Daughters of Disguise (Lady C. Investigates Book 4)

by Issy Brookw

  “Please, do,” Cordelia called back. At least it was still warm. The rain would ruin her satin trimmings but she had dressed in relatively modest cotton, and although her gown was darkening, it would not be utterly destroyed — unlike her ribbons.

  Ruby and Cordelia pulled their bonnets forward so that the peaks would actually cover their heads, rather than perching on the back to frame their faces in the more fashionable tilt of the time. They nestled together.

  “The sky is awfully dark,” said Cordelia. “And was that thunder I just heard?”

  It was. The fat blobs were coming down harder now. Stanley flicked the long whip to hustle the horse into a fast trot, which it did willingly; clearly the animal had no desire to be caught in the weather, either.

  And then Stanley had to draw the horse to a halt, and call down, “My lady, I am sorry; we have missed a turning.”

  She stifled her curse. “Turn us around, and sharply,” she said.

  He muttered apologies as he jumped down into the road, landing in a puddle which had not been there for long. Already, though, there was standing water in pools everywhere, and the light was so dim that it seemed to be four o’clock on a winter’s afternoon, not a summer one.

  Stanley had to take the horse by its bridle and coax it up, and round, and back, to set them on the right track again.

  Now they were very, very wet and increasingly cold. The mouldy blanket was looking more appealing by the minute.

  By the time that they reached the sanatorium, all three were in a terrible state, soaked to the skin. They were all hurried into the wide clean hallway by the male orderly that Cordelia recognised from her first visit. He brought them blankets, and asked them to wait while he fetched the director.

  She had not seen this director on her first visit. She discovered him to be a tall, elegant gentleman with a very quiet voice and the most perfect bedside manner. He introduced himself as Mr Reginald Cutter, and gave them a warm, if almost inaudible, welcome.

  She asked if Miss Scott was still a resident, and how her health was doing.

  Mr Cutter smiled. “She is still here, and she has improved marvellously. But please, you yourselves shall be residents here if we do not see to your sodden state.”

  Stanley was whisked away by the orderly who said he would take Stanley to the stables where he could get his horse, and then himself, dry again.

  Ruby and Cordelia were led deeper into the hushed corridors of the old grey house, and brought into a white-walled room that had a fire already taking hold in the fireplace. Usually such a fire lit in the heights of summer would be considered almost sinful in its extravagance, but they rushed to it gratefully. A maid bobbed in and out with a range of towels and gowns and throws and shirts and shifts.

  “Please, m’m,” she said. “If you can give me your wet clothes, I shall have them cleaned and dried within hours.”

  Cordelia did not intend to stay hours, but if she travelled home in wet clothes, she knew she would be open to all manner of bad humours or miasmas.

  “But now what do we do?” Ruby said, once they had peeled off the worst of their clothing. She had dressed herself in a selection of borrowed things that made her look more maid-like than usual, being mostly black and white, but they fitted her well and she was, at least, warm again.

  Cordelia’s choice of outfits was more limited, as she was tall, and broad, and the sanatorium hardly kept a stock of lady’s clothing. She had to make do with a long kind of dressing gown tied tightly around her, and though she had changed her undergarments, she had had to wear her own corsetry again. It was damp, but the heat from her body was drying it, slowly.

  “I do not know. I suspect we have to wait,” she said. “The rain is too heavy for us to go back to the inn unless there is a covered carriage we might borrow. And we are not dressed to be seen.”

  In the end, food was brought to them. Stanley, they were assured, was equally fed and dry in the stables, and perfectly content, being safe in the comforting familiarity of the horses.

  The rain was relentless. The matron knocked at their door, and brought them some warm drinks. She led in a maid who cleared away their plates and trays.

  “Mr Cutter sends his regards,” the matron told them. “He urges you to stay the night here. Miss Scott is asleep, anyway, but she does much better in the mornings. We can have a perfectly comfortable room made up for you. Otherwise, Millie tells me that your clothes will be wearable in an hour or two, but by then, I think, you will not want to drive to the inn. The rain continues.”

  “So I can hear,” Cordelia said. “It is a bad sign. Do you think there will be more floods?”

  “I hope not, God willing.”

  “Thank you, and please send my thanks to Mr Cutter. Yes, we shall accept the offer of a bed,” she said.

  There was nothing else to do.

