The Devious Duchess

by Joan Smith

  “No, you’ve been rescued, Polly. Just tell Belami exactly what happened, and we’ll help you.”

  “But I don’t know what happened! I didn’t do anything, miss!” Polly insisted.

  Deirdre examined her for a long moment. Her first reaction was frustration, but as she went on looking, she was struck with the awful thought that Polly was telling the truth.

  “You mean you didn’t take away the bottle of the brandy that was on the sideboard and replace it with another?” she asked.

  “No, miss. Cross my heart and hope to die, I didn’t!” she said, making the sign of the cross on her breast. Her eyes were bright and staring. They looked frightened, but there was no sign of guilt in them.

  “Oh, my,” Deirdre said weakly. She felt as though she were going to faint. No clever idea came to her as to how she should handle this unforeseen disaster. “Then why did you run away?”

  “I had a fight with Ed Mools.”

  “A fight with Ed Mools,” Deirdre repeated blankly. “Do as Belami says, anyway,” she ordered, and closed the coach door. She directed Nick to take the carriage to the Grange, hoping that Dick would be able to make sense of this.

  She wanted to go with her, but her aunt and Sir Nevil would soon be returning and expect to find her there. It was best to stay at home and try to think out this muddle.

  When Sir Nevil and the duchess returned, Deirdre still hadn’t made any sense of it. It had to have been Polly—the girl was lying. But then she remembered those large, frightened brown eyes and was unsure. Halfway through lunch, her grace began paving the way for attending the party.

  “It will be a long, boring afternoon here alone. I admit I’m curious to see how the Pankhurst woman conducts herself in a polite saloon. It ought to be amusing.”

  “Why don’t you come with us, Auntie?” Nevil asked.

  “What, call on that actress? I should think not! Next thing you know, I’d find her on my doorstep. You must observe carefully, Deirdre, and give me an account of all her gaucheries.”

  “She’s got the Grange up for sale already,” Sir Nevil mentioned.

  “Has she, indeed? Did you hear what price she’s asking?”

  “I didn’t,” Nevil told her.

  “The land marches with mine. If it’s going at a bargain, I might pick it up,” the duchess said. This was a good enough excuse to include herself in the party. “These things are best handled on a personal basis. I’ll take myself by the scruff of the neck and force myself to see her just this once. Pity, but it can’t be avoided.” Her expression was as close to a smile as one was likely to see on that raddled countenance.

  The expression had changed dramatically by the time she had donned all her layers of crape for the trip, however. It was one of keen, scheming intelligence and determination. Buying the Grange was an excellent plan. It would get rid of Pankhurst and enlarge her own holdings in a convenient way. The house could be rented; she would be close enough to keep a sharp eye on the tenants and pester them into making those repairs and improvements about the place that she had no intention of making herself.

  Belami deemed it expedient not to be found in Adelaide’s saloon when Deirdre and the duchess arrived. To avoid it, he and Pronto drove half a mile down the road and waited till the Charney's lumbering coach was seen entering the drive to the Grange, at which time Dick pulled the check string and Réal whipped the team into vigorous action. Deirdre looked around the hall for a sign of Polly, but if she was in the house, she wasn’t upstairs, and it proved impossible to have a private word with Adelaide. Adelaide had orders not to offer any refreshment till they all arrived. It went against the pluck to sit without either food or drink for a full ten minutes, but the time was passed fruitfully by the duchess.

  “I suppose you’ll be trying to unload this old heap, Miss Pankhurst?” she asked. She refused to call the woman Lady Dudley.

  "I plan to, yes. The country don’t suit me."

  “Wise of you. You’ll be lucky to get five thousand for the place, gone to rack and ruin as it is.”

  “Mr. Skidley said seventy-five hundred,” Adelaide replied.

  A snort was her grace’s reply to this foolishness. “That must be taken cum grano salis,” she said to show off her rusty Latin. “With a grain of salt. We all know what Skidley's financial advice is worth. He drove my brother’s fortune into the ground. Stocks not worth anything. Aye, you’d be wise to take five thousand if anyone is foolish enough to offer.”

