Chapter Thirteen
I have little memory of what happened during the course of that day. I know that I endured a stupor of despair, but where or how I came to my senses or occupied myself for the duration I do not recall. At some point I found myself in Canning’s study at the mantel, taking up one item after another and turning it about in my hand before replacing it, imperfectly, in its rightful place.
One of these was an invitation to a ball at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Leavitt. I thought it seemed familiar, as if I had heard the name at some point in the not too distant past. I waved it back and forth, the frigid air wafting into my face, until I recalled: the ball was at the home of the debutante Lady Vawdrey had wished me to woo the year prior. I had instantly dismissed Miss Jane Leavitt for the fault of not having been born to a man with a title. Since then, events had unfolded such that the memory appalled me. And yet, a year on the Marriage Mart had not made her a wife. I decided on the spot that I would attend. If it did not prove fruitful in my attempts to solve Johnny’s murder, at least I should have the opportunity to see she whom I had so callously rejected.
I sprinted up the stairs, the previous weakness of my legs thoroughly gone, and hollered for the boot boy as I went. He made it up to the second-floor landing nearly as quickly as I, and together we created an ensemble that depicted me as the elegant, intelligent, and confident peer of the realm I had once been.
I stood at the mirror in my chamber at Silvester House as I dressed for what promised to be a superlative adventure. “Come away from there, Trev,” Evelyn insisted. “When did you become such a dandy?”
“It could not have been prior to my close association with you,” I murmured, coaxing an errant curl into its proper place. “’Tis in your shadow I walk,” I quipped. “Would I be off to a duel otherwise?” I lifted my brow and gave him a speaking look.
Evelyn laughed. “What have I done to deserve you, Cuz?”
“Twas merely an accident of birth.” I placed my high-crowned hat carefully on my head, slung my cape over my shoulders, took up my gloves and cane, and gave him a sardonic smile, the one that made me look a perfect Adonis.
As it turned out the boot boy was a dab hand at the tying of neck cloths, and I was more than satisfied with my appearance. I checked my final appearance in the pier glass whilst taking care to turn the scar away from my gaze. There he was: the man I had known, once upon a time.
“You’ve done well, boy.” I assisted him to hop off from the chair he was forced to press into use. “I am readily certain that I shall be home late. Keep the fire in my room going, as well as the candelabra by the front door to light my way upstairs, ensure that I have a fresh candle in my stick, and be in your cot to open the door when I rap upon it.”
The boy gave me his usual shrug, and with a flick of my many-caped greatcoat I went out the door and down the stairs. I had been afforded a solitary coachman who had hitched up a pair of inferior horses to the curricle I kept at Canning House. It would be a drafty trip but it was not far, and I did not much care what happened to me as long as I could find the means to save Willy.
I arrived at the Leavitt home with cold feet (I resolved to next time ask the boot boy to heat some bricks for my journey) and a hot temper. The house, however, was as warm as toast. As I made my way to the ballroom, my various parts were soon restored to the correct temperature.
For the first time in months, I did not inspect the room for a suitable corner in which to ensconce myself. Rather, I looked about for Miss Leavitt. My motivations were twofold. One, I might possibly put myself in deeper favor with Lady Vawdrey by dancing with the girl. Two, a girl at her own ball was a veritable font of information.
It did not take long to locate her; diamonds glittered in her rich red hair and her gown was a confection of silver spangles over white silk. She was tall and slender, and moved with a grace that I greatly admired. As I watched, she turned to meet my gaze. Slowly, her mouth spread into a canny smile as if she knew precisely who I was and liked me in spite of it.
It came to me quite suddenly that I had never seen eyes so green or a more adorable sprinkling of freckles across so perfect a nose. Lady Clara’s blunt-ended nose was elegant, but it lacked the perfection of Miss Leavitt’s. I went immediately to her side and bespoke a dance. To my astonishment, she did not say me nay.
