Daughters of Disguise (Lady C. Investigates Book 4)

by Issy Brookw

  “Beth ydych chi'n ei wneud?”

  She still had no idea if she was being addressed. Then a darker shadow loomed into her vision. A man was there, silhouetted. She had to step out into the light.

  The man was Davies, the Scavenger. He glared at her. “Pwy ydych chi?” he said, then in a sneering tone, “Pwy wyt ti?”

  She decided to fight him with the most English of assaults: extreme politeness. “Good day to you, sir. I must tell you how much I admire your fine town and its businesses. And you, yourself; I believe you are a highly respected member of the council. You are a credit to the place. Without you, this dockyard would be a much worse place, is that not so?”

  He answered in English, with a thick accent. “Who are you and what are you doing?”

  “Ah! How remiss of me.” She smiled sweetly. “I am Cordelia, Lady Cornbrook. Delighted, I’m sure.” She extended her gloved right hand, but kept her bare left hand tucked out of sight in the folds of her skirt.

  He stared with obvious repulsion at her hand, and took a step away from her. She let her hand drop gracefully, and kept her smile on her face. “And you are Mr Davies, are you not?”

  “What business is it to you?”

  “I am curious about new places and new people,” she said. “And goodness me, what a lot of exciting and shocking things happen in this town! Of course there was the death of that poor woman …” She dropped her voice. “How terribly dreadful it all was. I heard when I was in a coaching inn. Where were you when it happened?”

  “When it happened?” he said, spitting out the words. “Nothing to do with you, is it? I was in a pub all day, anyway.”

  “There are many wonderful hostelries in this town,” she said.

  He began to shake his head. “Are you moonstruck? Are you mad? What are you really doing down here? You English, poking around in other people’s countries, saying this and saying that …” He switched to Welsh and his words began to flow. He waved his hands around and it attracted the attention of people nearby. No one was crass enough to put down their work and come to form a curious circle around them, but people were edging closer while keeping their eyes on their work or their hands.

  She felt adrift and threatened. She wanted to shout at him and tell him to speak English, but why would he speak a foreign language in his own country? She was acutely aware that it was she who was the interloper here. She was “you English” and it was not a comfortable feeling. She was alien, and she was alone, and she had no idea what he was saying about her, or to her.

  She stepped to one side. Her back pressed against the wooden wall of the warehouse. She forced a new smile onto her face. “Anyway, it has been lovely to speak with you, and learn a little more about the place. But my manservant is waiting up there for me and I am afraid I must go…”

  She could not see her “man” from this vantage point, but she hoped that it was enough of a hint to prevent Davies from launching a full-on attack on her. With the warehouse to her back, she held up her head high and slid sideways until she came to the corner. Then she turned and walked as briskly as she could without it becoming an unseemly run, and got onto the path at the back of the warehouses, and picked up her pace until she had got back to the bridge and joined Stanley who was still there with the carriage.

  He noticed her flushed face immediately. “My lady, is everything all right?”

  “I have encountered a smidgen of opposition,” she said, smoothing herself out once more. She let him help her into the carriage. She placed the glove of suspicious substance on the seat beside her. “But everything is fine. Will you drive me back to the inn, please?” It was important to maintain a calm air with one’s staff, she reminded herself. She had been taught that all her life. And while she could speak more naturally around Ruby, and unburden her soul to Geoffrey, it was important to Stanley’s sense of place that she kept to the side of the Mistress-Servant bargain for most of the time, their little one-sided conversations notwithstanding.

  He was concerned, she knew. He clicked his tongue and the horse pulled forward, straining for an instant to get the carriage moving. Then it was rolling free, and the horse could step more easily.

  They passed back over the bridge and she looked down into the dockyard.

  There was now a little crowd gathered around Davies, and they must have heard the carriage wheels, for they all looked up as she looked down. Another man was standing in the doorway to the wine warehouse now, quite close to Davies.

