.

  “There certainly was something odd about it,” Miss Woodmansey mused.

  “It is unquestionably occupied by a cast of strange characters,” I added. “Come, let us walk to Canning House and order out the carriage to escort Miss Woodmansey home.”

  “Si, it is time that she was safe in the arms of her mare and pare.”

  “Truly?” she asked. “It seems so early, though I suppose my mother shall soon arrive at the house.”

  We all agreed ‘twas a pity and walked together in congenial silence, arm in arm, Miss Woodmansey in the center, for the length of a house or two. However, my mind worked to determine a way to prolong my association with her. “I have no wish to retire so early. Is there not a ball tonight?”

  “There is!” Miss Woodmansey said with a triumphant smile. “Lord and Lady Monteer host a ball tonight for their daughter. She has just made her curtsies to the queen.”

  “Will your mare not be concerned for you when she is to arrive home and you are not present?” Rey asked.

  Miss Woodmansey dipped her head in what appeared to be a fit of sheepishness. “I informed Mama that I would be attending the ball with you and Lady Vawdrey. If we do attend, I shan’t have the need to invent answers to what shall prove to be numerous questions.”

  Señyor Rey made a sound indicative of his obvious delight. I, however, felt as if she had thrust a dagger through my heart. I reminded myself that it would have achieved nothing for her to have said she planned to attend the ball with me, but it did naught to assuage my feelings.

  I forced my lips into a smile. “How clever of you!” I meant every word. “Is it too bold of me to request the first set upon our arrival?”

  “Not at all. Shall I reserve the second set for you, Señyor Rey?”

  “Yes! Definitivament!”

  I wished to request the set after Rey’s, as well, but restrained myself; I did not want her to grow weary of me. “I shall hurry ahead and bespeak the carriage. Hopefully Canning does not have use of it tonight.” I did not wait for a response but unlinked my arm from Miss Woodmansey’s and increased my pace to just under a run. It was undignified in the extreme but I would have no dances with her if the carriage had been called out already.

  Moore answered the door and informed me that the Cannings had walked to dinner at the home of a friend in the square. My delight at this piece of luck soon waned as I waited for the others longer than I had expected. As I cooled my heels in the front hall, I tortured myself with imagined scenarios as to what was being said; what liberties were being taken. If I had been required to wait a moment more, I should have pulled open the door and rushed to join them, but soon enough we were reunited in the front hall.

  More relaxed in my own domain, I took the opportunity to better appreciate Miss Woodmansey’s appearance. I knew she was no beauty, but she had something other young ladies of her age did not possess: self-assurance. It drew one to her side, especially when she laughed. Her smile was nearly as bright as her golden hair, which seemed to glitter like gold in the light of the chandeliers that illuminated the vestibule. Her gown was as tasteful as always and the high-waisted style made the most of what little height she had. What I admired most about her, however, was her ability to perceive what lies beneath the obvious. This, to a scarred man with a sullied reputation, was beauty indeed.

  We hadn’t long to wait for the carriage, and soon we were off to the ball at the Monteers’. It was a grand townhouse that took up one entire side of Hanover Square. It naturally followed that the ballroom was enormous. If someone had informed me that all of Society was present, I should not have been the least surprised. Immediately, I bemoaned my plight; this was the sort of ball that required a new coat and I had already worn my royal blue superfine on numerous occasions. Never mind that it was only a month old, cost a small fortune, and fitted my trim figure like a glove: I suddenly felt a farmer.

  It was in this deplorable state that I realized Rutherford was in attendance. My gaze was drawn to him almost instantly and not only because of the animosity between us. He was the sort who commanded notice regardless of surroundings. His penchant for unfashionable powdered wigs, the more ornate the better, made him a target of comment, scorn, and the wittiest of insults. (Certainly mine were known to be, though I never spoke them aloud.)

  “Come, Miss Woodmansey, let us join in the dancing.” I took her arm and led her in the opposite direction of the duke. The last circumstance for which I wished was for Rutherford to renew his prohibition against me in her very presence. I strode away with her with such speed that she had no small amount of difficulty in matching my pace. As the dance was a Promenade, her predicament was furthered by the disparity in our heights. It also had a negative impact on our ability to converse. There was so much I wished to say to her, but I was forced to refrain. We danced the first set as promised, and then I was obliged to release her to Rey, my heart unburdened.

  Determined to be on hand to claim another dance as soon as may be, I remained where I was with no thought but to keep her in my purview. Very shortly, however, Mr. Gilbert strode by with a young lady on his arm. I could not comprehend his presence or his association with this young lady when his wife grieved her sons at home. My suspicions were aroused: could it be true that Mrs. Gilbert took lovers and that Johnny was not Gilbert’s son? Could that explain his lack of concern as well as his seeking the company of other women? Either way, it was bold of him to be seen with the same young lady as the night prior.

  I knew, then, what my next step should be. However, I remained rooted to the spot until Rey returned with Miss Woodmansey. She was breathless but
happy, her cheeks rosy; whether with exertion or love, I could not say.

  “Miss Woodmansey, you must be parched.” I held out my arm for her, which she took without hesitation. I had little time to enjoy my small victory as I led her directly to the refreshment room; it was where I had last seen Mr. Gilbert. I was only somewhat aware that Rey followed us.

  “Are you still wishful of helping to solve the murder of Johnny Gilbert?” I asked.

  “Yes, indeed,” she replied with a nod.

  “I saw his father enter this room,” I said as I indicated the doorway to the supper room, “with a young lady on his arm. I cannot like it.”

  “I agree that it is not de rigeur for a man in his circumstances to attend a ball,” she agreed. “However, I do not see that it makes him a murderer.”

  “He is not enough of the sorrowful father,” Rey supplied from behind. “A man who cares so little for his son might not quibble at the killing of that son.”

  She turned to him. “But why? Why should he wish his son dead?”

  “Revenge,” I said without explaining for what that revenge might be. “A fit of anger gone too far; perhaps to make a statement.”

  “What statement might that be?” Miss Woodmansey mused. “It seems so very dire.”

  “It most certainly is, regardless of who killed him or why. However, that is he, there, by the table. He’s the one with the dark-haired young lady on his arm; she is dressed in white spangles.” She was indeed attached to him in an overly-familiar manner. Each time he spoke, she looked up at him and smiled in patent admiration. Neither did he take the trouble to hide his equal admiration of her; their mutual affection was an affront to Willy and his pain.

  Miss Woodmansey seemed to sense my distress. “You and Señyor Rey shall discover what is amiss and make things right, I know you shall.”

  I repressed a self-pitying sigh. “I am honored by your confidence.” Secretly, I was doubtful. “Let us draw closer and attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation.”

  Miss Woodmansey smiled in delight. “This is precisely the sort of behavior I have been warned against by my mother, nanny, and governess for all my life.”