Death at the Crystal Palace

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Who are all the guests?” I whispered.

  “Oh, acquaintances of the duke’s. From all over.” Daniel kept his voice pitched normally. Explaining these things to a foreign young woman would not be considered odd. “Politicos and others. No gathering in England is only about gazing at flowers. There are favors to be exchanged, decisions to be made. What happens on the floor of the Houses of Parliament or in Cabinet meetings is only part of what goes into running the nation.”

  “It is too bad, as the gardens are so beautiful.” I had known from working for the wife of an MP that politics happened in clubs and at suppers, far from the buildings of power. The wife had rarely seen her husband, and had taken up with a young man to entertain her, which had led to the MP banishing her to the country and me having to find another post.

  “Well, we can enjoy them,” Daniel declared. “I am never going into politics. A fool’s game, that.”

  A stiff gentleman ambling by with his equally stiff wife sent Daniel a sneer, even as they both nodded cordially. Daniel tipped his hat, and I managed not to curtsy.

  “What are these flowers?” I pointed to a line of tall stalks with deep blue flowers bursting from them. “They are so pretty.”

  Daniel glanced at them with the bored air of a man who didn’t understand what women saw in such things. “Dashed if I know. Duchess might, but she’s up to her ears in guests. Perhaps we’ll find a gardener.”

  He did not quicken his pace, as though having no interest in either plants or gardener.

  I paused to admire the blooms. I recognized the skill in this garden—it was full but tidy, each plant given room to grow but close enough to its neighbors that the beds were a riot of color.

  I knew what the plant was, it so happened. Larkspur. It was a bit early for it, but if the seeds were started in a hothouse or nurtured with row covers, a good gardener could make them bloom to the duchess’s schedule.

  What made me pause was that I knew larkspur was poisonous. A cook needs to fathom what plants not to put into a dish—for instance, the leaves and stems of pepper plants are poisonous, while the peppers themselves can be eaten without worry, unless one is sensitive to spicy foods.

  It occurred to me as I stood there that Lady Covington’s Park Lane house had a beautiful and well-tended garden, including a hothouse that raised all sorts of vegetables and herbs. Many plants were partly edible, or edible at certain intervals in their life-span, while at the same time, many could be deadly. A salad of the wrong kind of greens or beans could kill the unwary.

  Not all gardeners knew these things, so I did not immediately suspect Symes of sending in poisonous leaves to the kitchen. Even if Mrs. Gamble couldn’t tell the difference, Cynthia would have noted it if some unusual vegetable or fruit had been served for supper. And again, Mrs. Gamble would taste everything before sending it up.

  Of course, anyone in that house could go out into the garden and pick flowers or herbs without any question attached to the action. They could equally well slip a few deadly leaves into a pot of soup in the dining room. Only when Mrs. Gamble made certain the food went directly from her hands to Lady Covington were no ill effects felt.

  “You’re miles away, darling.”

  “Pardon?” I snapped back to Daniel. “Very sorry. I thought of something, is all.”

  Daniel looked curious, but he knew I could not speak openly here. I uncharitably thought it only fair that he should wonder what was going on inside my head for a change.

  “It is warm, I agree,” Daniel said, raising his voice for benefit of those around us. “Perhaps we can adjourn to the tea tent. Or the house. The duke won’t mind if we wander about looking at his paintings.”

  “The house.” I was rather warm, and the shade inside had been pleasant. I did not fancy a crowded tea tent where I might be more closely scrutinized.

  Daniel and I strolled back the way we’d come, nodding to more guests as we went. We circled a large fountain of stone cupids pouring large pitchers of water over each other, and headed for the terrace.

  As we reached it, I heard a voice I recognized.

  “Delightful of you to let us come, old boy.” A slender man in a dark suit, with thin sideburns flowing to an equally thin mustache, shook the hand of the silver-haired duke, the two standing just outside the entrance to the house. “Would love to continue our little chat.”

  I halted, pulling Daniel up short. “Oh dear.”

