"Ugh!" Harriet, seated snugly between her mother and Mrs. Blakely, pointed one black-gloved finger at the runner. In the crowded confines of the vehicle it nearly stabbed his nose. "You are a common and disgusting man!"
Lennie gave the girl a steady look, but didn't respond.
"Mother!" Harriet demanded. "Must we sit here and be exposed to such low behavior? Stop the carriage. Have this, this, person ride up top with the driver. We would all be more comfortable."
"Yes, we most certainly would," the countess agreed firmly.
She lifted both brows at Detective Fielding, as if having made her preferences known she fully expected him to carry out her orders.
Fielding rubbed his chin. Lennie was not normally a crude sort. He certainly knew better than to chew and spit tobacco in a moving carriage, particularly one full of carefully dressed ladies. The runner was purposefully ignoring good manners simply to annoy these women. But after spending the last few hours in the company of the old harridan and her daughter, Fielding didn't blame him. He too found he had not the slightest inclination to please the pair of satin-plumed crows. Still, the countess's request that Lennie be banished from the carriage compartment and sent to sit with the driver was not unreasonable. And he suspected Lennie would welcome exile, since it would mean he no longer had to endure these ladies' company.
"Lennie," Fielding reached toward the pull to let the driver know they needed to stop, but the look of smug triumph on Harriet's face froze his hand in midair. He brushed it over his hair instead.
"Yes sir?" Lennie repositioned the tobacco wad.
"Have a care not to mar the duke's fine vehicle. Loft and distance. Well away from the carriage. There's a good man."
"Yes sir." Lennie grinned at the women.
"Mama!" Harriet squealed with outrage.
"Well!" The countess huffed and launched into a diatribe about 'common sorts'. Harriet nodded emphatic agreement to each sentence. The men endured the lecture in grim silence.
Mrs. Blakely remained quiet as well. She sat across from Fielding, staring out the window on the opposite side of the carriage from Lennie. Her face was composed in the same mask of neutral good humor she'd been wearing since Fielding had been introduced to her at breakfast that morning.
"And," the countess continued her rant, "I can assure you, not only will I write a most scathing account of this outrageous behavior to your superior, but--"
The carriage hit a tooth-rattling rut cutting off the countess momentarily and causing the bosoms of all three women to bounce wildly beneath the bodices of their funeral-black gowns. Fielding frowned. Maria never wore black. Her clothing, like her personality, was as lively as her cooking.
What was she doing tonight? Having one of the neighbor women in for a gossip would be his guess. Fielding closed his eyes hoping to block out the countess's tirade. Instead, he imagined Maria leaning over to whisper the latest naughty joke she'd heard into some staid matron's ear, sending the woman into gales of embarrassed laughter. Maria could say the most shocking things. Yet she always managed to do so in a way that made even the stiffest types take no offense. Perhaps it was the fact that her French accent made everything sound sophisticated and a little naughty. Or perhaps it was simply that she always plied her audience with heavenly fruit tarts, or some other sample of her extraordinary cooking, putting them in a mood to be pleased with whatever she said or did. Fielding sighed. He missed Maria's fruit tarts.
The carriage hit another rut, this time nearly sending Harriet sliding to the floor. Fielding barely managed to keep his seat. Maybe he should have sent Lennie up top after all. Most of the servants had deserted the duke's household, including nearly all of the stable lads. Whether the boy driving the old carriage was familiar with the road or not, he was certainly an inexperienced driver judging by the rough ride.
"Why on earth did we all need to ride stuffed into this one carriage?" Harriet complained, wiggling herself back into place on the seat in a way that forced Mrs. Blakely further against the carriage wall. "Why couldn't Mama and I ride with the duke?"
"'Cause he didn't invite you," Lennie said and spat another stream of tobacco juice out the window. The brown length of it arched in the glow of the carriage lanterns before the darkness swallowed it. The countess made a sound of disgust and opened her mouth, probably to start another lecture on manners, but the look on Lennie's rough face seemed to make her reconsider. Lennie again shifted the wad of tobacco from one cheek to the other.