  ***

  The room was small, and comfortable. A small fire had been lit here, too, though it wasn’t really necessary and Cordelia let it die down. The glowing coals still cast a reassuring heat. The rain hammered against the small window, but they drew the thick curtains to muffle the noise. There were two small beds at opposite ends, and a table underneath the window, on which stood a set of china washing bowls and jugs, and a hairbrush, thoughtfully left by the maid or the matron.

  “I imagine this is how missionaries and adventurers live when they are on safari or something,” Cordelia said. “How exciting!”

  “For about one night,” Ruby said, as she stood behind Cordelia and began to unpin her mistress’s hair. “I shouldn’t imagine it’s terribly fun after months and months of it. You would miss your wide bed and warmed sheets and sherry nightcaps.”

  “Don’t worry. I am not planning our next trip to be somewhere exotic with mosquitos and interesting diseases.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Though…”

  “What is it?”

  Ruby began to draw the hairbrush over Cordelia’s hair in soothing, familiar strokes. “My lady, there are many young women out there who would welcome a chance to work with you and explore and see the country, even the world.”

  Cordelia knew exactly what Ruby was trying to say. But she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted to be spiteful and pretend she didn’t understand, and make her maid spell out every painful word.

  But she was the mistress and that meant responsibility, however unwelcome it might be. “You are seriously thinking of marrying George, then?” she said, trying to sound unconcerned.

  “I am. But there are complications.”

  “His apprenticeship, I should imagine.”

  “That is one problem. And also his family…”

  “Oh, Ruby, Ruby, my dear.” She could not continue as if she didn’t care. She did. She said, “If his family is against it, and you wish to settle here, your life will be almost unbearable.”

  “So, what if we do not settle here? We can elope, and start a new business somewhere else.”

  “How?” Cordelia demanded. “I am sorry to sound so irritable, but you have not thought this through.”

  “Actually, my lady, we have. I have savings, you know. A very little, but it is a start. And so does he.”

  Cordelia was glad there was no mirror on the table. She swallowed hard, and blinked a few times, and hoped that her voice was normal when she said, “You must pursue your own happiness, of course.”

  ***

  Cordelia could not sleep. She told herself that her restlessness was due to the strange bed and unfamiliar room, but she knew that she was lying.

  The rain seemed to ease off during the night. It was fully dark, and all was quiet when she sat up in her bed, and sighed heavily. She wanted to light a lamp or candle, and sit gazing upon the flame. Sometimes, she found that such an activity would help her calm her racing thoughts and so allow her to sleep.

  She did not want to disturb Ruby, however. The maid seemed to be sleeping well, and was snoring from time to time, very lightly.

&nbs
p; She swung her legs out of the bed, and her bare feet hit the small knotted rug on the floor. But she hesitated.

  She could not go wandering about a sanatorium in the night. She would disturb the other patients, or be taken for an escapee, or alarm the night staff.

  She lifted her legs and began to tuck herself back in, but something made her pause, and strain her ears.

  She was sure that she had heard a distant cracking sound. She couldn’t work out what it was.

  Then came some shouts, and she grabbed a shawl from her bed and launched herself to the door and out into the corridor. The shouting was coming from her right. She ran towards the alarums, her bare feet slapping on the cold floor. Other doors opened to her right and her left.

  All was confusion. She dashed down some stairs and into a corridor that ran front to back on the ground floor of the building. There were lights at the far end, and figures milling around. She shot forwards, but an orderly caught her most indelicately around the waist and pulled her back.

  “Steady now,” he said gruffly, with no recognition of who she was. “There’s broken glass all over the floor here. Back to your room, miss … miss … oh? Who are you?”

  The director had appeared, sleepy and dishevelled, from the other direction. “Lady Cornbrook!” he said, and the orderly let go of Cordelia as if struck by lightning.

  “Mr Cutter. I am sorry for intruding. I heard a noise. What is happening?”

  “I have no idea. Aled?”

  “Mr Cutter, sir, we don’t rightly know, sir,” the orderly said. “There’s a rag here, and the window is broken. Mr Golightly said he heard someone running away. Seems to be that someone broke the window and tried to muffle it with this bit of cloth.”

  “From outside or from within?” Mr Cutter said, staring down at the mess. “Oh, it must have been from outside. But why would anyone do such a thing? We have a night porter. Anyone might enter by the main door.”

  “Anyone with good intentions,” Cordelia said. “I knew it! I knew Miss Scott was still a target! Oh, my goodness … can someone please check the lady’s room? The intruder might be there, right now.”

