by Joan Smith
“I did not know it! She didn’t get that letter till after I left. You only told me this morning,” Polly reminded her.
“You could have heard it at the dance.”
“I wasn’t at the dance. I was home with my ma.”
“Since when is Edgar Mools your ma?”
Deirdre saw that she was making a botch of her lecture and called them to order. “At what time this morning did you get around to going to clean away last night’s dinner, Polly?” she asked.
“I got up at eight on the dot, miss.”
“You’re supposed to be up at seven!” Anna interjected.
“You weren’t up either, so never mind cutting up at me. We don’t have a clock, miss. Mrs. Haskell always wakes us, and she wasn’t here. There was no reason to be up so soon either, for Lord Dudley don’t take his pap till nine.”
“I was up and had the fire lit at seven-thirty. I even het up the milk for her and made tea,” Anna said. Despite the woman’s virtue, Deirdre found she couldn’t warm up to Anna.
“If you got up at eight, how does it come you still hadn’t notified us when I arrived here after nine o’clock?” Deirdre persisted.
“I thought the old gentleman was sleeping, miss. The way he was hunched over the table, I thought he’d drunk hisself into a stupor, as he often does, and he don’t thank you for trying to rouse him up.”
“So you left him, dead and unattended!” Deirdre scolded, but in her heart she felt nothing but pity.
“How was I to know he was dead? Mrs. Haskell wasn’t here,” she added simply. It was clear that Mrs. Haskell ruled the place with an iron fist. Even a death couldn’t occur officially without her, and Deirdre regretted her absence.
“Why did the housekeeper leave, Anna? Was it some trouble at home?” Deirdre asked.
“I didn’t see her letter. She never tells me nothing. All I know is she got called away home. She spoke to his lordship, and she left. I think her sister was having a baby, maybe. She’s mentioned it a few times.”
“She ain’t having the baby till April,” Polly announced.
“Oh, I hope she comes back soon!” Deirdre said, weary with this pointless conversation. One other matter occurred to her, and she asked about it while she had them captive. “Why did Sir Nevil not stay to help out while Mrs. Haskell was called away?” she asked Polly.
It was another inequity that Polly was the servant that the gentry, and even the other hired help, preferred to converse with. There was something in Anna’s self-righteous manner that alienated everyone she came in contact with.
“He wasn’t here. He left early in the morning yesterday,” Polly answered.
“Oh, then he didn’t know Mrs. Haskell had been called away. Do you happen to know where he was headed?”
“Polly might be able to tell you,” Anna said, again with that sly look on her face.
“How would I know? You’re the one that serves the table,” Polly reminded her.
“Aye, but you’re the one was having a bit of a private visit with him in his room before breakfast,” Anna retaliated.
Polly glared and colored up briskly. “He did call me in for a word, miss,” she admitted. “He wanted to know if Mrs. Haskell had his laundry ready. He might have mentioned going to Bath,” she added, but diffidently.
“Bath? Why would he go there?” Deirdre asked.
“I don’t know, miss,” Polly replied, her face trying to look innocent. “I was just there a minute. He said he wanted to get away early, for it took more than half a day to get to Bath, and he had an appointment in the afternoon.”
“I see,” Deirdre said. The only person she knew to reside in Bath was Lord Dudley’s wife, Adelaide. Her aunt had often conjectured that Sir Nevil was in league with this woman to wrest Dudley’s fortune from her hands. This news had to be sent back to Fernvale immediately.
Anna had yet another item of news. “He told Mrs. Haskell he’d stop in again on his way back to London. She told me because I had to make up his room fresh.”
“Did he say when?” Deirdre asked eagerly.
“No, miss. If he told Mrs. Haskell, she didn’t tell me. She never tells me nothing.”
Deirdre sat a moment, thinking about Sir Nevil‘s itinerary, but could make little of it. “Bring coffee upstairs, Polly. Two cups, but make a large pot. Mrs. Bates will be staying here with me today.”
“Is the gentleman that was with you before back, miss?” Polly asked. Already she had recovered sufficiently so that a glint of interest was in her flashing eyes.
