by D. M. Quincy
“Ever so gallant,” she mused. She rose and glided over to a small bow-fronted mahogany sideboard. Lady Brandon walked in a way that emphasized the womanly curves of her hips. “You are the talk of Mayfair, Mr. Catesby.”
He doubted that. “Am I?”
Picking up the crystal decanter, she filled two glasses and brought one over to him. “Sherry?”
“Thank you.” He accepted the glass and was startled when her fingers lightly brushed his.
She drank deeply from her glass, her emerald eyes regarding him over the rim of the glass. “Your courtship of Lady Roslyn Sterling has not gone unnoticed.”
He stiffened. “Lady Roslyn is as fine a woman as I have ever met, but I am not courting her.”
“Are you not?” She sank down into her chair. “You have been seen escorting her to several gatherings.”
He could not begin to explain his relationship with Lilliana. Nor was he about to try with this woman. He had met Lilliana at the lowest point of her life and had been in a position to help her. That shared past was their deepest bond. “I am assisting her and his grace.”
“Ah, yes. The investigation.”
“Mr. Davis’s sister is Lady Roslyn’s lady’s maid. She is distraught over her brother’s death.”
“I am glad of Lady Roslyn’s interest in Gordon’s death. Otherwise it might have gone unnoticed and his killer unpunished.”
“Do you believe Mr. Davis was murdered?”
Her gaze met his. “I do not know. But I trust you will find out.”
He drank the last of his sherry. “I will certainly do my best.” He rose and bowed. “I’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you for your candor.”
She surprised him by standing and accompanying him to the door.
“Mr. Catesby?”
He paused. “Yes?”
“You’re a very interesting man.” She stood near enough that he could smell her perfume. Something flowery yet not cloyingly sweet. Up close, her jewel-toned eyes were even more captivating. She placed a light hand on his arm. “Perhaps you will come again. A personal call.”
He did not mistake the intent behind her invitation. With her former lover dead, it appeared Lady Brandon was looking for a new paramour.
“That would be unlikely, my lady.” He gently took his arm away. “Good day.”
Chapter Twenty
After his conversation with Lady Brandon, Atlas went by his sister’s house to pick up the water pipe for Mrs. Disher’s tobacco shop. He was pleasantly surprised to find Lilliana visiting with Thea.
While his sister went to retrieve the pipe—Atlas had stored several boxes at his sister’s during the time he’d stayed with her while convalescing after breaking his foot—he filled Lilliana in on the identity of Davis’s wealthy married lover.
“Lady Brandon?” She was incredulous. “Are you certain?”
Atlas nodded. “She told me so herself.”
“You talked with her?” Her brow wrinkled. “When? Where?”
“Her house on Park Lane. I’ve just come from there.”
“You visited Lady Brandon at home?”
“Yes, and she was nice enough to receive me.”
“I’m certain she was,” Lilliana said dryly.
“The lady was surprisingly forthcoming.” He was eager to share what he’d learned. “She readily admitted to having a long-term affair with Davis, begun before her marriage and continuing shortly after she wed.” He filled her in on the rest of the conversation—except, of course, for the very last part of it.
“Do you think Lady Brandon is a suspect?” Lilliana asked. They were in Thea’s breakfast room. The main table was littered with papers and books rather than dishes and glasses. Behind it stood a black chalkboard filled with white chalk equations.
“We certainly cannot rule her out as a suspect,” he said. “Davis did jilt her in his quest to climb the social ladder, which makes her a woman scorned.”
“And we know what they say about scorned women,” she said. “As if a scorned man isn’t far more dangerous.”
Her late husband certainly had been. “I cannot argue with that,” he said. “Once I learned the identity of Davis’s highborn lover, I tasked Jamie with learning all he can about Lady Brandon from her servants. He’s proving surprisingly enterprising with other tasks that I’ve assigned to him.”