  “What is it?” Daniel’s voice was in my ear, low, urgent.

  “That is Lord Clifford,” I whispered. “Cynthia’s father.”

  17

  What the devil was he doing here? I hadn’t realized Lord Clifford was acquainted with the Duke of Daventry. Cynthia must not know either, because she’d have not sent me straight into the lion’s den. Nor had Mr. Fielding reported such a thing.

  Daniel’s arm tightened around mine. “Does he know you? Has he seen you?”

  “Yes, he jolly well has. He’s come down to the kitchen several times. Lady Clifford as well.”

  “Damn.” Daniel straightened, resuming his languorous stance. “The tea tent it is, then, darling.”

  “You said there was no one I knew on the guest list,” I hissed as we turned and made our way quickly back toward the fountain.

  “He isn’t on it,” Daniel said adamantly. “I would have noted that immediately, believe me.”

  “Then why is he here?”

  “If I knew, I’d not be cursing.”

  We quickened our steps toward the tent beckoning us at the edge of the garden. Then I stopped abruptly. Daniel followed my gaze to see the duchess, her arm locked through that of Lady Clifford, entering the tea tent.

  “We slip away,” Daniel said, his gaze on Lord Clifford and the duke. “And you go to the train station.”

  “What will you say to the duke and duchess?”

  “That you were feeling ill and wanted to return to London. You’ve done exactly what was needed. The duchess has seen you and will cease trying to pair me off with her friends’ daughters. I know this was a risk.” Daniel let out a breath. “I can only thank you.”

  He was correct. I’d played my part, as brief as it was, and had no more need to stroll a duke’s garden in finery. That suited me. As pleasant as it was to wander among the beautiful flowers with Daniel, I’d prefer to shuck this gown for my own sensible clothes and spend time with my daughter.

  The duke and Lord Clifford moved down the steps of the terrace to the garden. Daniel and I circled around and climbed up the terrace’s far side, scooting into the house behind their backs.

  “Wait here,” Daniel whispered, stationing me in a shadow under the monstrous staircase. “I’ll find James, and he can escort you back to London.”

  “I am certain I can find London on my own,” I told him. “It is a rather large city, and my train will be marked To London.”

  Daniel’s smile made his face even more handsome. “You won’t go on your own dressed like that without causing a scandal. James will make certain all is well.”

  He had a point. As myself, I could walk about with impunity, but a lady of the middle or upper classes would mar her reputation, or at least be talked about heartily, if she dared go anywhere alone. Best I did not draw attention to myself or Daniel.

  I backed into the cool gloom under the staircase while Daniel hastened out the front door. The glass case filled with ancient-looking spoons and a knife or two helped shield me. I could study the interesting antiquities and ponder the possible ways a person could harvest and use poisonous plants while I waited.

  Steps echoed in the hall, followed by male voices. One man mumbled in a low voice, and the tones of Lord Clifford rose over his.

  “Do think about it, dear chap. It would save me no end of bother.”

  Oh Lord. I pressed myself beneath the corner of the staircase a
nd peered around it as the small, silver-bearded duke and taller Lord Clifford halted in the middle of the hall. Something sparkled and winked in Lord Clifford’s hand.

  “May I see it again?” The duke stretched out a hand, and Lord Clifford spilled what looked like a diamond necklace onto the duke’s palm.

  The duke brought the necklace to his eyes, studying it carefully. The strand dangled, catching what little light filled the hall.

  “It’s been in the family for donkey’s years.” Lord Clifford glanced about and lowered his voice. “My wife gets worried . . . well, you know. Women grow fond of things, don’t they?”

  “Indeed.” The duke slid a loupe on a chain from his pocket and examined the diamonds with an air of expertise.

  I remained fixed in place, staring hard at the pair until my eyes began to dry. Cynthia had told me many times how Lord Clifford had run through the money of the estate and lived on nothing but what he could charm from his friends. Was the necklace part of the jewels of the earldom? If so, why hadn’t Lord Clifford sold them long ago? Why was he offering them now, to this particular duke?