“Yes, my fiancé is with me,” Deirdre replied.
“Lord Belami!” Polly exclaimed. “I thought it must be him! My, he’s handsome. When will you be married, Miss Gower?”
Deirdre softened to a smile. “Very soon.”
“Surely you won’t be married while you’re in mourning,” Anna said, shocked.
That was the first time it occurred to Deirdre that Lord Dudley’s death had come so inopportunely. She remembered Belami saying something about not having to wait for her uncle’s demise to be married. They little thought at the time how soon his death would occur.
“Perhaps a very quiet wedding,” Deirdre said uncertainly.
“After six months a quiet wedding might be all right,” Anna suggested. There was satisfaction on her thin little face and in her cabbage-green eyes.
Deirdre had never liked the girl, and she was beginning to see now why that was so. Anna was resentful—of herself, of Polly for having beaux and just generally being pretty perhaps. The only person in the world who did like Anna was the duchess, and she didn’t so much like her as appreciate that she was a good worker. “We shall see” was all Deirdre said.
“He didn’t look to me like a gent who’d stand around waiting for long,” Polly said boldly and laughed. “If I was you, Miss Gower, I’d snap him up quick as winking.”
It was on this happier note that Deirdre took her leave. She had planned to give Polly a last bit of a lecture about having shirked her duties during Mrs. Haskell’s absence, but she didn’t want to satisfy Anna by doing it.
When she reached the upstairs, Belami was just coming out of the dining room. He held a serviette in which he had wrapped some object.
“What have you got there, Dick?” she asked.
“Evidence!” he told her, and set the parcel aside on a table.
“Oh, my, you would like to turn this into a crime, wouldn’t you?” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m afraid it’s no more than death from natural causes. Come into the saloon. I’ve ordered coffee and have some news about Nevil’s doings.”
She outlined what she had learned from the servants, and before the coffee was finished, there was a knock at the front door. Deirdre went with Belami to answer it and was appalled to see that not only the coroner had come, but also a constable from Banting.
“Your groom explained that it might possibly be a case of homicide, Lord Belami, so naturally I called in the law,” Dr. Lethbridge explained. “I’ve also arranged for a postmortem. Tell me, Lord Belami, what made you suspect murder?”
“Dick, what have you done!” Deirdre gasped. “Auntie will be furious! It’s not murder, gentlemen. My uncle passed away in his sleep.”
“No, indeed, murder isn’t suspected!” Belami seconded her. “My groom was overly zealous to suggest such a thing.”
The constable was a tall, burly man with very little hair, heavy jowls, and small blue eyes. He removed his greatcoat to reveal a blue jacket and a waistcoat of a lively red-and-white-flowered pattern. “I might as well just have a look around while I’m here. The remains are still in the bed, are they?”
Belami cleared his throat and said, “Actually, Lord Dudley died at the table. He’s in the dining room.”
“At the table, you say? An odd place to sleep,” the constable suggested. His eyes began a tour of the hallway. He stepped forward, shaking the floor with his weight, and espied the serviette Belami had placed on the hall t
able. “What’s this, then?” he asked, lifting it.
“Careful! It’s samples of the meal,” Belami said, fearing that the saltcellars he had used to collect specimens would fall and break.
The constable turned a knowing eye on him. “I see. And murder isn’t suspected at all? Odd you’ve been collecting up samples, milord.” He found this a famous joke. After he stopped laughing, he turned back to Belami. “I had a hunch when I heard Lord Belami was involved that it was no everyday affair. I look forward to working with you, lad. Let’s have a look about before the evidence is tampered with.”
Belami looked at Deirdre, who stood frozen like a statue. Then he looked at the fast-retreating back of the constable and hurried after him. Deirdre remained behind with the doctor.
“We might as well become acquainted first as last, milord,” the constable said, standing aside to let Belami precede him into the dining room. “Straus is the name. Gerhard Straus. I’ve a touch of Hun blood in me, as you might guess by the name. Now, let’s see how the old malkin did her brother in. I assume you agree with me that the duchess is our culprit.”