  That must be Gareth Mogg, she thought.

  Then they had passed on, and she picked up the glove from the seat, and held it thoughtfully.

  If this was sugar of lead…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gareth Mogg was now Cordelia’s principle suspect, although she still harboured suspicion against Leopold Scott. And she had one very important question still to answer about Gareth Mogg: why would he want to kill the two ladies? How had their paths ever crossed? Yes, they were philanthropists, engaged in charitable works, and yes, he was likely to be adulterating his cheaper wine with a known poison … but that didn’t all make sense to Cordelia. If the ladies knew about his malpractice, they would go to the authorities.

  Wouldn’t they?

  And Cordelia was still smarting about how she felt she was treated by Davies. As soon as the carriage pulled up outside the inn, she jumped down. She directed Stanley to see about returning the hired vehicle. She intended on rushing into the inn to find Ruby and speak with her, but as she turned from giving instructions, she was accosted firstly by Mrs Jones, who was clutching a large cake. Behind her, Ruby slipped from the door and out into the street.

  Mrs Jones was generally an unstoppable force. “Ahh, my lady, I am just on my way to take this cake to some good Church ladies up the street now; you must come!”

  “Ah — I would but — oh, do excuse me.”

  Mrs Jones had to step out of the way as Cordelia went after Ruby, but she did not try to catch her maid up. Instead she hung back, hiding behind knots of people. She felt oddly conspicuous that she was only wearing one glove. She pushed the other glove, still safely knotted up, into her small handbag, and clasped her hands together to hide her bare fingers, hanging the bag from her wrist by its small handle.

  Ruby walked very quickly up the main street and then turned into a side street. She approached the barber’s shop that Cordelia had seen her at before, when she had been walking with Geoffrey. A young man with dark hair emerged, saw Ruby, and ran to her. They grabbed one another’s hands, and darted away together without looking back.

  Cordelia continued on. She didn’t think she could catch them up, and anyway, why shouldn’t her maid enjoy a little liaison?

  Well, there were many reasons. The main one, of course, was that no mistress would want to lose a good servant. Cordelia pushed that thought aside, and tried to tell herself that actually, her primary concern was for Ruby’s welfare. Why, the man might be anybody! What were his intentions?

  Fuelled by such indignations, she unclasped her hands and pushed open the door to the barber’s shop before she could really stop and think about where she was walking into.

  She realised her mistake far too late.

  She stood stock still and the door slammed closed behind her. This was a man’s place, through and through. It even smelled violently male, like all the studies and billiard rooms and card tables and hunt dinners that she had ever been to. She thought, incongruously, of Hugo Hawke. If one could distil the man into a bottle and sell it as a cologne for men, it would smell like this shop.

  Luckily, there was only one person present. He was a handsome chap, with thick lustrous curling hair and wide sideburns, and very dark eyes which sparkled with delight when he saw that a fine lady had entered his shop.

  “Good afternoon,” he said in a very rich and musical voice. “I fear you may be lost, dear lady. Do allow me to assist you.” He wiped his hands on a towel that rested on the back of a chair. “Caradog Lloyd, a
t your service.”

  “Thank you,” she said and introduced herself. “I am not lost, however. I hope you do not think me impertinent, but I have a question, if I may.”

  “Of course!” He grinned and showed a row of strong, white teeth. He stood very close to her. Rather too close, if she were honest. She stepped back as unobtrusively as she could.

  “There was a man in here, who has just left. He had dark hair, and he was young. He wore some alarmingly mustard and brown checked trousers.”

  “Oh! Yes, that would be George. He’s my apprentice. What do you need the lad for? He’s not been up to any mischief, has he?” Caradog was still smiling and he gave the impression that if his “lad” had been up to “mischief” then that was actually a good thing.

  “As to that, I am not entirely sure. I am here on holiday, you see, and…”

  “Holiday? You are most welcome. And how do you find our little town?”