  My hands tightened as worry squeezed me. If the duke was involved with the anarchists, and Lord Clifford was found to be giving him diamond necklaces, he could be implicated as well. Which would destroy Cynthia.

  Lady Clifford truly seemed to wish to get Cynthia married, but Cynthia—and I—suspected Lord Clifford of an ulterior motive for his journey to London. Had Lord Clifford simply planned to sell a valuable necklace to a rich duke and pocket the cash, or did he sympathize with the Irish cause? I read Lord Clifford as a selfish man who likely cared for no cause but his own comfort, but he might be coaxed into the duke’s schemes with the promise of reward.

  “It certainly is beautiful.” The duke continued to peer at the diamonds while Lord Clifford again scanned the hall, as though ready to bolt if anyone appeared.

  My greatest fear was that Daniel would dash back inside. I doubted Lord Clifford would recognize him—Daniel hadn’t been around much since Lord and Lady Clifford had arrived—but Daniel would be looking for me, the duke would ask Daniel where his companion had got to, and lies would tangle with lies.

  Lord Clifford paused when his gaze reached the shadows of the stairs. I drew back silently. Had he seen me? Would he call me out of hiding?

  I held my breath, but nothing happened. Lord Clifford either hadn’t seen me or thought me a harmless young lady gazing at a case full of spoons.

  “May I leave it with you, then?” Lord Clifford asked. “I’d be chuffed if I could. I’ll be in London awhile. Staying with my brother-in-law in Mount Street.”

  The duke slid the magnifier into one pocket and the diamonds into the other. “Yes, I will be happy to help.”

  “Excellent. Well.” The earl clapped the duke on the shoulder, nearly overbalancing the man. “I will find my wife and partake of your generous tea. Haven’t got anything a bit stronger than the old British beverage, have you?”

  The duke chuckled. “I believe I do.” He removed a flask from his pocket. “Dollop that in your tea, and I’m certain you’ll be a happier man.”

  Lord Clifford laughed merrily. He took the flask, dropped it into his pocket, gave the hall one last scrutiny, and followed the duke out the door to the terrace.

  Daniel entered through the front in the next moment. I gathered my skirts and scurried to meet him.

  “Forgive me,” Daniel said, sotto voce. “I had to wait until they’d gone. Did they see you?”

  “I don’t believe so.” We left the house and crossed the gravel drive to James, who opened the door of the landau that had driven us here. I remembered the chill of Lord Clifford’s gaze falling on me, but he could not have known who I was even if he’d seen me. A woman in the darkness, hidden by a hat and veil? I’d been well concealed.

  “I will make certain they did not.” Daniel pressed my hands and drew me closer. “Thank you, Kat. And do take care.”

  I nodded. I did not dare kiss him, though I suppose young Mrs. Holtmann might kiss her fiancé good-bye. But I did not want to draw more attention, and I was supposed to be feeling unwell.

  I hated to withdraw my hands and climb into the carriage, not knowing when I’d see Daniel again. I hoped he’d swiftly discover whether the duke was guilty or not and have done with hunting down anarchists. And then have done with doing anything for the cold-eyed Mr. Monaghan.

  Daniel gave me a faint smile and assisted me into the landau.

  “Do take care, darling,” he said for benefit of the coachman and anyone else nearby. “I’ll call upon you later, shall I? Not certain when.”

  “Of course.” I leaned back on the seat and pretended to be wilting from the heat.

  “Look after her.” Daniel spun a coin in his fingers and tossed it to James, who deftly caught it. “Do whatever she says, and be quick about it.”

  “Yes, sir.” The coin quickly disappeared into James’s pocket, and he leapt onto the back of the landau.

  The coach started. Daniel raised his hand in farewell, and I feebly waved back.

  It was over. I’d successfully made certain all believed shallow Mr. Lancaster had a fiancée, and now I could return to being Kat Holloway, no-nonsense cook.