"Seemed odd didn't it?" Fielding was tired of asking questions of these three. If Mrs. Blakely knew anything of the goings on at Heaven's Edge, she hid the knowledge well behind a façade of vague friendliness. Countess Glenbury and her daughter, on the other hand, had quite a lot to say. Though none of it useful. He'd no desire to speak to any of them again, but he wasn't a man to waste even the smallest opportunity. The sooner this case was wrapped up, the sooner he'd be home with Maria, and her cooking. So he might as well press for whatever bits of information he could get. And perhaps in the process distract the Glenbury women from their grumbling.
"Seemed odd, didn't it?" he repeated. "That the duke would choose to ride alone to Mr. Grubner's wake."
"In the largest, most comfortable carriage," Harriet said beneath her breath.
"He wasn't coming straight home," Mrs. Blakely said, and then frowned as if she'd spoken out of turn. "Perhaps."
Detective Fielding sat forward and gave Mrs. Blakely his best smile. "Where was he going?"
Mrs. Blakely hesitated, obviously uncomfortable to be the target of the detective's attention. "To the tavern in the village. I heard him say so to Cook. The servants, at least the ones who didn't pack and leave this afternoon, were going there after the wake to, uh." Mrs. Blakely stopped as if she'd just realized talking about her host was no more proper than eavesdropping on his conversations.
"Yes?" Fielding prompted.
"Well, he said, uh..." Mrs. Blakely leaned forward to whisper across the carriage at the detective. The other women leaned forward as well to listen. "He planned to drink a few to Mr. Grubner's life. In his honor, so to speak. And then toddle off to grieve with a 'special' friend." Mrs. Blakely blushed.
Countess' Glenbury's face lit up at this last bit. Detective Fielding could imagine how quickly that tidbit would travel around town once she got back to London. Not that the duke's philandering was big news, but it would flesh out a tale of murder and drunken reveling very nicely.
Harriet's lips twisted into an ugly sneer. "Then why could I not have ridden with Lord Devlin? There were only three in his coach. There was plenty of room for me."
"Three?" Fielding repeated. "I know Father Vlad and Doctor Bergen took the cart with the servants. But your brother Randall and your mother's companion rode with Lord Devlin, Mr. Fosse and his bride. I saw all five get into Lord Devlin's coach for the ride to the wake."
"Well, they didn't get back in it for the return ride home." Harriet's voice was smug. "Not surprising since Loosy and my darling brother didn't even enter Grubner's house. They're probably off somewhere doing who knows what."
"Harriet!" The countess sounded shocked.
"Well, really Mama, how long must we endure Randall's harlots?"
"Harriet, that is enough!"
"I can't help it, Mama. I'm positively mortified. Who ever heard of people of our station attending a stable master's wake?"
"The duke, our host, was insistent that the entire household pay their respects. And as odd a request as it is, one can't deny a duke, can one?" Countess Glenbury's tone made it clear she would have happily denied anyone of lesser status.
"But Mama, what if our friends in London discover we attended such a low affair?"
"They won't," Countess Glenbury said sternly, eyeing Mrs. Blakely.
"No, no, of course not," Mrs. Blakely assured her quickly before returning her attention to the darkness beyond the window.
"Well." Harriet fidgeted between the two women. "I thin
k they should have left the body in the stable and had the wake there. Who ever heard of a stable master owning his own home anyway? Aren't they supposed to live in the stable with the horses? Besides, I don't see why I needed to be stuffed into this carriage with, with," --Harriet made a sour face in the direction of the gentlemen-- "when I could so easily have ridden in comfort with people of my own sort." Harriet wiggled in her seat again, crushing Mrs. Blakely even further into the carriage wall.
Fielding smiled sympathetically at Mrs. Blakely. She made the slightest shrug in acknowledgment, never allowing her mask of amiability to slip. A wise woman. Wise enough to know that quietly enduring an uncomfortable ride, or even a miserable few weeks at a house party, with the Countess Glenbury and her spoiled brat was preferable to falling afoul of the woman's legendarily vicious tongue. Mrs. Blakely was no fool. She knew better than to invite the wrath of such a spiteful gossip.
