by Joan Smith
But eventually her mind turned to other matters. They had come to Fernvale to put a damper on Nevil’s schemes to make up to Dudley. Now that Nevil had left, there was no need to remain. She and Belami could get married quite soon and begin their planned trip to Italy. Italy with Belami—how exciting it would be! Venice and Rome and Florence. But first she’d have to get some gowns made up. On these happy thoughts, she finally drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 2
The duchess had spartan ideas with regard to nourishment. Ever since her teeth had become loose, she took gruel for breakfast, and it was a bowl of gray, coagulating gruel that was set in front of Belami when he joined her and Deirdre at the table. He suddenly found himself not at all hungry and settled for coffee. Deirdre was ashamed of the meager meal and cast an embarrassed smile at him.
“I’ve written up a note to Dudley, which I would like you to deliver for me this morning, children,” the duchess declared, baring her teeth at the thirty-year-old baron. “It’s a fine day, and the walk will set up your appetite for lunch. A pity you couldn’t eat your breakfast, Belami, but a walk in the brisk air will do you any amount of good. Oh, and Deirdre, tell Dudley he needn’t write a reply. You will just wait and hear his answer. No point ordering all the items I shall require if he don’t plan to come.”
On this speech, she placed her note on the table and hobbled out of the breakfast parlor.
“I hope Dudley says yes. I’m looking forward to that lobster and champagne,” Belami said. Then he took up his cup and drained it.
As Dudley seldom left his house, Deirdre couldn’t be so cruel as to encourage his hope. The best course was to change the subject. “Would you like to walk or drive over to the Grange?”
“Let’s walk. It will take up an hour of the morning.”
She got her bonnet and pelisse and met him in the front hall. The Grange was a half mile away by road, but only a short walk across the meadow. The breeze was brisk enough that they settled on the latter route. This corner of Wiltshire had escaped the heavy snow that blanketed part of England. There were patches of white nestled around the roots of bushes and dead weeds, but the walking was not difficult. While the landscape was austere in its winter colors, it wasn’t without some subdued beauty. Belami admired the subtle shadings of beige and brown and gray, and the gentle undulations of the terrain. He kept an eye peeled for rabbits or any small game that might offer him the sport of shooting.
Deirdre put her hand on his arm, and they struck out into the wind. “I’m afraid you’re finding the time dragging,” she said.
“Only because I’m impatient to get on with the wedding and leave for Italy. Let’s speak to the minister today and set a date. It would be no kindness to invite folks to the country in this weather. We’ll have a small do,” he urged.
“Your mother will want to be here at least. And Pronto Pilgrim will be your best man, I think you mentioned?”
“Yes, I wouldn’t feel properly married without Pronto to make a shambles of the occasion, and Mama to aid and abet him,” he agreed, smiling at the thought of these loved ones. “I have the feeling the duchess is dragging her feet in the matter. She isn’t about to change her mind on us, is she?”
“No, it’s only a little delay. She’s afraid that if Dudley learns I’ve married such an out-and-outer as Lord Belami, he’ll leave his money to Nevil.”
“Good God, I hope you’re not hinting we must wait till Dudley’s stuck his fork in the wall!” he exclaimed, staring at her.
“It’s not so bad as that,” she consoled him. "Merely she plans to pick his brains at this party and steer him back to a proper course after Nevil’s visit. He had his lawyer called to the Grange, you see, and that looks as though Auntie might have been diddled out of what she firmly considers ‘her’ fortune,” she explained.
“She worries in vain,” Belami said. “It’s been my experience that a young lady’s nabbing herself a good parti has just the opposite effect. The relatives are so proud of her that they shower her with all the gold she no longer requires. It’s the ones foolish enough to marry a pauper who find themselves cut off by the family as well. I’ve always found that very odd,” he said, frowning into the distance.
The trip passed quickly, and within a quarter of an hour, they stood at the front door of a large but badly dilapidated house, banging the knocker.
“Uncle Dudley doesn’t keep a butler, and Mrs. Haskell is away, so we’ll let ourselves in,” Deirdre said, and grasped the knob. It refused to turn, however, so Belami banged the knocker again, more loudly.