  I watched the house and gardens disappear behind the trees, knowing it could be many years before I saw such splendor again.

  * * *

  * * *

  I was not able to speak to James until we were seated in a compartment—first-class again—for the return journey. I had the compartment to myself, which I thought entirely frivolous, so I insisted James stay with me. We feasted out of a basket of tea things James had procured at the station.

  The cakes were not as good as what I could bake, but I was hungry and I made do. James downed the pasties included in the basket, but I declined, as I feared marring the dress with their juices.

  “I do not like that your father recruited you for this deception,” I said as I nibbled a scone that was far too dry.

  James shrugged around a mouthful of meat and gravy. “No one else he could trust, was there? He’d have used a constable or some such, but he said with you, he wanted me only.”

  I supposed there was sense in that decision. A constable would ask questions about me or report my existence to Daniel’s boss, and Daniel wanted Mr. Monaghan far from me.

  “I do appreciate the effort.” I reached across the space of the compartment and gave James’s knee a pat. “Besides, you look fine in that suit.”

  It was a footman’s garb, slim trousers and coat with a cravat. It fit James’s form far better than his usual woolen jackets and breeches and made him quite handsome.

  James fingered his collar. “It’s stifling. I don’t know how toffs do it.”

  “I too will be happy to resume my usual clothing.”

  I touched the skirt with my gloved hand, trying to suppress the wistfulness that came over me. I’d never owned something this beautiful.

  No reason to be sentimental, I told myself. It’s only a frock.

  I forced myself to put aside any regret and continue with the scone. When Daniel and I had traveled down, I had been angry with him, and he annoyed with me, and we’d not had much appetite or opportunity to eat at the garden party. Now I finished off the sandwiches and unwrapped two small seedcakes and passed one to James.

  “This basket.” I studied it. “Lady Covington’s family had a large one, a hamper, and a porter took it while they boarded.”

  James chewed, listening while I ruminated.

  “What happens to bags the porter takes?” I continued. “Are they ever out of someone’s sight? Or does he carry them directly to the compartment? If they are put in a baggage car, are they left alone until called for?”

  “I can ask.” James leapt to his feet. He was out the door before I could say a word, air rushing
into the compartment in his wake.

  I tidied up the things and put the papers and scraps back into the basket. I thought of Daniel still at the duke’s, and Lord Clifford handing the duke a fortune in diamonds. A simple transaction to raise money for Lord and Lady Clifford? Or something more sinister?

  The bright, green countryside, meadows awakening from winter, had given way to buildings on London’s outskirts before James returned. He plumped down into his seat, pleased with himself.

  “Porter says bags not loaded directly to a toff’s compartment are put aside in a room at the end of the first-class car. When a toff asks for it—usually ringing for it, or sending a servant trotting down to fetch it—the bag is taken out and goes to the compartment. Returned to the room when done. That’s for small things like a food hamper or a lady’s toiletries case. Larger bags go into the baggage car. Baggage car is locked up and guarded, to keep thieves from strolling in and helping themselves, but the smaller room in the first-class car isn’t locked. Porter or conductor is usually near it, but not always. Thieves don’t ride first-class,” he finished.

  “Well.” I thought about Mr. Fielding and Lord Clifford. “Often they don’t. Thank you, James. That is very helpful.”

  It would have been easy for any member of Lady Covington’s party to move down the car, enter the room at the end, open the hamper, and sprinkle poison into Lady Covington’s food. The fact that Erica ate it instead was their misfortune.

  Or was it? A new idea formed. Lady Covington had only ever been slightly ill by the poison, never taking enough to kill her. Sir Arthur likewise had only been ill and was recovering, according to Mrs. Gamble.

  Perhaps Erica had been the target of the killer all along. After all, anyone could have eaten out of the hamper that night, but Harriet had said Erica, who liked her food, had eaten quite a lot. If the poisoner had known Erica would, and had even encouraged her, he or she could have chosen that moment to strike. All would assume Lady Covington was supposed to die, and no one would search for a motive to kill Erica.