Fortunately for him, he did not suffer the same constraints as Mrs. Blakely. He'd already interviewed both the countess and her daughter and no longer had much use for either of them. Besides, the old scandalmonger could do nothing to him. Even the 'scathing letter' she promised to send his superior was of little consequence. Not compared to the letter tucked carefully in his breast pocket, a letter from the Prince Regent himself authorizing Fielding to follow the investigation wherever it might lead and to leave no stone unturned.
The madman behind these murders had made a grave mistake when he'd selected his second victim: the little Covent Garden actress the Prince had had an eye on. Not even the protection of a duke would be sufficient to shield the killer from Prinny's anger.
"Oh!" Mrs. Blakely cried out in pain as the carriage hit a bump and Harriet used the small jostle as an opportunity to claim more space on the seat. Both Harriet and the countess frowned in her direction, causing the poor woman to murmur a contrite, "I beg your pardon".
Fielding had had enough of the Glenburys' bullying.
"Any sign of Lord Devlin's carriage? Or have they left us well behind?" Fielding asked Lennie, though he knew Lord Devlin's perfectly matched pacers and his superior vehicle would easily have outdistanced their much slower equipage.
Lennie gave him an odd look, then leaned toward the window preparing to send another arc of tobacco juice out into the night before he answered.
"Never mind, old man." Fielding clapped a hand around his man's shoulder. Then just as the dark liquid left his mouth, he yanked him into a jovial embrace. Tobacco juice that should have flown expertly out the window shot across the carriage. A disgusting brown line spattered across the satin-covered bosoms of the countess and her daughter. But, Fielding congratulated himself, no more than a fleck or two landed on the dress of Mrs. Blakely.
The Glenburys shrieked, cursing like a pair of London fishwives.
"Oh, my!" Mrs. Blakely exclaimed.
"Really, Lennie," Fielding scolded. "If a man has no more control than that, he ought not to indulge."
Lennie buried his grin in his sleeve, pretending to cough.
Fielding plucked a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Mrs. Blakely. Harriet, her face nearly purple with rage, snatched it away and mopped at her own sopping gown. Mrs. Blakely's dancing eyes met Fielding's across the carriage and she pressed her lips together hard.
"The authorities will hear of this outrage!" Countess Glenbury's eyes bulged with anger. She jerked a handkerchief from her reticule, then used the little bag to pummel Lennie viciously before dabbing the cloth in disgust at her gown.
"Please accept my deepest apologies for--" Fielding's own handkerchief, coated in the tobacco from Harriet's dress, slapped into his chin. He peeled it away carefully and dropped it to the floor. "Allow me to offer my most sincere apol--"
Harriet's dainty foot slammed into his ankle. Counting himself lucky that fashionable ladies currently favored soft satin slippers and not the sturdy leather boots of the women of other classes, he gave the brat his sternest lawman's look. Though it quieted her shrieking only a little, she didn't seem inclined to kick him again. She kicked Lennie instead.
"Ho!" The rough-faced runner looked at Fielding.
Fielding shrugged. He muttered a final round of apologies, though his words were lost beneath the women's blistering outrage. Allowing none of the satisfaction he felt to show on his face, he directed a polite smile in Mrs. Blakely's direction, then closed his eyes and his ears. He leaned back against the seat cushions, turning his mind to more pleasant things: Maria's smile, her laughter, her tarts.
Fielding's head hit the carriage ceiling as a bump in the road popped him up out of his seat. Metal screeched against metal. There was the loud crack of splintering wood. He thrust his feet out hoping to brace them against the carriage floor and threw a protective arm out in Mrs. Blakely's direction. The carriage tumbled onto its side, throwing the passengers into a crushing jumble. Ladies screamed, men cursed, horses snorted and stomped. The carriage rattled and groaned, finally skidding to a stop in the darkness.
Fielding managed to remove the countess's plump hip from his chest just as the door above them was pulled open. Jimmy, one of the carriage lanterns clutched in his trembling hand, peered down at them. The fear on his face lightened to relief as he examined the writhing mass of ladies and gentlemen below. Fielding looked a question at the stable boy.
"Sorry, sir." The boy's voice was ragged with trauma. "I didn't see her there in the road until it was near too late. Missed her, but hit a hole instead. Wheel's off. We'll be walking."
