Death at the Crystal Palace

by Jennifer Ashley

  But why should anyone wish to kill Erica? I wondered. She’d been married to an MP who hadn’t been good to her and had not left her well-off. She scarcely had been a threat to anyone in the family.

  A more horrible thought entered my head. Perhaps the killer wished to inherit all of Lady Covington’s money and not share it with any of the others. I did not know what was in the lady’s will, though I could find out, but perhaps Lady Covington had left fortunes to all four children.

  George—Lord Covington—had inherited his father’s title, but not his gift for business. What if George, knowing he was losing money, coveted Erica’s share of Lady Covington’s fortune? Or perhaps Jonathan believed that he, as her only son, should get the lion’s share? Or Harriet, who had a secret beau and seemed to long for freedom, would find that freedom if she had a great deal of money.

  If I was right, how long before any of the other heirs would die by “accident”?

  Then there was the problem of Henry. Was he a man Erica loved, but possibly he did not love her? An affair gone on too long? Did Henry find it easier to kill Erica than free himself from her clutches?

  I rubbed my temples. I would have to return to the house and talk further to Mrs. Gamble, who knew much about the upstairs. It wouldn’t hurt to have another chat with Symes either, to find out which of the family liked the garden.

  We reached London and the throngs of Waterloo Station. James, acting the part of my lackey, rushed out and waved down a hansom cab. He instructed the cabbie to take me to Upper Brook Street, and climbed in beside me.

  At Trafalgar Square, James deserted me. He’d paid the cabbie already, he said, with coins his dad had given him, and all I had to do was alight at Miss Townsend’s. James waved as he disappeared into the crowd milling before the National Gallery, and was gone.

  The cab clopped through Haymarket to Piccadilly and up through Regent Street past the building where Mr. Thanos had rooms. We turned at Hanover Square, passing beside Hanover Church, and so to Brook Street, Grosvenor Square, and Upper Brook Street.

  I gave the cabbie an extra penny for a tip, which he took gratefully. Miss Townsend’s butler, spying me, helped me descend.

  “They’re upstairs in the studio, Mrs. Holloway,” he told me as he ushered me into the cool, quiet house and closed the door behind me.

  The butler treated me no less respectfully than did Mr. Davis, though he must wonder at Miss Townsend dressing me like a doll and sending me off to Surrey. He seemed to take Miss Townsend’s eccentricities in stride, including her invitation to Bobby to live with her.

  I climbed the polished staircase to the top of the house, my feet in the high-heeled shoes aching somewhat, and entered the studio, which was flooded with light from skylights and large windows. Stacks of canvasses lay everywhere, and finished paintings leaned against the walls.

  The sharp smell of varnish assailed me. I found Miss Townsend in a smock, gliding a large brush over a finished painting. Cynthia and Bobby lounged on the far side of the room, reading newspapers.

  A strange blatting sound emerged from the wall, and I jumped. Miss Townsend coolly reached for a speaking tube without looking up and applied it to her ear.

  “Mrs. Holloway has returned.” I heard the butler’s voice hollow and small inside the tube.

  Cynthia and Bobby came to their feet, Cynthia tossing aside her paper. Miss Townsend turned, a drop of varnish splashing to the paint-splotched floor.

  “Why are you back so soon, Mrs. H.?” Cynthia sang out. “Everything all right? Or were you found out?”

  They surrounded me, Cynthia’s light blue and Bobby’s and Miss Townsend’s brown eyes avid, the three wanting to know everything.

  I set down the reticule and unpinned the hat. “My visit was cut short because your father turned up, Cynthia.”

  Cynthia blinked in astonishment. “Papa? At the Duke of Daventry’s? Papa doesn’t know him—I’d have heard him boast of acquaintance with a wealthy duke. Jove, I’d have warned you if I’d known. Did he recognize you?”

  “I do not believe so.” Again I felt that fleeting touch of Lord Clifford’s gaze, and I had to wonder. If he had recognized me, he could have easily exposed me then and there, which would have exposed Daniel as well. I shuddered to think of what Daniel’s guv’nor would say if Daniel was betrayed because he’d brought me to the duke’s house.