  Adelaide’s sharp eyes narrowed in suspicion as she sensed what the old lady was up to. “Not a penny less than seventy-five hundred. You’re forgetting the advantage of such great neighbors as I have here, Duchess,” she answered saucily.

  “If you don’t mind rusticating for three or four years, I daresay you might get fifty-five hundred for it. Mind you, you’d have repairs to make.”

  “I’m not making no repairs. Though the roof at the back does leak a little. I might accept seven thousand as the place stands.”

  “Seven thousand?” the duchess asked, and laughed merrily. “Why not seven million since you’re only dreaming?”

  Before the negotiations progressed further, Belami and Pronto were shown in. Deirdre tried to ascertain by the look on Dick’s face whether he had wrung a confession from Polly, or, failing this, if he had discovered who Nevil’s helper was. Adelaide—with the help of Tom Broome? And if this was so, who was to say she wouldn’t poison the lot of them today? Thus far the only servant seen was Mrs. Haskell, who was acting as the butler as well as housekeeper.

  “What a delightful idea, Lady Dudley, to have a little family gathering,” Belami said, making his bows to the ladies.

  “Come on in and have a seat. I’ll ring for some refreshments now that we’re all here,” Adelaide said. Her old profession stood her in good stead. The speech sounded easy and natural, nor did she glance within a right angle of either Dick or Nevil as she spoke.

  She pulled the bell cord and waited. Deirdre couldn’t keep her eyes from the door. Who would answer the summons? Would it be Polly or Mrs. Haskell or Anna? When Polly Shard popped in at the doorway, a sudden hush fell over the room. Dick had warned his associates not to stare at Nevil, but he found that he was unable to control his own eyes. Nevil started from his seat. His face turned white, but he didn’t make a sound.

  “You can serve us now, Polly,” Adelaide said.

  “Yes, mum.” Polly curtsied and disappeared.

  Deirdre waited for someone to speak, and when there was an ominous silence, she spoke. “I see Polly is back, Adelaide. When did she arrive? And where has she been all this time?”

  “The saucy wench ran off to London without so much as a by-your-leave. She hitched a drive with some fellow passing in a coach, but when he started talking broad to her, she leaped out of his rig and ran to an inn. As soon as she could, she came running home. I hope it’ll learn her a lesson.”

  “I wouldn’t have such a forward wench in my employ,” the duchess said. “She ought to be turned off without a character. She’ll lead Anna Wilkey astray, see if she don’t.”

  “It won’t be for long,” Adelaide replied. “Polly knows the way things are done here. I told her she can stay on till I sell the place—for seventy-five hundred,” she added, looking straight at the duchess.

  “Where is Anna today, Adelaide?” Nevil asked. His tone was impersonal, but Deirdre wondered if the question was significant.

  “Mrs. Haskell has her busy in the kitchen.”

  “When did Polly return?” was Nevil’s next question. There was an air of subdued alertness about him, nothing more.

  “Late this morning,” Adelaide told him. “I rung a good peal over her, you may be sure.”

  Polly was soon back, her arms weighted down by a large silver tray holding various items of food and drink, but, for Deirdre, the only item that was of the least importance was the brandy decanter. Her mind was in awful confusion. What if there was some mix-up and they were all se
rved the poisoned brandy by mistake? For if Polly was indeed innocent, perhaps Dick hadn’t figured out the culprit. She looked at Adelaide once more.

  “I guess it’s up to me to pour,” Adelaide said.

  Tea was the first thing served. There seemed no possibility of arsenic in it, and Deirdre accepted a cup. Polly passed around a plate of dainty sandwiches, and the uneasy conversation was resumed just as though there wasn’t a murderer in that tight little circle.

  “I went into town to speak to Mr. Skidley today,” the duchess mentioned. “I’ve asked him for an itemized listing of all my brother’s stock and investment dealings for the past twenty years. It looks mighty odd to me that he had so little saved, the way he lived.”

  “He had no idea of investing, and here we thought him a wizard,” Nevil lamented. “I could have told him those shares in Welland were no good.”

  The conversation was general. Try as she might, Deirdre couldn’t catch Belami’s eye, so she was left in the dark. Again and again she looked at the brandy decanter and the six small glasses. She never drank brandy. She’d decline when it was passed. It would look odd if she didn’t. The sandwiches were followed by cakes, and still the brandy and glasses sat untouched.