Their wait wasn’t really very long, but it seemed long with the wind whistling about their ears and pinching their noses. At last there was the sound of footsteps beyond, and the door opened a crack. It was the face of Polly Shard, the servant, that peeped out at them.
“Oh, it’s you, miss!” she gasped, and opened the door to let them in.
“We’ve come to see Uncle, Polly. I hope he’s out of bed,” Deirdre said.
Polly was a famous flirt. Her dancing brown eyes, her forward manner, and her apple cheeks had made her a favorite with the local men. But her manner today was strangely subdued. She looked almost frightened.
“What’s the matter, Polly?” Deirdre asked.
Polly lifted her apron to her eyes, said, “Oh, miss!” and burst into tears. “It’s the old gentleman. He’s gone and died.”
“Uncle Dudley, dead?” Deirdre asked in a small voice. She felt odd, almost disembodied, and clutched at Belami’s hand to steady herself. She had never felt any love for Dudley—he was quite simply unlovable—but he had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. “When? How did it happen? Why didn’t you notify us?”
“We didn’t know what to do—me and Anna here all alone. He was dead when we came down this morning.”
“But it’s past nine o’clock. You must have known for hours!” Deirdre pointed out.
“Mrs. Haskell ain’t here” was the oblique reply, but Deirdre had soon read into it that this meant a more tardy hour of arising.
Belami’s quick ear picked up a different point. “When you came down? Then he didn’t die in bed?”
“Oh, no, sir. He died at the table. He was slumped over it when I went in to clear away the dinner dishes.”
“May I see him?” Belami asked.
“Well . . ." Polly hesitated, but meanwhile Belami had strode down the hall and was peering into rooms till he reached the dining room.
It was a pathetic sight that met his eyes. A gray head was bent over the table, the shoulders hunched forward. The remains of his meal still sat on the board in front of him—the bowl of mulligatawny brought by the duchess, bread and butter, and a pot of tea. Belami approached him to feel his pulse, and when he did so, he noticed that Dudley had been sick to his stomach. There was an unpleasant stench, mitigated somewhat by the aroma of brandy.
Food poisoning? But at that moment Deirdre’s head appeared at the door, and he rose to stop her. “Don’t come in, Deirdre,” he said, and walked to the door to lead her out. “He’s dead. It’s . . . rather unpleasant.”
“Oh,” she gasped, and took one quick peek before leaving. “I suppose it was his heart?” she asked.
“The coroner will tell us. He’ll have to be notified. Let’s speak to the servant and see what she’s done.”
“She hasn’t done anything but bawl,” Deirdre answered. “We must tell Auntie. The funeral arrangements will be up to her.”
“Yes, I expect that will be the first order of business,” he agreed.
“What shall we do, miss?” Polly asked when they returned to the front hall.
Deirdre felt that the best thing would be to keep the servants distracted and suggested that Polly make some coffee, for there would soon be people arriving. She and Belami then darted across the meadow and went in search of the duchess.
She was found in the small parlor, which was easier to heat than the main saloon. “You’re bac
k early! And is he coming?” she demanded eagerly.
“Auntie, he’s dead!” Deirdre blurted out, though she had been thinking up more gentle ways of breaking the news all the way home.
The duchess arose from her chair in a strangely disjointed way, as though on strings. Her face was always pale, but it turned a shade paler. “You never mean it!” she exclaimed, clutching her heart.
“I’m afraid it’s true. What would you like us to do, Duchess?” Belami asked, and felt that the first thing to do was to get a glass of brandy down the woman’s throat. There was none about, however, so he poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her.
“How did he die?” she asked after gulping the wine and resuming her seat.
“We don’t know. It looked like food poisoning. He had been sick to his stomach,” Belami told her.
“Sir Nevil Ryder! The bleater has poisoned Dudley after getting him to change the will in his favor!” she declared, her eyes glinting with malice.
“We don’t know that he did change it,” Deirdre pointed out.