“Oh, Lord,” Belami said in a dying voice as the awful consequences of those few fateful words with Réal washed over him. He had unwittingly involved the duchess in a murder investigation of which she was the chief suspect. He would require all of his wits to extricate himself from this fiasco.
Meanwhile Straus hastened to the corpse and looked around. “Looks like arsenic poisoning to me, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Belami? Now the thing to ascertain is whether it came from his tea or this awful mess of potage on his dish. Ah, I see the teacup hasn’t been filled.” He lifted the lid of the pot. “And the pot full to the brim. The stew, then. That’s how she did it.”
“He’s also had bread and butter,” Belami said, though he knew as well as the man who lifted an unbelieving eye to him that arsenic would be best concealed in the stew and not sprinkled on bread or butter.
“A horse’s meal. No liquid,” Mr. Straus said next after a careful perusal of the table. “Seems to me Lord Dudley has a reputation as a fair topper. Do you detect a smell of brandy beneath the stench of vomit?”
“I thought so at first, but there’s no glass,” Belami said. “On the table, I mean. He may have dropped it when he became sick. There’s a decanter on the sideboard, you see."
In spite of the awful tangle with the duchess that loomed before him, Belami found himself taking some interest in the proceedings. He joined Straus on the floor, peering under the table for a brandy glass. Just as he spotted it, the sausage like fingers of Straus reached out and picked up the glass. “We’ll add this to our collection of evidence, but my money’s on the stew. Her grace didn’t happen to serve this dish for dinner last night, by any chance?” he asked archly.
“No!” Belami said at once. He regretted the lie as soon as it was out. Straus would question her servants and know that he had lied. “That is, she served something like it, but . . .”
“But you’re courting the bright-eyed filly in the hallway and don’t like to say so. I appreciate your position, lad. We’ll deal discreet-like till we have the old malkin locked up right and tight.”
Belami felt like a cornered rabbit. Mr. Straus had the ability to read his mind and the uncouth habit of giving voice to his every thought. The only hope was that the man was wrong, that there was no arsenic in anything. Lord Dudley had died of natural causes or had choked to death.
“Yessir, she’s finally gotten around to killing her brother. I’ve been waiting for it. This sort of a case could make a man’s reputation,” Mr. Straus said, and smiled with infinite satisfaction.
Chapter 3
Belami knew that he was in trouble when he came out of the dining room and found Deirdre had returned to Fernvale without him. He could see her wending her route across the meadow when he went to the stable. His aim was to drive like the wind and arrive with her or as soon after her as possible. His groom, Réal, stood waiting for praise, with a smile ready to break out at the first word of congratulation.
“You’ve really done it this time, you jackass!” was definitely not what he expected to hear.
“Comment?”
“You heard me! Who told you to call in a constable?” Belami shouted as he vaulted into the driver’s seat himself to handle the ribbons. This was the cruelest punishment he could possibly have devised for his groom, to deprive him of driving and to force him to return to Fernvale inside the carriage. Walking was preferable. In fact, Réal had no choice in the matter. Belami wheeled the horses around and flew out of the yard while Réal was still reeling in angry shock.
Deirdre arrived home only minutes before him. She ran to the little morning parlor and gasped out her story. Her aim was not to make trouble, as Belami feared, but to mitigate the trouble he had already stirred up. When she told the duchess that the constable had been to the Grange, speaking of murder, she said not a word about how he came to be present.
“Murder, you say? I’m not at all surprised,” the duchess replied. “Why, I warned you myself that Ryder had poisoned him.”
“Yes, but that’s not what the constable thinks, Auntie. I listened at the door for a while, and it came out that you had taken Uncle Dudley a bowl of that mulligatawny
“Rubbish. Who says so?” she demanded. No one had seen her take it. Only Cook knew, and Cook would say what she was told to say in the matter.
“Belami said so,” Deirdre answered, disliking having to bring his name into it but knowing it would arise sooner or later. “They think arsenic was the poison used,” she added to divert a tirade against Dick.
