“Lord Copley, the Marquess of Lanford, Ma’am,” he announced to the room’s occupant.
Nathaniel hadn’t realised that the butler knew who he was but being recognised wasn’t unexpected.
As he entered the room, the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen got to her feet and curtseyed to him. “Lord Copley, I'm very pleased to meet you.”
She had hair as black as coal and despite the severe bun that she had pulled it into, strands had escaped around her face, softening her look and framing her face. Her skin was almost porcelain white and she might have looked unhealthy, were it not for the rosy hue of her cheeks.
Her cerulean blue eyes were also framed by thick black lashes, highlighting their loveliness, and her full lips were a healthy shade of pink, slightly darker than her cheeks.
“And I you, Lady Wellesley.” He bowed.
“Please, sit down.” She gestured to an armchair opposite her own and he sat down, facing her.
“Would you like some tea, Ma’am,” the butler asked.
“Thank you, but don’t put Mrs Higgins out on our account.”
“Very good.” He bowed and left.
Nathaniel thought that it was odd that she hadn’t asked him if he wanted refreshments.
“My apologies, but there are only two members of staff in this house at present, Sir, and I try not to put them out too much.”
“No one lives here?”
“Only the housekeeper and caretaker.”
“That seems an unusual arrangement.”
“Well, it was my parent’s house and without my father around, my mother didn’t wish to live here any longer.”
“Why haven’t your brothers sold it?”
“Because they haven’t inherited it.”
He realised that with Charles Howard thought to be missing rather than dead, the estate would be in limbo.
“So your brothers keep a caretaker on staff to care for the property?”
“No, I do.”
He seemed taken aback by that.
“My eldest brother married a French woman and lives there, my mother with them. My youngest brother studied medicine at the Royal College of Physicians in Edinburgh, and has remained there. Neither boy was very close to our father.”
“But you were?”
She gave him a tight smile. “Forgive me, Lord Copley, but you are hardly here for my family history. How can I help you?”
“I would like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”
“Very well.” She appeared curious and perhaps slightly amused.
“You are Damaris Wellesley and the daughter of Charles Howard, correct?”
“I am.”
“I was wondering, what year were your parents married?”
“1794.”
He nodded sadly. “Then I’m afraid that I have some very troubling news for you, Lady Wellesley.”
“You’re here because the body recently discovered is my father, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I'm afraid that it is.”
She sighed but didn’t reply; her gaze turned towards a portrait above the fireplace, of a couple and three children. The smallest child looked remarkably like Damaris and he realised that it was a family portrait.
“This must be very distressing for you,” he tried to sympathise.
“Actually, it’s almost a relief.”
He frowned. “Excuse me?”
She turned to look at him. “For years I have been trying to convince the local constable that my father met with foul play, but he insisted that he had simply run away and abandoned his family. Now at least, I might find some answers.”
“Might I ask you some questions about your father?”
Now she frowned slightly. “Forgive me, Lord Copley, but what exactly is your interest in my father’s murder?”
“I am the Justice of the Peace in these parts.”
“I see, but isn’t your job to bind criminals over for trial, not to investigate the crimes.”
“That is true but as you have no doubt concluded for yourself, Constable Smyth is not always proficient at his job.”
“Then why don’t you appoint someone else?”
“Because he is getting on in years and while not an ideal candidate for a constable, serious crimes are quite rare in these parts, and he is able to handle the day to day matters.”
“If that were so, he would have investigated my father’s disappearance years ago. Now, thanks to his dereliction of duty, it could prove a great deal harder to discover what happened. People forget things so easily, and some witnesses may even have died since then.”
“You sound as if you speak from experience.”
Her features took on a haunted air. “Perhaps I do.”
She didn’t seem willing to go into further details so he didn’t press the matter. He got a small notebook and pencil out.
“I read the letter that you sent to the doctor; thank you for taking the time and trouble.”
“It was no trouble,” she assured him.
“I was hoping that you could provide me with details of your father’s job in London; his employers and the address of his offices, perhaps?”
“I know what you’re thinking,” she answered. “He left home on Sunday the 10th of April, but he never made it to London.”
“How can you know that?”
“I wrote to his friends and colleagues at the War Office; they told me. He kept rooms in London at his club but although they were expecting him, he never arrived that evening. Somewhere between here and London, he was waylaid although now, it would seem that he didn’t make it very far from home at all.”
“Might I have the address of his workplace and the names of the friends you wrote to?”
“You don’t trust my information?” she asked, her voice cool.
“Not at all, I simply want to make sure that I have everything correct.”
“Then tell me, Lord Copley, how did my father die?”
“He was struck on the head.”
She regarded him with a cool eye for a moment and he wondered exactly what he had said that had upset her, then she abruptly got to her feet and went to a small, leather bound trunk, which was sitting on an ornamental table. She unlocked it and rifled the contents for a moment, until she returned with a list, which she handed to him before she sat down.