  It was the duchess who finally brought them to everyone’s attention. “I’ll have a splash of that brandy in my next cup, Adelaide, if you don’t mind. Queen Anne’s tea—it hits the spot on a day like this.”

  “An excellent idea,” Belami seconded it. “How is Lord Dudley’s store of brandy holding out, Lady Dudley?” he asked Adelaide.

  “This is the last of it. There was an opened keg in the cellar, but I had Tom Broome haul it away. Why should I give the new buyer a free keg of brandy?” she asked, aiming her question at the duchess.

  “If you’re trying to get rid of it, I’ll join the duchess in that Queen Anne’s tea,” Belami said, handing her his cup.

  “Me, too,” Pronto added.

  “We’ll all have one. Just the thing on a chilly day like this. Very drafty in this old place. I pity the buyer,” her grace slid in slyly.

  Adelaide rose and began pouring brandy into all the cups. Deirdre accepted hers reluctantly. Nevil also held his cup out for a dash with no noticeable delay.

  “A toast to Lord Dudley!” the duchess said, lifting her cup and looking a sharp question at Belami.

  It was Adelaide who spoke up just as the cups were being raised. “It’s fitting that we drink this particular brandy to the old gentleman,” she said.

  “Is this the brandy that was left on the sideboard when he died?” Dick asked.

  No one looked at Sir Nevil, but still there was a palpable feeling in the room that he would dash his cup from his hand and confess his crime.

  “Yes, it is. Straus carried off the wrong lot for testing,” Adelaide announced. “I decanted this from a cracked decanter I found under Polly Shard’s bed when she left. The stupid girl had hidden it so that Lord Dudley wouldn’t know she broke the bottle. Only cracked it, really, but there was a bit of brandy leaking out. She says she was in a flurry, afraid Dudley would wake up any minute and catch her clearing the dinner table in the morning, and he dead the whole night.”

  “It should be safe,” Belami said calmly. “The dregs in Lord Dudley’s glass showed no trace of arsenic.”

  “Servants are so sly. That Polly never owning up she broke it. I jawed the truth out of her today after she got back,” Adelaide scolded.

  “There was originally a set of six decanters,” the duchess mentioned. “My papa bought them in Italy when he made the grand tour. I would like to have one of these, Adelaide, for sentimental reasons.”

  “They’ll all be included in the furnishings of the Grange when I sell it for seventy-five hundred pounds,” Adelaide answered.

  “Well,” Belami said heartily, “how about that toast to Lord Dudley? Will you propose it, your grace?”

  “Certainly I shall. To my brother!” she declared, and lifted her glass. It stopped halfway to her lips while she looked around to see whether the others were following her suit. They were extremely loath to do so, but when Nevil lifted his glass and drank, the others took a small, slow sip. Deirdre just touched her tongue to the liquid and thought it tasted awful, but then brandy always did.

  Another pall of silence settled over the party. Six nearly full cups of Queen Anne’s tea were returned to the table. Sir Nevil lifted his again and drained it. The trick had failed. Whatever had transpired the night of Nevil’s murder, it obviously wasn’t what Dick thought. The duchess glared at him. Pronto frowned into his shirtfront, and Deirdre looked a question a Dick.

  Adelaide drained her cup and said, “Anybody for another?”

  “Not me, thank you. I have to be getting home and write some letters,” Sir Nevil said.

  “We’ll join you,” the duchess added, and began struggling out of her seat.

  Belami arose to give her a hand, and he and Pronto also decided to leave.

  “I’ll go with Belami,” Deirdre said.

  They all thanked Adelaide for her hospitality. There was a question in the hostess’s eyes when she said good-bye to Belami, but she read no answer in his, only confusion.

  Chapter 15

  When the three were ensconced in the carriage, Pronto scowled at Belami and said, “Told you all along Adelaide was the one. You’ve tipped her the clue now.”

  “It wasn’t Adelaide. She was in Bath, and Tom Broome was nowhere near here the night Dudley was killed. Straus tells me he was making deliveries as far away as Devizes. It was Ryder—we just bungled the bit about the brandy.”