She smiled. “Jamie is a bright boy. I am not at all surprised he is flourishing under your guidance.” Lilliana rose and went to sit at Thea’s table. “There are so many moving parts in this investigation that it is becoming difficult to keep track of them all.” She found a pencil and looked for something to write on.
“What are you doing?” he asked, coming over to see.
“Making a list.” She wrote down Elizabeth Archer’s name. “Do we add any other Archers to the list?”
He pondered the question. “Perhaps Mr. Archer and his son, Trevor, should be on a secondary list of less likely suspects. We have no proof they were even aware of Elizabeth’s indiscretion.”
“I agree.” She started a second column with their names at the top.
“You can also add Walter Perry, Davis’s jealous neighbor to the list.”
She looked up. “Which list? Primary or secondary?”
“That’s a good question. I’ll have to visit the Perrys again before we can decide which list they belong on.”
She absentmindedly tapped the side of her pencil against the table’s edge. “Someone did send that unsigned note to Elizabeth accusing Davis of carrying on with someone who lived in the same boardinghouse.”
“They could be referring to Mrs. Perry or someone else entirely.”
“Maybe we should put Mr. Perry aside for the moment.” She went back to her task. To the primary suspect list, she added Roxbury and Merton’s names.
“And do not forget Lady Brandon.”
She looked at him. “And which list does she belong on?”
“I should think the primary list, at least for now. And Lord Brandon on the secondary list.”
“Her husband? Do you suspect him?”
“It is an avenue that should at least be explored. He could be a jealous husband who turned violent.”
“True.” She continued writing. When she was done, he stood over her shoulder, and they examined the list together.
Suspect List
Primary Secondary
Elizabeth Archer
Noel Archer
Lord Roxbury
Trevor Archer
Lord Merton
Lord Brandon
Lady Brandon
Mr. Perry (?)
She carefully wrote out a second identical list. When she was done, she folded each list and handed one to Atlas, which he slipped into his outside pocket while she rose and went to put her list into her reticule. Dropping her reticule on the chair, she leaned back against the table, resting her hips on the edge. “What is next? Will you go and visit the Perrys?”
“Eventually, yes. But first I need to visit the barrister who Davis took into his confidence.” He counted off each task on his fingers. “And I need to learn more about Lord Brandon to see if his wife’s affair might have driven him to murder her lover. Then there’s Lady Brandon. We’ll see what information Jamie turns up about her before I make any more inquiries in that direction.”
“I’m pleased to see you were not so blinded by Lady Brandon’s beauty,” she said archly, “that you failed to be objective about her possible complicity in Davis’s death.”
There was something in her tone, a certain flintiness, which took him by surprise. His eyes went wide. “It almost sounds as if you are . . . jealous.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and refused to meet his gaze. “Nonsense.”
“Is it?” He moved closer until he stood right before her and placed his palms facedown on the table on either side of her hips. Being completely forthright with her now seemed almost natural. “Are you certain?”
Her crystalline gaze met his. This close, her scent—an intriguing mix of flowers and spice—drifted over him. “Why do you ask? Perhaps it is because you are not indifferent to Lady Brandon’s charms.”
“She does not appeal to me.” He had not been tempted in the slightest by what the countess had so blatantly offered. “No one compares to you, Lily.”
Her beautiful eyes widened slightly. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Lily.” She smiled softly. “You called me Lily.”
“You asked me to once.” Many months ago, she’d requested that he call her Lily when they were in private. Prior to these past few days, he’d never expected to again have the opportunity to do so.
“I remember.”
His gaze swept over the lovely lines of her face. “Have I overstepped?”
“No.” They were still for a moment, so close that their breaths almost intermingled.
“I finally found it,” Thea’s voice carried as she breezed into the room, examining the package in her hand. “I believe this is the pipe you are looking for.”
Atlas pulled away from Lilliana and moved to take the box from his sister. “This looks like the correct crate,” he said, relieving her of the burden.
“What do you need it for?” Thea asked. “Is the one you currently use faulty?”