  “What the devil was my father doing there, do you know?” Cynthia asked me.

  I told her what I’d seen and heard, and how her father had handed the duke a diamond necklace. “The transaction does not seem to be complete. Lord Clifford told the duke to contact him when he was ready, I suppose to purchase the necklace . . .” I trailed off as Cynthia covered her face. “Whatever is the matter, Lady Cynthia?”

  Cynthia shook her head, still buried in her hands, and groaned. “Oh, not the diamond necklace. Not again. He promised.”

  18

  Miss Townsend, Bobby, and I regarded Cynthia in bafflement.

  “What are you going on about, Cyn?” Bobby demanded. “What necklace?”

  Cynthia raised her head. Her cheeks were flushed, tears standing in the corners of her eyes. “Something my father trots out from time to time. Did he arrive there with anyone, Mrs. Holloway? Besides my mother, I mean. Or did you see him speaking to anyone else?”

  “Only the duke,” I answered. “Why?”

  “He needs a partner, but I didn’t think he had many cronies left in London. I’m sorry, Judith, I must go. Good-bye, Bobby, Mrs. Holloway. I will speak to you later.”

  This last Cynthia said to me as she hastened out of the studio. We heard her clatter down the stairs, calling out to the butler below.

  Miss Townsend raised her brows but held up a hand as Bobby started forward. “Best to leave her be, I think. It’s none of our affair and will be a family matter she needs to face alone. Was the gown suitable, Mrs. Holloway?”

  Neither Bobby nor I protested her change of subject, though Bobby was as curious as I.

  “Indeed.” I was loath to part with the gown, though I knew I could not wear it to Cheapside to visit my daughter. “Please give your friend my thanks when you return it.”

  “It is yours,” Miss Townsend said. “She had planned to send it to a secondhand shop, as she was finished with it anyway. Now that it fits you, you might as well retain it.”

  I paused in the act of tugging off the gloves. “Good heavens, if Mrs. Bywater found such a gown hanging in my room, she’d think I was some man’s fancy piece.”

  Both Miss Townsend and Bobby laughed, thinking me joking, but I did not exaggerate. Mrs. Bywater so far had not stooped to searching her servants’ rooms, but if any of the maids or Mrs. Redfern saw it, and Mrs. Bywater heard of it, I would be hard-pressed to explain.

  “Never mind,” Miss Townsend said. “I will keep it here for you. Whenever you wish to wear it—perhaps Mr. McAdam will take you dining—send word, and you may don it here.”

  I touched the skirt, the smooth fabric cool to my bare fingers. “You are very kind, but—”

  “No buts, Mrs. Holloway. You have earned this. You gave up your day out to help Mr. McAdam on one of his hunts, and you ought to have something for it. I will keep the gown, and we’ll say no more about it.”

  She could do as she liked, of course. I gave Miss Townsend a nod, then I took myself downstairs to her bedchamber to change into my own clothes.

  I felt much more myself in my plain corset and brown dress, years out of fashion by now. But this was the frock I wore to visit Grace, and donning it always made me lighter of heart. No beautiful gown with a dozen frills could compare to that.

  Miss Townsend and Bobby walked downstairs with me, Miss Townsend’s butler having procured another hansom.

  Bobby pulled a coin from her pocket. “For your daughter,” she said, handing me a shining copper penny.
“She can buy whatever toys she likes with it. You are lucky, Mrs. H.”

  She looked wistful. I realized that Bobby, though she eschewed the dress, manners, and restrictions of a woman, liked children and envied me mine. I doubted she yearned after them enough to don a frock and marry a man, but if she ever had young ones to look after, I thought she’d do well by them.

  I thanked her and Miss Townsend again, climbed into the hackney, and left to ride across London to Cheapside.

  This, I thought as I sat in Joanna’s parlor sipping tea with Grace while Joanna’s four children read books or played games, is much better than walking through a duke’s garden ignoring the rude stares of haughty people. They might have finery and riches, but I had warmth and friendship, and a daughter I loved with all my heart.