“My lord, the set just prior to supper has not been spoken for if you are of a mind to request it.” She smiled again, and I felt giddy as if the entire room had shifted along with my expectations.
“I should be honored,” I said with a deep bow. Indeed, I would be guaranteed the chance to lead her in to supper on my arm with such a placement. I rose from my bow to find her still standing as before, smiling, and not fled away. I was far too pleased to wonder at her lack of temerity or the location of her chaperone.
It was then that her father approached, his countenance thunderous. I did not remain to learn what had put him in such ill humor. I sketched a brief bow and took myself off to while away the time until I might dance with her. However, my gaze fell immediately upon Miss Woodmansey. She stood with her mother, Lady Vawdrey, and Señyor Rey. They smiled and seemed to enjoy the company of one another. I thought Lady Vawdrey looked especially delighted. I feared it was because she had successfully matched another couple. If so, it must have been balm to her wounds; Throckmorton’s failure to fall in with her plans could not but rankle. And yet, there was yet time for him to come up to scratch.
I stepped behind a potted palm to gaze upon Miss Woodmansey undetected. She ought to have appeared less attractive to me after the glory of Miss Leavitt, but she did not. I drank in the kindness of her smile, the compassion in her gaze, and the wit that flashed across her face. She seemed to exhibit these emotions most broadly when she looked upon Señyor Rey. Though I doubted not that he fully deserved her admiration, I begrudged him it. I could not so much as contemplate losing her to Rey.
I nursed the longing in the pit of my stomach and made sheep’s eyes at her until I felt a presence at my elbow. It was Lady Clara.
“Lord Trevelin! You and Miss Woodmansey?” she asked with a twitter. “She is not in the least suitable for you.”
I felt myself frown. “I fail to see how it is any business of yours, Lady Clara.”
“Matchmaking is every woman’s business,” she said with a coy smile. “Not that I claim to have the talent for it,” she added. “No, I much prefer to make money at the hands of hapless gentlemen.”
I liked her candor, and turned to engage her in further conversation. I admired her as well, especially her beautiful, perfectly formed teeth. “Lady Clara, your smile is exquisite.”
She did not appear pleased by my compliment. “Thank you,” she said, rather dully. “Robert likes me to look my best. He seems to be nearly satisfied.”
I could make no sense of such a comment. “You are a beautiful woman,” I said, my words thoroughly genuine. “It is my opinion that your current status should be good enough for even the most discerning of men.”
This time she blushed in response to my compliment. “Oh, well, Robert…He doesn’t like my nose.” She put a hand on my arm and, laughingly, looked into my eyes. “He tells me he is going to take a knife to it one of these days.”
I was more bewildered than I had been previously. “For what possible purpose?”
“Who can say? He fancies he can whittle it into a shape he prefers. Is it not ridiculous?” Her smile was wistful now. “He hasn’t any idea how much the thought terrifies me.”
“’Twould terrify anyone,” I insisted. “But I am persuaded that your husband merely jests.”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed as she linked her arm with mine.
I was taken aback by her fond response. If she had any wish to seduce me, she had had a far more favorable opportunity to do so the week prior. “I believe you are in need of a friend,” I suggested.
“Yes! I expect that you are correct.” She smiled up at me with such p
erfect amity that I assumed her to be somewhat disguised. “I have been longing to tell someone what I have done, but I must be most discreet.”
My spirits rose with her ingenuousness. I pulled her arm tighter against my side and drew her to a more private corner of the room. (The usefulness of corners was a subject upon which I had become adept.) “And what is it that you have done, Lady Clara?”
“I have had way too much wine.” She made a moue, and ran a finger along my jaw just below the scar.
She had said nothing that was of the least use, and yet she had my utmost attention. “I do believe you are three sheets to the wind,” I retorted. It was a remark designed to withstand the sensations roused by the touch of anyone’s finger to my face in many months, save mine.