“No, this is for my landlady’s tobacco shop.” He placed the wooden crate on the table and lifted the lid. “She’s thinking to add it to her smoking room.”
“Your landlord is a she?” Thea asked. “Since when?”
“My previous landlord, Mr. Disher, perished while I was in Jamaica. His widow, Mrs. Disher, now runs the shop.” He unwrapped the brash pipe. “Yes, this is the one.”
“How does she even know you own a hookah?” Thea asked.
“Mrs. Disher orders the special nargileh tobacco for me.” He searched the inside of the box. “I thought I had purchased some extra mouthpieces, but I don’t see them here.”
“There are more boxes in the storeroom. I can ask Miller to take a look. If he finds them, I’ll have them sent over to you.”
“I’d be much obliged,” he said. “I’ll be on my way then. I’m meeting Charlton for supper at his club.” He gave Thea a farewell kiss on the cheek before turning to Lilliana. His intent gaze held hers as he gave her a bow. “Lady Roslyn.”
She favored him with a regal nod. “Mr. Catesby.”
* * *
When Atlas reached home, he went first into the tobacconist shop to deliver Olivia the nargileh. He found Charlton standing at the long, narrow counter chatting with Olivia.
Atlas set the box on the counter. “Your nargileh, Mrs. Disher.”
She appeared delighted as she pulled the top off and lifted the water pipe out of the wooden box. “You must show me how to prepare it.”
“I would be happy to do so.” He turned to Charlton. “Am I late, or are you early?”
Charlton checked his fob. “I suppose I am early, but fortunately, the lovely Mrs. Disher has kept me company while I waited.”
“Such a charmer,” Olivia said with a laugh. “You’re liable to turn my head.”
Atlas and Charlton left her to go up to Atlas’s apartments. As they went up the stairs, Atlas asked, “Tell me, what do you know of Lord Brandon?”
“There’s not much to tell really.” Charlton pursed his lips while considering his answer. “He’s something of a dull fellow. Brandon prefers life in the country, his dogs, and the hunt.”
Atlas paused at the top of the stairs. “Is he the type to be violently jealous of his wife’s affair?”
“That scenario is difficult to envision. Brandon’s a stolid fellow who doesn’t appear overly interested in his wife.”
They entered Atlas’s apartments to find Jamie stoking the fire in the front wall. “Bring the earl a drink while I dress, will you?” Atlas said to the boy, leading Charlton into the sitting room and then heading on to his bedchamber.
“Of course, sir.”
Charlton pulled a few shillings from his pocket. “I could use a coffee. Run and get us some.”
Jamie pocketed the money. “Certainly, my lord.”
Once the boy was gone, Atlas paused in the doorway to his bedchamber and looked expectantly at Charlton. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“You obviously sent the boy away so we’d have some privacy. He won’t be gone long. What is it?”
Charlton cleared his throat, his discomfort apparent. “I must ask you a question, and I hope you will be frank.”
Atlas pulled off his cravat. “I will certainly try to be.”
“You and Olivia . . . Mrs. Disher, rather . . . is your affaire d’amour truly over?”
“It was hardly a love affair.” Atlas rested a hand against the doorframe and learned into it. He wondered where Charlton was going with this line of questioning. “I esteem the lady, to be sure, but our dalliance was a mistake, and I regret the indiscretion.”
“It’s just that . . .” Charlton’s gaze floated around the sitting room. “What I mean to say . . .”
“Bloody hell, Charlton, spit it out.” Atlas was somewhat bemused by the earl’s uncharacteristic discomfiture. “Jamie’s liable to return before you reveal what’s got you twisted into knots.”
“Very well.” Charlton straightened. “I am interested in seeing Mrs. Disher on a more . . . erm . . . personal basis.”
“Truly?” Atlas dropped his hand and straightened. Olivia might not be a lady, but she was a respectable woman. “She’s not one of your opera singers or actresses.”
“I am well aware.” Charlton ran a hand over the back of his head. “It’s just that I am weary of those kinds of liaisons. What I mean to say is that paying for companionship eventually loses its luster. I’m interested in . . . something different.”
