A Poisoned Season

by Tasha Alexander

  31

  THE MOMENT I RETURNED HOME, I PULLED OUT THE LETTER I’D received from Colin the previous week, the first he had sent from France. He’d written it on the ferry and posted it as soon as he’d arrived in Calais, even before boarding the train for Paris. I smiled as I read it; he always managed to make letters sound like his half of a conversation, and I could almost hear him saying the words, picture him sitting across from me, running a hand through his tousled hair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. I did not, however, let this entrancing image distract me from my purpose. I skimmed the rest of the page until I found the sentence for which I was looking. We’ve tickets for the opera on the third, seats in the first row of the balcony.

  I composed a cable for him, a clumsy-sounding message, but it would convey its intended meaning when he read the first letter of every third word. This would provide him a brief but incisive update on the situation in London, particularly as it pertained to Charles Berry.

  “Did you see that another letter arrived from Paris today, madam?” Davis asked as he took the cable from me, looking not at me, but at the pile of unopened mail on my desk.

  “No, I haven’t had a chance.” I skimmed through the letters until I found one addressed in Colin’s familiar handwriting.

  “Would you like me to send this cable at once, or shall I wait until after you’ve read what Mr. Hargreaves has to say?”

  “Send it now, Davis. It’s quite urgent. If I need to add anything, I can always send another.”

  Davis bowed and left me to my reading. I was glad for the privacy the moment I opened the envelope. This letter was, if I may be so bold, the most exquisitely written, lyrical declaration of love that had ever been put to paper. It sang from the page. I read it three times through before noticing that my skin had grown hot, and my hands were trembling. So beautiful was it that I longed to read it aloud, to hear its melody spoken, until I remembered Colin’s suggestion that in a London town house, one is never truly alone.

  And then, all at once, I realized that I’d missed the point entirely. With a sigh, I pulled out a blank piece of paper and copied out the first letter of every third word. His news complemented mine perfectly: Lady Elinor’s fortune had been spent funding Garnier and his would-be revolutionaries. That was why there was no money left for Isabelle’s dowry. She wouldn’t need one if her mother were in the position to arrange for her marriage to a future king. And surely, financing the enterprise gave Lady Elinor the power to choose a queen for Charles Berry.

  It was a risky proposition, however. Without a dowry, Isabelle would be in dire straits should the restoration fail. But it was nearly a reasonable gamble. The republic in France was staggeringly unpopular. Monsieur Garnier was loved by all and was too savvy a politician to fall victim to the weaknesses that had caused Boulanger’s coup to fail.

  Did Lady Elinor know that Berry was a fraud? Had she been willing to risk so much only because she believed he truly had descended from Louis XVI? The knowledge that her family had helped refugees fleeing from the terror nagged at me. Would they have known what became of the dauphin?

  I am not particularly proud of what I did next, but my options were limited. I sent a note to Isabelle, inviting her to come with me to the British Museum. I received her reply at breakfast the next morning and went round to collect her at Meadowdown as soon as I’d finished eating.

  We walked through two Greco-Roman galleries before, in the Archaic Room, I summoned the courage to turn the conversation in the direction I knew it must go.

  “Do you miss Mr. Berry?” I asked as we stood in front of the Strang-ford Apollo, a marble statue said to be from the Cyclades. Looking at it made me long for Santorini.

  “I find that I can bear his absence rather well,” Isabelle said.

  “I’ve learned about your family’s involvement in assisting refugees from the French Revolution. It seems some sort of poetic justice that you should wind up engaged to the heir of the House of Bourbon.”

  “That’s precisely how my mother views it.” She stared blankly at Apollo.

  “I understand that the Torringtons helped a most important person,” I said. “It must be quite a wonderful story.”

  This, to my surprise, made Isabelle smile. “I always did like it, especially the bit about the pink diamond. So romantic.”

  “I don’t think I know that part,” I said.