  Grace and I went for our walk, not far today. We wandered about St. Paul’s Churchyard, admiring the huge dome that dominated our skyline. I told Grace about the duke’s home in Surrey, his lovely gardens, and interesting bits and bobs inside the house. I’d been honest with her and Joanna, telling them I’d be late because I was helping Mr. McAdam.

  “Perhaps you could be a cook in a place like that,” Grace said when I’d finished describing the huge staircase and the displays of antiquities beneath it. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”

  “It is not likely to happen. I’d have to live outside London, and then I couldn’t visit you so often.”

  Grace, nearly twelve now, gazed at me with wisdom in her brown eyes. “I’m happy living with Mrs. Millburn, you know. And Jane.” She named Mrs. Millburn’s oldest daughter with whom she was now as close as a sister. “Even Matthew, though he likes to tease something awful.” Matthew was the Millburns’ youngest son. “You do not have to stay in Town for me, Mum. If there’s a splendid house that would pay you lots and lots, you should go.”

  Her words held sincerity. Warmth washed through me, not only from pride at how selfless she was but partly from a twinge of sadness. Grace was growing up swiftly, becoming less in need of my presence.

  “It is a kind thought, but neither here nor there at this point,” I said. “No splendid house is offering me employ, and I do well in Mount Street. I like Lady Cynthia, and I enjoy the cooking.”

  “Lady Cynthia is rather beautiful,” Grace said. “Will she marry Mr. Thanos soon?”

  I let out a breath, recalling how Mr. Thanos had gazed at Cynthia after his lecture at the Crystal Palace. “He is shy. But I hope he’ll come around one day.”

  “He will if you tell him to, Mum.” Grace nodded with confidence. “I like Lady Bobby too. She makes me laugh. Please tell her thank you for the penny.” She patted her pocket where the penny reposed.

  “I will.” I barely heard Grace’s last words, because an idea was taking shape in my head about Cynthia and Mr. Thanos. Mr. Thanos might not fall on his knees and propose to Cynthia because of it, but my idea would throw them together, which might lead to a more permanent arrangement.

  I walked Grace back home, parted from her with my usual reluctance, and returned to Mount Street on foot, wanting the exercise and the time to work out how I’d persuade Mr. Thanos to accept my idea.

  * * *

  * * *

  Tess wanted to demand every detail of my day out to a duke’s house, I could see, but I’d scarcely relate anything to her while the kitchen was full. Lord and Lady Clifford dined in tonight—they’d returned from Surrey—and footmen, Mr. Davis, Mrs. Redfern, and maids hurried to and fro on various duties as Tess and I prepared supper.

  I made my Antiguan custards again, as Mr. Davis told me Lord Clifford had requested them. Tess had done so well preparing most of the meal that I had plenty of time to cook the custard and chill it while she roasted a hen, made gravy, and finished up the salads.

  “A fine night’s work,” she said cheerfully, once everything had gone to the dining room.

  Tess was growing in talent, and I would lose her one day when she sought employment as a cook in her own right. That was the way of the world, but I’d become very fond of Tess and did not like to think of her leaving.

  I and the staff ate in the servants’ hall after service. As I had at Joanna’s home, I reflected that the banter of the maids and footmen, including the complaints, made for a cozy time of it. I’d had my taste of being a toff, and I decided I preferred to be me, hard work and all.

  Tess had labored much today, so I sent her to bed early and finished cleaning the kitchen myself. The others drifted away to other tasks or bed, and as usual, I remained alone as things quieted down. I treasured this time to myself, to sharpen my knives, to reflect on what I’d done during the day, to make notes on recipes, and to hope Daniel would drop by.

  Lord Clifford turned up instead.

  “Good evening, your lordship.” I rose hastily, setting down the fillet knife I’d taken up to sharpen. I curtsied, my heart banging. “I hope you enjoyed the puddings a second time.”

  “They were superb, my dear.” Lord Clifford strolled toward the table, hands behind his back. “I must say, you create wonderful dishes in here.” He glanced at the dresser stacked with crockery, the copper pots hanging above the stove, and my clean work table strewn with knives and the sharpening stone. “The kitchen at our country house is much, much larger.”

  Not unexpected, as only so much could fit beneath a London town house. “Yes, your lordship.”