"Missed who?" Fielding had managed to stand, rising above the struggling bodies around him. Jimmy moved aside as Fielding hauled himself up out of the carriage and then turned to reach a hand down to the others. Harriet caught his hand and began ruthlessly kicking her way free of the chaos.
"Katie, Lady Devlin's maid," Jimmy said.
Fielding released Harriet, sending her tumbling back into the carriage, shrieking. He looked to where Jimmy was pointing. Several yards down the road a young girl stood. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, she was rocking slowly from heel to toe, muttering and whimpering.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The hair on the back of Elizabeth's neck stood up. Below, Randal crossed the entrance hall and mounted the stairs, his gap-toothed smile mocking. Every instinct within her screamed for her to run, run as she had last night through the halls of Maidenstone. But something inside her refused to move from the landing, refused to leave her mother.
"My mother needs help. The door is locked," she said, her voice a reedy whisper.
Randall's smile turned wicked. He said nothing, continuing to climb the stairs, his limp adding an ominous rhythm to the deliberate insolence of his pace. Elizabeth took an involuntary step back. Then anger joined fear and she stepped forward again. Why, after what had happened at Maidenstone, did Nicholas continue to tolerate this man's presence? It made no sense. But right now, it didn't matter. Her mother needed help and she would beg it, even from the devil, if need be.
"Hurry," she said, but when Randall laughed, her shoulders began to shake.
Downstairs the front door banged open. Cool night air, tangy with the scents of spring, rushed into the house. Randall stopped midway up the stairs and glanced over his shoulder. Then he resumed his climb at a much faster pace, his predatory expression transformed to one of concern.
Elizabeth leaned out over the stair rail and called to the people entering the house.
"Up here! Quickly, please!"
The oval of moonlight lit the upturned faces of Amanda, Leo, and Father Vlad. Whether it was something they saw on her face or heard it in her voice, she wasn't sure, but they moved as one, rushing to the stairs. Elizabeth didn't wait. Sidestepping Randall, who'd reached the landing, Elizabeth ran back to her mother's room and banged on the door with her fist.
"Mother! Are you all right?"
"What is it, Elizabeth? What's wrong?" Amanda reached Elizabeth's side and began pounding her small fist
against the door as well.
"I heard Mother scream, but someone has locked the door. I can't get in."
"Break down the door," Vlad ordered. "Quickly!"
"There are keys downstairs in the housekeeper's office, I'm sure." Randall's tone made Elizabeth want to strike him.
"There's no time," Vlad said, the urgency in his voice feeding Elizabeth's own panic.
"Do as he says, Leo," Amanda said and tugged Elizabeth away from the door. Leo backed up a few paces to get a moving start and then slammed his shoulder hard against the solid oak. It didn't budge. Three more attempts produced no better results.
"What's going on?" The image of Nicholas striding down the hall swam in the tears clouding Elizabeth's eyes. Dr. Bergen was just reaching the top of the stairway landing behind him. Elizabeth's knees buckled with relief. She leaned against the wall to keep herself from falling.
"It's Mother. Something's wrong. We can't get in."
"I'll go downstairs and find the keys, Nick." Leo started down the hall as he spoke. He passed Lucy on the landing. Vlad stepped back, silent.
"Bergen, you take this door," Nicholas said. "I'll take the dressing room door." Nicholas disappeared into his and Elizabeth's bedroom.
"Perhaps I could help?" Randall planted himself in front of the door.
Bergen shoved Randall roughly aside and stepped back, preparing to throw his shoulder against the door. This time it was Lucy who blocked him, taking the position Randall had just vacated and smiling her wide feline smile.
"Trouble?" Lucy's eyes raked slowly over Bergen's body. Her ruby lips formed a pout. "Can I help?"
Randall made an angry noise. Fury exploded in Elizabeth. How dare this woman play seduction games now! Her mother could be dying and Lucy thought of nothing but her own sick need to befuddle every man in her vicinity. Elizabeth pushed away from the wall and lunged at the woman, meaning to knock her out of the way. Bergen's arm shot out. With gentle strength he forced Elizabeth back against the wall again. Lucy didn't seem to notice, her eyes still on the doctor, at once taunting and devouring.
Blood Marriage Page 21