“He’s been murdered, hasn’t he?” was the duchess’s reply. “Of course he changed it, but I’ll contest it in the highest court in the land. A murderer can’t profit by his crime—that is a point of law, is it not, Belami?”
“I believe so, but before taking Sir Nevil to court, don’t you think you ought to notify the coroner?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. And the minister as well to arrange the funeral. A hatchment for the front door—luckily I still have the one from my husband’s death in the attic. Black gowns— perhaps an arm band for you, Belami, though you ain’t any kin to Dudley.”
“Shall I call the coroner?” Belami asked, seeing that the duchess was in a state similar to shock, babbling on in all directions.
“If you would be so kind. Dr. Lethbridge in Banting is the local man. And we’ll need someone to lay my brother out as well. The McIntyre sisters usually do it. Lethbridge can arrange that for us, Belami. There’s no need to go to them. You’ll be needed here for a hundred and one things.”
Belami had not the least objection to being used in this way. It was preferable to having nothing to do. It hadn’t yet occurred to him that a death in the family might delay his wedding.
“Shouldn’t we go to the house to be there when the coroner comes? I mean, it doesn’t seem right to leave Uncle Dudley there alone,” Deirdre said.
“Bother, I suppose we should,” the duchess agreed. She sighed and regretted having to leave her warm hearth, just when she had put two fresh logs on the fire. “I doubt very much whether I’m up to such exertion,” she said. A single glance was all that was needed to remind her that Deirdre, a young and healthy girl, was up to it. But she’d require a chaperone, as Belami would be hanging around and Mrs. Haskell was away. “We must send for Mrs. Haskell as well. I’ll just dash off a few notes, Deirdre, while Belami goes for the coroner, and you skip back to the Grange to keep an eye on things. I. wouldn’t put it an inch past Polly Shard to be rifling his jewelry box this very minute.”
“You mean I have to go alone?” Deirdre asked, shivering.
“Of course not, ninny! Take Mrs. Bates with you.” Her housekeeper could be spared, since a death in the family was an excellent excuse for disorganized and scanty meals. “And send her to me before you go,” she added, her eyes narrowing as a dozen other profitable details occurred to her. All the party arrangements canceled, and a few oddments at the Grange that could be claimed as her own and carried home to Fernvale before the authorities arrived to lock things up.
After a little more conversation, Belami and Deirdre left the duchess to write her notes. It was settled that Belami would deliver Deirdre to the Grange on his way to Banting for the coroner, and Mrs. Bates would join her shortly.
“I wonder how long I’ll have to stay there,” Deirdre mentioned as they joggled along in the carriage.
“I think we should either all move over there for a few days or have Dudley laid out at Fernvale,” Belami answered.
“I’d rather have him laid out at home. The Grange is even worse than Fernvale, Dick. It’s cold and dirty, and the food is wretched. Such a shabby time we’re showing you, and now this!”
“On the contrary,” he said, hoping to divert her. “You know my hobby is crime, and the duchess has just called Dudley’s death murder.”
“Pay no heed to that. How could Nevil have killed Uncle? He wasn’t even here.”
“That’s true. And besides, if he was poisoned, I’d finger the mulligatawny as the culprit. Your aunt took him over a bowl last night, you know.”
“No, did she?”
“Certainly she did. Seemed a strange gift to me, if she was hoping to ingratiate him.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been the mulligatawny’s fault, because we all ate it and are still alive,” she pointed out, but in a joking way.
“She’d have had to add poison to his portion. If a poison was used, I’d suspect arsenic. The effects could point that way.”
“Oh, dear, you’ve chosen the one poison Auntie keeps around the house!” She laughed. “There’s been a little envelope of white arsenic in that tall flower vase on the china cabinet for as long as I can remember. I don’t know why it’s there, because it’s never been used. Not to kill rats or anything. It’s just always been there, like the brass sword handle that has lost its blade. Auntie has kept it in the drawer of the hall table forever, too.”
“She’s not one to throw out anything that could possibly be used,” he answered. “Mama is just the opposite. She throws out everything she doesn’t require immediately. In that way, she can go shopping so much more often,” he explained.