This speech, uttered in innocence, had an alarming effect. The duchess turned perfectly rigid. She looked like a frozen rabbit Deirdre had seen one winter in the meadow. Then while she looked, the duchess defrosted and was galvanized into action. She flew up from her chair and darted out the door. Deirdre heard her steps on the kitchen stairs but didn’t go after her, as she wanted to check the road for signs of Dick’s carriage.
When the duchess entered the kitchen, she spoke in her loftiest accents designed to inspire total submission from her cook. “Is there any of that mulligatawny left, Cook?” she asked.
“Just a wee drop in the pantry. Shall I het it up for you, milady?”
“No, you fool. Get rid of it at once. Burn it in the stove and wash the bowl.”
“Whatever for?” Cook asked, staring. Throwing out edible food was an entirely new thing at Fernvale.
“Because some poison got into it by mistake.”
“Mistake? But your grace, you told me to . . ."
“I didn’t tell you to poison my brother, idiot! We’ll both be in the dock for murder if there’s any evidence left lying about. Lord Dudley was poisoned with arsenic.”
Cook clapped her hand to her mouth and gasped, “The good saints and angels save us!”
“I’ll save myself, thank you. And if the constable or Lord Belami comes snooping around, Eliza, you know nothing of the matter. The mulligatawny was all eaten up at dinner last night. Every drop of it. You understand? I did not go to see Lord Dudley at all.”
“Oh, yes, your grace. But our bowl’s likely setting on his table right this minute.”
“Bother, so it is. Scoot over and pick it up, Eliza. Wash it and bring it home.”
“Might be safest to break it,” Cook suggested.
This profligate scheme was considered and rejected. Bowls didn’t grow on trees, and her grace was particularly fond of that pretty white bowl with the green leaves. It was hardly cracked at all. “That won’t be necessary. Just do as I say, Eliza. And remember, we had nothing to do with arsenic. We know nothing about it.”
“Oh, yes, your grace. Nothing about it,” Eliza said, and made the sign of the cross.
The duchess no sooner returned to the morning parlor than Belami came pouncing in, prepared for the worst kind of trouble. He was surprised to be greeted with a watery smile from Deirdre and a loud �
��Hah!” from her grace.
“You’ve told the news?” he asked Deirdre.
“It’s hardly news that Nevil killed his uncle. I said as much myself, did I not?” the duchess answered. “How do you figure he did it, Belami?” she asked, and settled in comfortably before the fire, but her eyes were alert, wary.
“Constable Straus seems to think arsenic was the agent,” Belami answered. He held his breath, waiting to see how Deirdre reacted to this sloughing-off of the blame.
“I daresay he’s right,” the duchess agreed.
“But Nevil wasn’t here, Auntie,” Deirdre reminded her. “He left early yesterday morning.”
“Did he, indeed? Then he obviously left some poisoned wine or some such thing behind him.”
“Lord Dudley hadn’t taken any wine, but there was a glass of brandy nearby,” Belami mentioned. “And, of course, the mulligatawny you took over,” he added blandly.
Her eyes snapped. “You’re mistaken, Belami. I haven’t seen Dudley at all since my return. How I wish I had gone to call yesterday—but we only arrived near five, and with the short days. . ."
The duchess was subjected to a long, slow examination by the boldest pair of eyes she had ever seen. She longed to jump up and slap Belami’s handsome face. He didn’t contradict her verbally, but there was accusation on every line of his face. After a painfully long pause, he said, “I see,” and uttered a light laugh. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.
“Auntie, the stew was right on the table! Why did you deny it?” Deirdre asked.
“I have an excellent reason, and you must support me on this, Deirdre, or you’ll see your aunt hanging from a gibbet. See where he’s going,” the duchess urged, and Deirdre darted after him, her heart hammering in her throat.
She found Dick in the dining room. He had just removed a tall porcelain flower vase from the shelf of the china cabinet. “The arsenic’s gone,” he said. “Is this where she kept it?”