“I cannot fault you there.” Atlas had never paid for female companionship. The idea that such transactions were commonplace among the aristocracy had always struck him as sordid. He felt the exchange demeaned the buyer far more than any woman he might pay for her company. “But it’s not as though you can make someone like Olivia your countess.”
“No, of course not. However, Mrs. Disher has indicated she has no intention of remarrying. I should like to enjoy her company. I have reason to believe she enjoys mine.”
Atlas shrugged. “You are both adults. She’s a widow who can do as she pleases.”
“You don’t mind, then, given that the two of you were once intimate?”
Atlas shook his head. “Olivia and I are friends who lapsed one evening when we were both lonely and had imbibed too much. I have no claim on her. If you are interested in pursuing your acquaintance with Mrs. Disher, it is none of my affair, and I have no objection whatsoever.”
“If you are certain.”
“I am.” Unbuttoning his waistcoat, he turned and made his way into his bedchamber. “Now allow me change so we can get to the club for supper.”
Less than an hour later, Atlas and Charlton entered the Voyager’s Club and were surprised to find Ambrose Endicott walking through the front entrance hall.
“Endicott,” Atlas greeted the runner. “Don’t tell me there’s been another burglary here.”
“Nothing of the sort,” the runner responded. “The stolen candlesticks have been recovered. We’ve just returned them.”
“Where did you find the silver?” Charlton asked.
“A fence in White Chapel had them. We are still tracking the burglars, but this is a start.” He buttoned his coat. “Good evening, gentlemen. I do hope you enjoy your meal.”
Atlas and Charlton bade the runner good-bye. As they were about to head into the Eating Room, Endicott paused. “What do you think of the misfortune that’s befallen the Archer family?”
Atlas frowned. “What misfortune?”
“You haven’t heard? You are acquainted with the Archers, are you not?”
“Yes, I have met some me
mbers of the family.” Had Elizabeth’s scandal become public? “But I have no knowledge of the misfortune you speak of.”
“Practically the entire family was poisoned yesterday.” Endicott appeared surprised that Atlas hadn’t heard the news. “It appears to be arsenic.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Poisoned?” Charlton exclaimed.
“The devil you say!” Atlas’s lower jaw dropped. “Was anyone killed?”
Endicott’s expression was grim. “The youngest daughter, Harriet Archer, is in a very bad way. The doctor isn’t certain she’ll survive.”
Atlas recalled meeting Elizabeth’s lively and precocious young sister when he’d called upon the Archers. Anger burned in his chest at the thought of someone deliberately harming the child. “And the others in the family? How do they fare?”
“The elder Mr. Archer and Mrs. Archer did not seem too terribly affected. The son, Trevor Archer, also had a bad time of it, like his sister Harriet, but he’s pulling through.”
“And the other daughter?” Atlas asked after Elizabeth. “How is she?”
“Fit as a fiddle.” Endicott gave him a meaningful look. “She was the only person in the family who did not appear to suffer any ill effects at all. By all outward appearances, Miss Elizabeth Archer did not ingest the poison as the rest of her family did.”
Atlas exchanged a look with Charlton, unsure of what to make of that revelation. The sole Archer left untouched by poison was Elizabeth, the one family member who had admitted to previously purchasing arsenic. “Do you know how they all—with the exception of Miss Elizabeth—came to ingest the poison?”
Endicott shook his head. “Not as of yet. I have some men searching the poison books to see if they find anything interesting.”
And find something they would. Jamie had located Elizabeth’s name on the poison register. It was only a matter of time before the runners discovered it too.
* * *
The following morning, Atlas set out for Clapham to visit the Archer family. The maid showed Atlas into the same sunny drawing room with large sash windows as when he’d first visited.
“Mr. Catesby.” Noel Archer crossed over the gleaming paneled flooring to shake Atlas’s hand. “I’m pleased you have come. I was thinking of sending a note this morning asking you to call.”