  “I imagine the Duke of Daventry’s kitchen is even larger.” Lord Clifford sent me a pointed look, and then I knew. “Were you there trying to convince him to hire you? Or for some other ruse?”

  I stood very still, though I felt my body rocking slightly. What to tell him? I could not betray Daniel or endanger him, and I was uncertain whether Lord Clifford was in league with the duke.

  “I know it was you.” Lord Clifford halted a few feet from me, his gaze straying to the knives. “You wore a lovely purple ensemble—it quite suited you. I’m good with faces, you see, and the way people walk and move. I never forget. I saw you in the garden with that twit, Lancaster. Were you trying to fleece him? Don’t blame you if you were. If ever a fatuous idiot needed to be fleeced, it is the Honorable Mr. Lancaster.”

  I relaxed a fraction. Lord Clifford hadn’t realized Daniel was anything but the empty-headed fop he pretended to be.

  “I am a cook, your lordship,” I began.

  Lord Clifford snorted. “You are far more than that, my dear. You are a very clever young woman. No one but me noticed you—why should they? But I am quite good at spotting a fraud.”

  I wasn’t certain how to respond. Should I deny I was there, and insist he was mistaken? Or admit it and beg him to say nothing? Either way, I was at a firm disadvantage.

  Lord Clifford had descended here to blackmail me, I surmised. What would he want? Money? Or something more sordid? I needed to make him understand right away that I would not put up with that sort of nonsense.

  I wet my lips. “Your lordship . . .”

  Lord Clifford chuckled. “My dear, do not look so terrified. Your secret is safe with me.” He tapped the side of his nose. “As I say, young Lancaster deserves to be swindled. All I ask is that you tell me exactly how you do it. I love a good story.”

  “I . . .” It was a rare day that words failed me, but they failed me now.

  “There you are, Papa.” Cynthia charged into the room. “I have been trying to run you down all evening, but I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mummy.”

  Lord Clifford beheld his daughter, whose fetching pink tea gown fluttered around her like rose petals, in some alarm. “Say anything about what?”

  “I told Lady Cynthia about the necklace,” I said quickly. Lord Clifford had not yet reached the conclusion that while he’d seen me, I’d seen him.

  His face lost color, his cheeky expression gone. “Now, Cynthia. Darling . . .”

  “You promised, Papa,�
� Cynthia said severely. “There was to be no more of that.”

  Lord Clifford folded his arms tightly across his chest. “For God’s sake, Cynthia, don’t tell your mother.”

  “That rather depends on what you tell me. Why did you trot it out? Strapped for cash, are you? You told me you had plenty of funds.”

  “Well, I do not,” Lord Clifford snapped. “Keeping up an estate is a devilish thing, which you’d understand if you ever stopped at home. The outbuildings are ever in need of repair, the bloody roof leaks, and I don’t want to talk about the state of the drains. The Duke of Daventry has more money than the Queen of Sheba, and now that the government is looking at him askance, I’d be doing the country a favor relieving him of some of his wealth. Less for him to send to nuisance-makers in Ireland.”

  His words relieved me a bit. At least Lord Clifford had no intention of assisting the duke in his nefarious activities.

  “Who are you working with?” Cynthia demanded.

  Lord Clifford flushed. “Pardon?”

  “The necklace scheme takes two. Who is your partner this time? Don’t let it be a beautiful woman again and break Mummy’s heart.”

  “No, no, nothing of the sort. Besides, I’d never look twice at another woman—you know that. I love your mother without reservation.”

  “Then who?” Cynthia persisted.

  “You need not worry. He’s harmless, probably doesn’t even understand what I’m up to. He’s highly respectable. A parson, dog collar and all.”

  “Oh.” My syllable cut through whatever Cynthia had drawn breath to say. “Your lordship, did you by chance meet this parson recently?”

  Lord Clifford blinked at me. “As a matter of fact, I did. Here in London.” He slanted Cynthia a guilty glance. “I nipped out of the theatre when I was there with your mother the other night to take some air. He was wandering about the portico, as weary of the horrible play as I was. We began chatting.”

  “Tell me,” I continued in growing disquiet, “is his name Mr. Fielding?”