  “Beautiful,” she said. “And everyone … almost everyone … has been so lovely. Obviously there has been that sad case of those two ladies recently.”

  “Oh,” he said, shaking his head. “No one will miss two dried-up old spinsters. That’s no loss. Although one has survived, has she not? I suppose she will have to be put away now. Some cousin will take her in, I expect. But we all thought they’d amount to nothing, even as girls. Now, what it is that my George has been up to?”

  “I wonder if he has a sweetheart?”

  “George? Perhaps.” His wolfish air was back once more, and he had crept back into her personal space by slow inches. She stepped back again. At this rate, she would be quite pressed up against the shelves of hair dyes and chemicals that ranged the wall.

  “It is only that my maid, Ruby, seems to be meeting with him.”

  “Oho! The dirty dog,” he said, then added hastily, “My George, I mean. Not your maid, of course. Well, well. He is a nice enough lad, you know. She can do worse. He has good prospects here. He is only indentured to me for another five years. I took on an apprentice late, with my shop only opening this year past, but business — in spite of how it might seem right now — is good, madam, it is very good. George will be able to make something of himself.”

  “Ah, yes, but we are on holiday, and he can hardly marry while he is an apprentice,” she said, relieved to discover such practical impediments. Now it would not be Cordelia’s fault that she would have to dissuade Ruby from meeting this man. It was simply good sense.

  “You make a good point,” Caradog said. “But still, they are young. Why not let her have her fun while she is here on holiday? And yourself, madam … does your husband accompany you?”

  “I am widowed,” she said.

  It did not have the right effect on the man. Usually, such a statement was a signal akin to “leave me alone” but Caradog seemed to find it an opportunity. He reached out for her hands. She put them behind her back, the glove containing the strange substance still dangling from her fingers. He was undeterred. “Oh, poor lady, and quite alone in the world?”

  She took three sharp steps to one side, which brought her back to the street door. “Hardly alone,” she lied. “My coachman, Geoffrey, awaits me outside.”

  “Oh, a coachman, of course, handy for protection and such like,” he said. “You have no need to fear me, madam! Why do you shrink away so? I promise you that you are quite safe here. Please, take a seat. I shall lock the door and I can bring you refreshments.”

  There was absolutely no chance that she was going to allow herself to be locked in the shop with this man. “I thank you for your care,” she said, and adopted a severe and unimpressed impression. “It would not do for me to accept, however.” She felt the door handle at her back, where her hands were still clasped behind her, and half turned herself so she could get a good hold of it. But feeling emboldened, she did not yet leave. Instead she thought about his horrible dismissal of Miss Scott and Miss Walker. “Two dried-up old spinsters.”

  “The ladies,” she said, “the one who died and the one who survived. I can see that you do not think much of them. May I ask, out of curiosity, who do you think might have wished to do them real harm?”

  “Ha! Surely just about everyone, really. Oh, I know they had some who supported them but they were London types — begging your pardon but you know what I mean — who didn’t have to live here and put up with their sanctimonious do-gooding. They were a pair of meddlers who didn’t know their place.”

  “Doing good is … a good thing,” Cordelia said. She wanted to escape, but she also wanted to win the argument. The man was wrong and that could not be allowed to continue.

  “Well, of course it is, but they went about it in a way that annoyed everyone.”

  “Even you?”

  His smile had been fading and now it was completely gone. “Are you looking for someone to blame? Are you looking for a murderer, then? That’s what they said it was, at the start, but now they say it was an accident.”

  “I have heard both stories, yes.”

  “Well, you can look somewhere else for foul play. But to be honest, I think I believe them when they say it was an accident. Those women didn’t keep a good home, you know. They would easily poison themselves accidentally. I heard that they wouldn’t pay Davies to take their rubbish away.”

  “So they weren’t on good terms with Davies? You mean the Scavenger, don’t you?”