  “Did you learn anything from Polly?” Deirdre asked.

  “She’s frightened and claiming innocence—which leads to the question of why she ran. Flight is prima facie evidence of guilt. I found out why she was late to meet Mools at the dance and how she knew at that time that Mrs. Haskell had left. She planned to stand him up as they’d had some fight about moving to London, but when she learned in Banting that Mrs. Haskell had gone through town on a visit somewhere, she decided to take advantage of her absence. Mrs. Haskell stopped at a shop to buy new gloves, and, in a small town, such word gets around.”

  “She ran 'cause she was scared. Anyone could deduce that much,” Pronto told him.

  “It was Sir Nevil who frightened her. Did you learn why he was scolding her that night in the hall?” Deirdre asked. She was rapidly revising her opinion of Belami’s abilities in a downward direction.

  “She says she can’t remember,” Belami said, but in a distracted way. He was gazing with unseeing eyes out the window to aid his concentration.

  “She told me Mrs. Haskell had gone to her aunt’s, and how did she know that if she didn’t know about Nevil’s note?” Deirdre asked, nudging Dick’s arm to bring him to attention.

  “How could she have known it? Anna was the only other soul in the house,” Dick said, still gazing afar.

  “And Anna didn’t know it,” Deirdre pointed out.

  At last Belami condescended to turn his face toward his companions. “Anna said she didn’t know it,” he corrected. “In fact, as I review the evidence, it occurs to me that Anna said a few other interesting things as well. Such as telling you, Deirdre, that Polly was in Nevil’s room the morning he left and implying that Nevil was making up to the girl. It was also Anna, wasn’t it, who said that Nevil had decided to remove to the Grange because his staying under the roof with Polly might cause talk?”

  “She implied something of the sort, yes,” Deirdre agreed, “but if you think Nevil was actually making up to Anna—well, really, Dick!” she said, and let the girl’s appearance speak for itself.

  “Her unfortunate looks would be in favor of Ryder’s plan,” Dick thought out loud. “What I mean to say is that an unattractive girl who never had any attention from men would be more easily swayed by sweet talk than one like Polly. Polly is no fool despite her being illiterate. And Nevil wouldn’t like Polly’s loose tongue either.”
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  “Can Anna read?” Pronto asked.

  Both he and Belami looked to Deirdre for an answer, but she had none to give. “I don’t know. I never had any reason to inquire. She has such a sly way about her that I somehow had the impression she could.”

  “Sly is the right word for her,” Pronto declared. “In any case, Dick, you certainly bungled it this time. Ryder didn’t turn a hair when the brandy was dumped into his cup. First one to gulp it down.”

  “Yes, he knew there was no danger of poison in it,” Deirdre said. “I must confess I was scared to drink it myself.”

  “Thing is,” Pronto mentioned, “what’s to do now?”

  “I’m going back to the Grange to speak to Straus as soon as I take Deirdre home,” Belami said.

  She bridled up and turned an angry face on him. “I wish you wouldn’t always be ‘sending Deirdre home’ just at the most exciting parts. I’m going back with you."

  “Someone should be at Fernvale to watch Ryder,” he pointed out.

  “Auntie can watch him. For that matter, you can see home from the windows of the Grange. We’ll see if he leaves if someone watches from the study window.”

  She was surprised at his easy capitulation. “All right,” Dick agreed. “I’ll have Réal turn around as soon as we come to the main road.”

  “Let him turn ‘em in midroad. Nothing he’d like better than doing the impossible,” Pronto suggested, but as they were only yards from the corner, they continued till they had reached the road.

  As Réal was executing the tricky turn, Straus’s gig was seen coming down the road, and they spoke to him at the crossroads.

  “Well, sir, we came a cropper,” he told Belami. “What have you to say to that, eh?”

  “I still think we’re on the right track with Sir Nevil; we chose the wrong accomplice. That’s all.”

  “If you’re thinking Lady Dudley had a hand in it, I can’t agree. She didn’t have any communication with Sir Nevil before he walked into her parlor. There were no meetings, no notes sent back or forth.”