He looked it over and it quickly became apparent that it was a list of names. Most names had a tick beside them but a few didn’t.
“Who are these people?”
“My father’s friends, colleagues and acquaintances. Those with a tick are ones I have been able to talk to or correspond with. Those without, I have been unable to contact.”
“Might I see the letters that they sent you?”
She regarded him again for a moment and he wondered at her aloof attitude.
“I think not.”
“Might I ask why?”
“Because I don’t believe that you will pay attention to their content; you will think that they lied to me to appease my anxieties, or because they don’t believe that a woman can handle certain information. At the moment, I am far from certain that you are any more efficient than Constable Smyth and until I can be sure of you, I believe it might be better to leave you to draw your own conclusions.”
“Have I said something to upset you?”
“Whatever gave you that impression,” she asked sweetly, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Please, Lady Wellesley, I just want to find out who killed your father.”
“And I wish you luck with that.”
Now he was starting to become irritable. “Might I speak with your husband?”
Her sweet smile widened. “But of course.”
She made no move to summon him and Nathaniel sat forward. “Is he home?”
“He is always home, my Lord.”
“Then where might I find him?” he snapped, getting to his feet. He looked down at her, hoping to intim
idate her with his height. It didn’t appear to work.
“Wellesley Hall, just outside of Bellchester.”
“He didn’t come with you?”
“I told you, he is always at home these days, and this is not our home. If you really need to speak with him, you will find him in the family crypt, near the estate church. I’m sure you won’t need to make an appointment, he doesn’t venture very far from his grave.”
“Oh, I- I’m terribly sorry.”
“Yes, I dare say the fact that you can't call on my husband to bring me to heel, does make you sorry but in any event, he was never a very authoritarian sort of man, at least not with his family.” She got to her feet and smoothed her skirts. “Good day, Lord Copley, I trust that you can see yourself out.”
She left the room and Nathaniel watched until she was out of sight, wondering just what he had done to offend her. No doubt she wasn’t happy that she (and her father’s disappearance) had been ignored for six years, but that was hardly his fault. Of course, she might not have liked his defence of Smyth either but what he said was true, the man could handle the day to day duties of his job.
She had given him a list of names as a starting point and, much as she had suggested, he was certain that these people would be much more forthcoming with him than they had been with Charles Howard’s daughter. Men were usually more open with their own sex, much as women preferred the company of other females.
Still, he was curious about what she had learned and he looked to the leather chest she had gone into earlier. What he wanted to know was probably in that box. It was probably locked but he felt that he could easily carry it with him, although he doubted that he would be allowed to take it. He approached and tried the catch, only to find it was locked.
A cough from behind him made him turn and he blushed at having been caught.
“This way, Sir,” the butler said, his voice so disapproving that he only just managed to sound polite.
“Of course.” He followed the elderly man downstairs but it was only once he was out on the street, that he realised how surreal that whole encounter had been.
***
Damaris was seething. How dare that jumped up want-to-be detective come in here and act as if he were entitled to her help!
She might have been inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, had it not been for the fact that her father had been strangled, not killed by the blow to the head. But of course, the broken skull was obvious, whereas the tiny hyoid bone was subtle and easy to miss. The problem was, she didn’t want a detective who looked only for the easy answers, she wanted someone who would dig until they had the truth.
Which meant that she had little choice but to do the investigating herself. She had already made a good start over the past few years but now that she knew her father was dead, people might be more forthcoming with her. And if they weren’t, well, she would do whatever it took to find her father’s killer.
Chapter Three
Horse Guards was a large Palladian style building in Whitehall, and home to the War Office. At the front desk, Nathaniel was directed to the Department of the Secretary, and then to the Judge Advocate General’s office, who handled courts-martial.
Since he had been a barrister, it seemed fitting that Charles Howard had worked here. The Judge Advocate General, Sir John Beckett wasn’t available to see him, which wasn’t surprising and by Nathaniel’s reckoning, he had been appointed three years after Charles Howard had disappeared anyway, so was unlikely to be of any help.
Instead, he was directed to a meeting room and told to wait, which he did for perhaps ten minutes, until a gentleman entered. He was middle aged, smartly dressed and had a slightly harassed air about him.
“Lord Copley?” he asked.
“Indeed.” Nathaniel got to his feet and shook hands with the gentleman.
“I'm Peter Jennings. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Not a problem, Sir.”
“I understand that you’re here to talk about Charles Howard?”
“I am and I'm sorry to say, I have some regrettable news.”
They both took a seat at the table.
“He’s dead,” Jennings stated rather than asked.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Charles was a responsible man; even supposing that he did run away with a mistress, he would not have simply walked away from his position here. When I read about the remains being discovered near his home… well, I put two and two together, although I am sorry to have been proved correct.”