“That is most likely true!” she said gaily. “But it does not invalidate the fact that my husband is very angry with me,” she mused as her finger skimmed along my bottom lip.
I caught her hand before she reached the flawed corner of my mouth.
“It’s rather absurd; you look either to be always smiling,” she said, then dragged our hands over to the unblemished side of my mouth, “or perpetually sneering,” she added as she dropped her hand to her side.
My hand fell with hers and glanced off her shoulder. She jumped as if someone had bellowed in her ear.
“I do beg your pardon,” I said, aghast.
“It is nothing. Only, my husband is very angry with me.” She looked as if she were about to weep. “I am losing money at my game nights, yet I fail to comprehend why it is of any consequence. My dowry was more than sufficient. Besides, the gaming hell was his idea from the start. What did he expect; that I should win every night? ‘Tis not possible.”
“Do the losses make him angry enough to harm you?” I asked out of genuine concern.
She shrugged. “There is no law against it. I am his wife, to do with as he pleases.”
I did not agree, but it would solve nothing to say so. “Surely he can see that you are one woman against Dame Fortune. How does he expect you to prevent losses?”
She rolled her eyes. “I cannot say. But there are moments,” she said more quietly, “when I am very much afraid.”
I recalled the screams I had heard coming from Manwaring House and wondered if it had been she who had uttered them. And then I knew that I had been a fool. “Lady Clara, has your husband harmed anyone else? Any of the servants?” I asked leadingly.
Her eyes filled with tears but she did not look away. “There is no law against that, either.”
“There is one against murder.”
Her lips began to tremble as the tears slipped from her eyes and down her cheeks. “What am I to do?”
“I shall see to it that you are safe. But you must tell me what you know. You are aware that Sally is dead, are you not?”
She bit her lip and looked away. “Is she?”
“She was beaten, mutilated, and finally strangled.”
“That is dreadful, but…”
“But what?” In my eagerness, I dared to take her hand and squeeze it.
I was shocked when she stepped into my arms and laid her cheek against the silver threads of my striped waistcoat. “She should not have become with child.”
I could feel her trembling against my ribs and knew that she was far more frightened than she had admitted. “I do not understand. Why should anyone kill her for such?”
She pushed away and looked up at me, blinking back tears. “One would think that ridiculous, is that not so? Especially as it was my husband’s child.”
I searched her face for any indication of jealousy. “Lady Clara, did you kill Sally?”
“How can you ask that of me? Why do you not suspect Throckmorton? He had as much cause.” She stared at me, enraged, then the light in her eyes dimmed and she calmed. “I have done something dreadful, but not that,” she said wearily. “I needed money. Robert was so angry that I was losing nearly every night. I knew Lady Vawdrey would keep that necklace tucked away until the Little Season began. So, I had Throckmorton steal it for me.”
“How did you dare to ask him?” I asked in astonishment. “He looks to Lady Vawdrey as a mother. Why should he do anything to risk his position there?”
“It was on account of Sally,” she said sadly. “He knew she expected a baby; he thought it his. He had some romantic notion of setting themselves up as gentry. As if a bastard and a housemaid could ever be that! At any rate, I threatened to send her back to the workhouse if he did not do as I asked.”
“I should think she would prefer it to Manwaring House if what you say is true.” I did not believe it, but I wished her to be the first to mention the manner in which people had been disappearing from the wretched place.
“Should you wish to live at the workhouse?” Her voice trembled.
It was not the reply for which I had hoped. Yet the fear in her voice was palpable.
“There is more. I promised Throckmorton money once I had sold the necklace.”
“But you lied,” I prodded. “You needed the money to appease your husband.”
“I would have given the man what was left after I paid my debts, and gladly! But, I took it to a very discreet jeweler to have it valued, and…”
“Lady Clara, do not be afraid. Tell me.” I again pressed her hand.
“Very well!” she said with a devil-may-care toss of her head. “The necklace; it was paste.”