“Will you come to the Grange with the coroner?” she asked as the carriage pulled up to the front door. “I don’t relish being there alone with Uncle Dudley’s remains.”
“Actually, I’ve asked Réal to deliver Dr. Lethbridge. There’s no reason for me to do it personally. I wouldn’t mind having a look around the place before he gets there.”
“You don’t really suspect foul play,” she said, blinking in surprise.
“Not suspect, exactly. The odds are about a thousand to one against it, but since I’m here I might as well practice my sleuthing skills. Sir Nevil does have a bit of a bad reputation. I know, you’re going to tell me Nevil wasn’t here, but he had been here. A clever scoundrel might arrange something if he was eager to get his hands on the money.”
"I suppose he could,” Deirdre said, but her desultory tone revealed that she didn’t believe it.
Belami didn’t actually believe it either, though the fact of Dudley’s having been sick to his stomach raised a doubt. A heart seizure didn’t have that effect.
Réal pulled up in front of the Grange and waited for any further instructions his master might have for him. “Are we h’involved in a case?” he asked hopefully. Of course he had learned by the servants’ grapevine of the death of Lord Dudley.
“C’est possible, Réal. I’d like you to stay here when you deliver Dr. Lethbridge just in case I have any more errands.”
“We’ll talk,” Réal told him, sagely nodding his head to indicate that such conversation that would pass between them wouldn’t be for the young lady’s ears. Réal was vastly relieved that a case had come up to lighten the tedium of Fernvale. It was Réal's custom to perform all his duties beyond the expectations of the most demanding master in the land, which Belami was not by any means. As he whipped Belami’s bloods along, he cudgeled his brains to discover in what manner he could amaze Belami with his brilliance. Before he had gone a mile, a smile settled on his saturnine face. A murder required a constable, obviously. Belami had forgotten to request one, but he, Pierre Réal, would tend to it.
“I’m going to speak to Polly,” Deirdre said as soon as they had hung up their coats. “Would you like her to bring you some coffee, Dick?”
“I don’t relish drinking with a corpse. I’ll join you later.”
Deirdre knew that it was her duty to chide the servants for the lackadaisical way they’d been running the house in Mrs. Haskell’s absence. She hadn’t much heart for it, but she took herself in hand and went to the kitchen. Polly and Anna sat together at the table, their faces pale and worried. They jumped to their feet when Deirdre entered.
“Sit down,” she said, putting on her strictest face. “Now, girls, I want to know how it happens that my uncle was left all night alone at the dining room table. Who is responsible for cleaning up after dinner, and why wasn’t it done?”
“It’s her fault!” Anna declared, pointing a not overly clean finger at her colleague. Anna was one of life’s drones. She was not at all attractive—a slim, pale, haggard woman of nineteen years who had been in service with Lord Dudley for seven years of her life. It was the bane of her existence that while she did all the many chores burdened on her by Mrs. Haskell and got no praise or thanks, Polly shirked any duty she could and got by as well. Better, for she had smiled and cajoled herself into favor with the late Lord Dudley.
“Polly, you were in charge of cleaning up after dinner?” Deirdre asked, turning her cool gaze to the servant.
“Well, miss, Anna serves dinner, and I clean up after, but Tuesday was my day off.”
“You’re supposed to be back by eight!” Anna inserted.
“My ma was sick,” Polly said, glaring at her co-worker.
“You wasn’t at home, and don’t let on you was! You went to the barn dance at Ranting. I heard you laughing at the back door with Edgar Mools. Close to midnight it was, miss,” Anna announced, trying to disguise her glee as duty.
“If you knew she hadn’t returned, Anna, you might have cleaned away the dishes and seen if Lord Dudley required anything before retiring,” Deirdre said.
Life had taught Anna not to expect anything resembling justice from her betters. She stayed home and did her duties; Polly went flirting about the countryside, but in the end it was she who got the scold. “She only dared to stay away because she knew Mrs. Haskell was gone,” Anna said scornfully.