  “I do. You’ve met him?”

  “In a way.”

  “Stay away from him and his sort,” Caradog said. “It’s different here. The council runs it all.”

  “You’re not involved, yourself, being a businessman?”

  He snorted with laughter. “Oh, this is all too much for someone on holiday. Don’t you worry about any of this. Look at the surface of our beautiful town but don’t dig any deeper. It will put you off your dinner. Maybe that’s what did for the ladies, in the end.”

  He was coming closer to her again, one leg slightly dragging on the floor as he covered the three steps between them.

  By the time he had got to the door, she was through it. She bid him good day over her shoulder: that was unutterably rude of her, but she didn’t want to linger in his shop for a moment longer.

  The attractive man was an unpleasant character and she hoped, for Ruby’s sake, that his assistant George was of a much higher calibre indeed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cordelia intended to wait for Ruby to return to the inn and to confront her in a calm, logical and motherly fashion. She put the glove containing the stuff from Mogg’s warehouse in a safe place, hidden under a gown in her travelling chest. She would have to find out a way of having it tested. Ordinarily she would have taken it to the druggist but as he was a suspect, that would not do.

  She took her evening meal in the snug, and Mrs Jones sat with her for a little while, insisting that they share some sweet sherry after the meal. One thing led to another and by the time that Ruby came home, Cordelia was half-asleep in the dayroom upstairs, still mostly dressed, slumped in an easy chair.

  Ruby tutted and helped Cordelia to free herself of her gown and corset. She swiftly rearranged Cordelia’s hair and tucked it into a bonnet for the night. Silk would prevent her unruly hair from frizzing out too much, especially with the humidity of the sea air. Cordelia tried, a few times, to broach the subject of George but it was awfully hard to get mad at someone when they were helping you into bed.

  Eventually she conceded defeat and let the down pillows claim her for the night.

  ***

  The next morning, Ruby took the initiative. She was up and dressed early like a proper lady’s maid always should be, and had prepared all of Cordelia’s clothing for the day. A small breakfast was on a tray by the window, and everything looked smart and bright and cheery.

  Cordelia submitted to her ablutions. It was unusual of Ruby to be quite so perky and attentive at an early hour. She was just trying to introduce the subject of George when Ruby took the wind out
of her sails.

  “My lady, may I speak freely?”

  “You usually do. Oh, go on…”

  “I am aware that I have been distracted of late and you, being perceptive, will have noticed.”

  “Don’t try flattery. I have not had my breakfast. It sits ill on an empty stomach.”

  “Of course, of course.” Ruby laid the heavy hairbrush to one side and began to separate Cordelia’s hair into thick strands so she could curl them up and pin them into place. “I have been mulling over my future, which I am sure you will agree is a proper thing to do. And I am very grateful to you and for your assurances that I will always have a place at your side.” Ruby’s hands suddenly stopped. There was no mirror in front of them here, so Cordelia could not see her maid’s expression, but she heard her shift on her feet and when she spoke again, there was a new note there, like a brief choking. “I am very grateful. I know I am not always the sort of maid you would be proud to speak of with your fancy friends, and I know that I have taken liberties, and I know that you should have dismissed me without references a long time ago. I know, also, that you do not treat me the way that you should and for that I am mostly grateful.”

  “Mostly?”

  “If I were to go into service with another…”

  Cordelia saw the problem. Ruby could be utterly unable to shake the bad habits that Cordelia had let her slide into. Perhaps. She felt a pang of regret. But then, even Ruby had admitted that she would not have to find a new position. “But you will not need to go into service with another.”

  “No, my lady, and I would not wish it. But I do wish for a home and a family of my own.”

  There. It was said. And Cordelia had always known it, and had always tried not to think of it.

  She wondered how to say the unsayable. “Ruby, my dear, a family…? Children?”

  “Yes, my lady. I should like that very much. First, of course, I would need a husband. A kind, gentle soul.”