  “The dauphin offered my family a pink diamond to repay them for their help, but my great-great-grandfather refused to accept it. It was one of the few things the boy had that belonged to his mother, and the Torringtons felt strongly that he should keep it as a memento of her.” She laughed. “A lovely gesture but foolish in the end. He obviously had to sell it at some point, probably to pay for his passage to America. If he hadn’t, it never would have wound up being stolen by that dreadful thief here in England, would it?”

  “No, I suppose not,” I said, and realized that I’d been holding my breath while she spoke. Apollo’s smile seemed to reproach me.

  We walked through the rest of the museum. Isabelle found the mummies most diverting. As for me, I hardly took notice of anything that we saw. I did not for a moment believe that Louis Charles had sold the pink diamond. When the newspapers reported its theft, Lady Elinor must have immediately identified the stone’s owner as the one person who could, without fail, bring her plan to ruin.

  Did she confront him? Confirm in some way that he was Louis Charles’s heir? I felt sick once again, certain that, had I not convinced Mr. Francis to report the theft, he would still be alive. My thoughts turned at once to little Edward. Was there any possibility that Lady Elinor knew about the boy? Sebastian was not the only person who had been following me; could I have unwittingly led her to Edward? And what about Mrs. White? Did she know of her son’s royal blood?

  I invented a headache and took Isabelle home, then directed Waters to drive me to the Whites’ house. The housekeeper admitted me at once but glowered as she brought me to her mistress. I would not have thought it possible, but Mrs. White was even thinner than when I had last seen her.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you again, but I have a few more questions about Mr. Francis. Did he ever tell you anything…special…about himself? Perhaps by way of explaining why it was so important for him to have a child?”

  “Don’t all men want children?”

  “Probably,” I said. “But he gave you no particular reason for his desire?”

  “No, Lady Ashton. He was always very kind to me but kept his thoughts to himself. Took great interest in what I was doing, and, of course, in Edward, but almost never told us anything about the rest of his life. No surprise there, though.”

  “Have you noticed anything strange around your house since his death?”

  “Whatever can you mean?” she asked.

  “Has anything or anyone struck you as suspicious?”

  “You don’t think that someone in my household—”

  “No, no. It’s just that I have reason to believe that the person who killed Mr. Francis might have an interest in Edward.”

  “You think my son is in danger?”

  “I can’t be sure,” I said. “But I think it would be best if you and the boy went away for a while.”

  “We don’t have anywhere to go.” I had to strain to hear her voice.

  “Don’t worry. I know of a place where you will be perfectly safe.”

  “I don’t know that I should trust you,” she said.

  “I can well understand that, and I fear there’s little I can do to reassure you. Forgive me, but you and Mrs. Francis held dear the same man. She knows me well enough to trust that I am capable of solving his murder. Please, Mrs. White, I’m only trying to protect your son.”

  “I’m not sure what to think,” she said, and tugged at her already ragged cuticles.

  “Inspector Manning of Scotland Yard can vouch for me. Would you like me to send him to you?”

  “Mr. Francis wo
uld want me to keep the boy from harm.”

  “Will you go?”

  She looked as if she wanted to sigh but that the effort would be too great for her frail body. “Yes. What else can I do? I can’t very well stay here if I’ve been warned of danger, and I wouldn’t know where to take him on my own. But I would like to speak to the inspector.”

  “I’ll ask him to come as soon as possible. I shall need you to be ready to depart tomorrow. Tell none of your servants, and don’t bother to pack. I’ll arrange for clothes and whatever else you need to be purchased for you. If there’s anything to which Edward is especially attached, you may bring it, so long as it won’t draw attention to the fact that you’re leaving.”

  “You’re certain this is necessary?”

  “No, I’m not. But if there is danger, and we do nothing, the consequences could be more dreadful than either of us can imagine.”

  Inspector Manning called on Mrs. White a few hours later and reported that he had little difficulty convincing her that she was doing the right thing by following my advice. After talking to her, he seemed to take my role in the investigations more seriously.