“How well did you know Mr Howard?”
“We were friends; I kept rooms in the same club, but our families didn’t often socialise together.”
“Oh?”
“It’s nothing sinister.” He smiled. “Charles’ family home was in Lanford, whilst mine is in Northumberland.”
“And you commute to London?”
“Yes.”
“Does that not get tiresome?”
“It does,” he agreed. “Being so close, Charles returned home each weekend, but it would take me all weekend to get home, then I’d just have to turn around and come straight back.”
“Quite. Would it not be easier to keep a home in London?”
“Probably, but my wife dislikes Town and prefers to be close to her family. I return home for a few weeks every few months, and the arrangement works well for us.”
Given his eagerness to begin the investigation, Nathaniel now found himself quite stumped as to how to proceed.
“So, are you another one of Lady Wellesley’s detectives?” Jennings asked.
“Not quite, although I am looking into her father’s death. I'm the new Justice of the Peace for Lanford.”
“Well, I can't tell you anything that I haven’t already told her, and her detectives.”
“Since you were friends with the deceased, I was wondering if you could tell me what kind of man he was?”
“I suppose. Well, he was born to an Earl but he didn’t inherit title or lands. He chose law as his profession and studied hard. He met and married his wife for her connections but it wasn’t a love match.
“And what of his personality?”
“Responsible, bound by duty; he took his work very seriously, perhaps too seriously at times-”
“You don’t think his death could have had something to do with his work?”
“No.” Jennings looked amused. “For obvious reasons, I can't go into details about our work here but suffice to say, most of it is administrative.”
“How did he come to work for the War Office?”
“Through the Duke of Wellington.”
“Are they related?”
“Well they weren’t but they are now, in a roundabout sort of way.”
“Of course, Wellesley is the family name.”
“Quite right. Damaris’ husband was William Wellesley, Earl of Bellchester and a cousin to the Duke of Wellington. Charles arranged the match for her. Unfortunately they hadn’t been married for a year when her father disappeared, then her husband was killed a year later, at the Battle of Waterloo.”
“Did they have any children?”
“The war kept him away a lot but they did manage to have one child, and another on the way. The news of his death hit her hard however; she lost the baby, and the elder child died not long after.”
“How awful.”
“Yes, the poor girl certainly has faced more than her share of tragedy.”
“And how did the child…?”
“The whooping cough; terrible shame.”
“Is someone taking care of her?”
“Oh, her husband saw to that. When his young son died, the title passed to Wellesley’s brother, of course, but almost the entirety of her husband’s estate was bequeathed to Damaris and her children but obviously now, she is his sole heir.”
“So much heartache for one so young.”
“She’s a strong girl but you’re right, it is a terrible shame.”
>
“After such tragedy, I’m surprised she didn’t go to live with a family member.”
“I wish I could say that I was, but the relationships in that family were always odd.”
“How so?”
“Charles and his wife gave the impression of being in competition, and part of that was that she favoured the boys, while he favoured Damaris. They pitted the children against the other parent, and each other at times, hence she was only close to her father. She has reconciled somewhat with the younger brother but he resides in Edinburgh; not exactly within easy travelling distance.”
“So that’s why the sons don’t look after Howards’ house.”
“Exactly. Her father’s family offered to take her in but she declined. She still writes to me occasionally, mostly at Christmas time, and seems to enjoy living alone.”
“Whatever does she do with herself?” Nathaniel didn’t think she was the type to spend her days sewing samplers.
“I believe she has discovered a fascination with science and spends a lot of time reading about it. I think she even does a few experiments.”
That seemed like an odd hobby for a woman but he supposed that something like botany would interest a lady and whilst unusual, it was harmless.
“Forgive me, Lord Copley, but you appear to have more interest in Lady Wellesley than her father.”
Nathaniel blushed a little.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, if I were a few years younger, and single of course, I might very well feel the same but you seem like a nice fellow, so I hope you won’t take offence when I offer you some friendly advice. Don’t set your hat at Damaris; you will be disappointed if you do.”
Nathaniel was surprised by the sinking sensation he felt, almost as if he were falling, but he swallowed his disconcertion down and said, “You sound very… certain about that.”
“She is beautiful, respectable, childless and rich; what man wouldn’t want her as his wife, even if she is a widow and at a rather advanced age? Many have tried to get her attention over the years but she shows no interest.”
“Is she still grieving?”
“Some believe so.”
“Did she really love her husband, then? It sounds as if they didn’t see each other very much.”
“It was the war that kept him away, not distaste. That’s also the reason William’s family wanted him to marry, so that he would have an heir if the worst happened. As for love?” Jennings shrugged. “She cared very deeply for William, I know that, and she respected him but love? Perhaps the love one has for a good friend or sibling, but not romantic love.”
Her Saving Grace Page 3