“Paste?” I could not account for such a thing. “Is Lady Vawdrey aware?”
“I could hardly say,” she said with an arch of her shapely brow. “I sold it anyway for the pittance it was worth.”
“And when you could not produce enough money to cover the money you lost your husband beat you, is not that correct?”
I nearly shuddered at the manner in which she smiled; sickly and sweet on the same pair of lips. “My teeth—they flew out of my mouth like sparrows fleeing from an owl on the hunt.”
I heard a gasp; it was a moment before I realized it was I who made it. “And this is why you wear this set of false teeth!”
She pulled her lips tightly over the faux beauties and nodded. “Lord Trevelin, I implore you, do not forsake me! If you do, I shall go to prison.”
I looked into her deep brown eyes, wet and imploring. “It is your husband’s responsibility to make it right. What is yours is his, including that necklace. He might have had good reason to be angry at what you had done, but once he learned of it he should have taken the matter up with Lady Vawdrey.”
“Perhaps he has already?” she asked hopefully.
I shook my head. “She has elicited my help in discovering what has happened to it.”
Urgently, she placed both hands on my arm. “If you tell her the truth, my husband shall beat me again. Perhaps I shall not survive it. Please, my lord,” she begged. “I cannot bear it!”
I considered her words. “You have endured much. If he were not such a brute, you would not have had any reason to steal the necklace. In truth, I have more important matters which require my attention; the identity of Johnny Gilbert’s killer, for one.”
She seemed to flinch, but her voice was as strong as ever. “Thank you! You cannot know how much it means. I have no wish to end up like Sally.”
I opened my mouth to question her further on the matter of the housemaid’s death, but something held me back. When I looked up, Lady Clara’s husband approached.
I took several hasty steps backwards and offered my most effulgent smile. “Manwaring! I had not thought you in attendance tonight.” Better for him to think I dallied with his wife than suspected him of abuse, or worse. His expression, however, gave away nothing as to what his suspicions might have been.
“Trev!” he cried as if we were old chums. “How good of you to call on us the other night. My wife and I should be delighted to entertain you again any evening when we are at home.”
I found his perfectly appointed face more loathsome than usual, but hid my feelings
for the sake of his wife. “Not as delighted as I should,” I said with a wink for Lady Clara. I took her hand and kissed it before stalking away, and prayed that he would be deceived by my ruse.
It wasn’t until I was tooling my curricle back to Canning House that I put the pieces together. Once Throckmorton had stolen the necklace, he could not risk hiding it anywhere in the house. If it was discovered missing, a search would be made. He would have had to take it to Manwaring House almost immediately.
By that time, Johnny had been following Throckmorton about for weeks; perhaps months. He must have seen something that implicated Lady Clara, who could not risk her husband discovering what she had done. I had not wished to believe a woman could kill a child, but it was certainly within her physical power to have done so. I decided that Huther had doubtless been involved. It explained his abject terror.
I found I could not be angry with Lady Clara for depriving Johnny of his life. Neither could I place her in the role of monster I had imagined his murderer to be. The amorphous mass responsible for Willy’s plight had inhabited the darkest corners of my mind. When Lady Clara stepped from those shadows Johnny’s killer became a person, one with troubles of her own. Indeed, I felt such pity for her that I was determined to protect her if I could without risking Willy’s freedom.
It was a conundrum, one that kept me awake most of the night. Once I deemed it a suitable hour, I went straight to the Clarendon and enquired of the porter for the direction of Canning’s rooms. As I climbed the stairs, I was treated to the most delicious aromas. I realized why Canning had chosen to stay there; the French chef, one-time servant to Louis the XVIII, was much sought after. Despite such good fortune, Canning appeared unhappy when he discovered me standing at his door.
The Devil in Beauty: A Lord Trevelin Mystery (The Lord Trevelin Mysteries Book 1) Page 19