  My suspicions regarding Lady Elinor troubled me greatly, particularly because, if they were correct, Isabelle’s life would be thrown into turmoil. I hated to think that a woman who had been a family friend for so many years could be guilty of such a crime, but it seemed increasingly likely that she was responsible for the deaths in Richmond. I needed firm evidence, and decided to visit Floris, the store from which the shaving lotion that had killed both men had been purchased. Mr. Floris himself spoke to me. He was, understandably, hesitant at first. But when I explained the nature of the case on which I was working, he agreed to help. Together, we combed through his records. A mere two days after the story of the pink-diamond theft appeared in the papers, someone bought one bottle of lavender shaving lotion. The receipt, unlike the others, did not list the name of the purchaser, so Mr. Floris called for the clerk who had written up the sale.

  “Oh yes, I do recall this,” he said, smiling. “She ordered a number of items for herself, too, but wanted this to be kept separate. I believe it was a gift for a gentleman.”

  “Do you remember her name?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Could you describe her?”

  “Middle-aged, I think. Fair hair.”

  “Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”

  “I think so. It wasn’t the first time I’d helped her.”

  “There must be a receipt for the other things she bought,” I said, and continued to make my way through the stack of sales records, stopping when I found a name I recognized. On the same date, from the same clerk, Lady Elinor Routledge had purchased two bottles of eau de toilette and four combs.

  I never would have suspected her!” Margaret exclaimed as we sat in my library that evening. Davis had opened an excellent port for us and, though I know he did not approve, brought what was left of Philip’s stock of cigars for my friend.

  “I’m not absolutely certain that she did it. What I’ve got to do now is—” We were interrupted by the arrival of Ivy. I had not spoken to her since our argument and was shocked that she would come to me after things had gone so badly between us. She was dressed in a ball gown fashioned from red silk and would undoubtedly have created a winning impression at whatever party she attended were it not for the fact that her eyes were swollen, and her cheeks streaked with tears. My first thought was that Mrs. Reynold-Plympton had talked to Lord Fortescue, who, in turn, had talked to Robert.

  “Ivy! Whatever is the matter?”

  “Oh, I’m having a rather difficult evening, that’s all.” She tried to smile. “You know how the Season can overwhelm one.”

  “You need port,” Margaret said, and handed her a glass. “Are you off to a party this evening? Where’s Robert?”

  “We were to go to Lansdowne House for a ball. But Robert decided that it would be better for me to stay home.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “He’s afraid my health isn’t what it ought to be,” she said. “And he was going to have to spend the evening discussing politics, so he thought there was no need for me to come.”

  “What would make him think that?” Margaret asked, blowing rings of smoke. “You’re strong as a horse.”

  “He just didn’t want you to be bored if he was off with Lord Fortescue and his crew all night,” I said.

  “How could I possibly be bored at a ball? No, I think that there’s some other reason.” She looked at Margaret, as if weighing whether to continue, then emptied her glass in a single drink. “I think he has a mistress, and she is going to be there tonight. He knew that if I saw him dance with her, I would be able to read the infidelity on his face.”

  “Dearest, no, that’s not it at all,” I said.

  “And to think that he would keep me at home instead of telling her to stay away. I suppose she’s married, too. Maybe her husband was insisting that she go.”

  “No, Ivy, truly this is wrong. I know—” I stopped.

  “Well?” Margaret asked. “Continue, please. What do you know?”

  “I know that Robert is not having an affair,” I said, and out spilled the details of my own suspicions and my confrontation of Mrs. Reynold-Plympton.

  “Emily!” Ivy cried. “How could you?”

  “I know. Forgive me, Ivy, I shouldn’t have, but I could not bear to think that Robert was neglecting you.”

  “I know I’ve been upset with you, but I realized that I’ve nowhere else to turn. You’ve always been my dearest friend.” She rested her head daintily in her hands. “And though I am horrified at what you’ve done, how can I fault you for it? I’ve been worried about this for weeks, and you have eased my mind, Emily.”

  “I’m glad of that, but I should never have done it without talking to you first.”

  “I would never have agreed to let you do it.”

  “I can be very persuasive, Ivy,” I said.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Margaret said. “Enough! What are we to do about Lady Elinor?”

  “Lady Elinor?” Ivy asked. I brought her up to date on all that had transpired since we last spoke. “Oh, how dreadful. Poor Isabelle. Whatever shall happen?”

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid,” I said. “I’ve just been trying to determine how I can prove beyond question that she is the one responsible for the deaths in Richmond.”

  Ivy hesitated for just a moment. “Could the police…”

  “I shall, of course, include Inspector Manning. But I don’t want the police sprung upon her, nor do I want Isabelle there.”

  “Where did you send Mrs. White and her boy?” Ivy asked.

  “They’re to go to Greece and stay at the villa. Meg’s going to travel with them.” An idea came to me, vaguely at first, and then gradually formed into something approaching coherence. “Lady Elinor believes that there is no surviving heir of the dauphin, correct? What if she learned about Edward? Believed that he, or his mother, could come forward and make a claim to the throne?”

  “I like this idea, Emily,” Margaret said, still puffing on her cigar.

  “But what if the boy were to get hurt?” Ivy asked.

  “We couldn’t tell her until after he is safely out of the country,” I said. “But then, I could call on her, subtly alert her to the situation, and then wait for her to come to the Whites’ house.”

  “But how would you know when to expect her?” Ivy asked.

  “I wouldn’t, really. Colin once told me that most of the time his work is little more than waiting for something interesting to happen. I’m beginning to understand what he meant.”

  “You could skulk about the house and sleep in the boy’s room,” Margaret suggested. “Eventually, she would figure out a way to come to you.”

  “We might be able to force her hand somehow. Make her think that Edward’s identity was going to be revealed on a certain day.”
/>   “What a pity Bastille Day’s already passed,” Ivy said.

  “I’m afraid it won’t work,” I said, my mind racing. “Whoever committed these crimes knows that I’ve been investigating. That person has had me followed, forced my coach off the road, flung a brick through my window, sent a maid to spy on me. If I tell Lady Elinor about Edward, she will know at once that I’m aware of her guilt, no matter how congenial my guise for delivering the information. What would she have to lose at that moment? I promised Colin I would take no unnecessary risks. I’m afraid this course of action would fall into that category.”

  “You’re right,” Margaret said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “We’ll just have to keep thinking,” I said. Davis tapped on the door and entered, his face ashen.

  “Madam, I’m afraid that someone’s attacked Baines. Could you please come right away?”

  32

  IT WAS HIS DAY OFF,” DAVIS EXPLAINED, AS I FOLLOWED HIM, ALONG with Margaret and Ivy, up to the servants’ quarters. “He was walking home, and as he approached the back of the house, someone struck him over the head. I’ve sent for a doctor.”

  I was greatly relieved to learn from the physician that my footman’s injuries were not serious. Less welcome was the response of the police. The officers assigned by Inspector Manning had caught a man they’d seen running from the house and questioned him, but their conclusion was that this had been nothing more than a simple robbery. Baines’s money and watch had been stolen, and the culprit had been implicated in more than one other similar crime.

  “How can they possibly think this is unrelated to the attacks on me?” I asked. “It makes no sense.”

  “I begin to see why you feel that you cannot rely wholeheartedly on the police,” Ivy said.

  The next day was exceedingly hectic. Between getting Mrs. White, Edward, and Meg off to Greece and checking on Baines, I had not a moment to return to the question of how to trap Lady Elinor. Meg was thrilled to be going to Santorini, and I smiled when I thought of how, less than a year ago, she had dreaded traveling. I wished that Cécile could join them, but until she was finished with Monsieur Garnier, she would not be able to leave Paris. Still, they would be in capable hands with my maid, who would manage every detail of the trip with her usual smooth efficiency.