  “No, Mr Golightly saw him running off.”

  “Him?”

  “Yes, a man, he said, running funny.”

  “Was he carrying something? Was he injured?”

  “Who’s to say? You’ll need to speak to him,” the orderly said.

  Mr Cutter spoke, and his low voice demanded that everyone stop and strain to listen to him. “Aled, go to Miss Scott’s room and check on her. And set yourself up a chair outside and stay there, for the rest of the night.”

  “Sir.”

  “Lady Cornbrook, please rest assured that you are most safe here, but I shall post a man outside your room too.”

  “There is no need.”

  Mr Cutter dropped his voice even further. She paid close attention. “My lady, I will call for the police right away, but do not let them come to find I have left you in danger and unattended.”

  She gave in, and returned thoughtfully to her room.

  Mr Golightly had seen a man running away.

  But what if there had been two intruders?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Constable Frank Evans was there at first light, with two petty constables sworn in for the day. They had been taken from their usual occupations, and neither the stocky baker nor the willowy tailor filled her with much confidence.

  It was nice to see Constable Evans, however. He told her of the raven that he had seen that morning. “The Morrigan. That’s all about battles,” he said morosely.

  “Morally or in reality?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t stop to ask.”

  She left him to his job examining the scene — “this window was broken from outside!” he declared and she made a suitably impressed face — and went, at last, to speak with Miss Edith Scott.

  The woman was looking much, much better than she had done on the previous visit.

  “Lady Cornbrook!” Miss Scott said, getting smoothly to her feet.

  “Please, do sit.”

  “I am so much better than I was. You need not worry,” Miss Scott said. She resumed her seat and Cordelia followed suit. “They told me, this morning, that you had come to see me last night. I hope I have not put you to any inconvenience.”

  “Not at all. And I am glad to find you so well. Are you fit to travel?”

  Miss Scott turned her head away, and gazed towards the window. Now that the rain had stopped, everything outside seemed to be sparkling. “I received your letter, urging me to leave,” she said. “Yes, I am fit to travel, I believe, and I intend to go as soon as I can.”

  “What prevents you? The unfinished business here? I must reassure you that Constable Evans and I are confident that we will bring justice for you and Miss Walker.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s a rather more prosaic matter…”

  “I understand,” Cordelia said.

  “No, you—”

  “Yes. I have lodged a sum of money with the director here, to aid you in your journey.”

  Miss Scott kept her head turned away, and her jawline rippled as she clenched it tight. Stiffly, she said, “I cannot take your loan, but I appreciate it.”

  “It is not a loan. It is a gift.”

  “No.”

  “You must. You must go to safety. Anyway, Mr Cutter has it, so you may as well take it from him. I will hear no more argument on the matter. Would you like to hear how the investigation is progressing?”

  “No, not really. I want everything to be over. I want to go back to how things were.” Miss Scott bowed her head now, and began to cry. “I miss Patience. I miss my home. Nothing will ever be right again. I know you want to see me being all strong and determined, but my lady, I cannot do this alone. And I am alone now.”

  “No, you have—”

  “No, I have no one. No one. You don’t understand. And there is no more fight left in me, Lady Cornbrook. None at all. I cannot do this. My body is healed, yes. But my soul will be forever broken.”

  Cordelia reached out her hand to comfort Miss Scott, but she shrank back in her chair, folding in on herself like a scared kitten.

  Cordelia quietly withdrew.

  ***

  Stanley drove Ruby and Cordelia back to Aberystwyth. They followed Constable Evans. He left his two petty officers behind at the sanatorium. Cordelia directed Stanley to take her to the house of correction on Great Darkgate Street, and she trailed the head constable back into the station.

  “Did you learn anything useful about the intruder, or intruders, last night?” she demanded with little preamble.

  “There was only one intruder,” Constable Evans informed her. “And he ran off almost as soon as he broke in. There were too many people awake or easily woken. He must have been startled, and he had misjudged.”

  “He? And you’re sure?”

  “Unless it was a woman with uncommonly large boots, and if there were two of them, they must have stepped in the same footprints. No, I am sure it was one person, and that a man.”

  “And any idea as to this person’s purpose or identity?”

  Constable Evans met her eyes steadily. “I think we can be fairly certain that their target was Miss Scott.”

  “I thought so, too. According to Mr Cutter, nothing like this has ever happened before. It is not a closed, locked place so there can be no question of the sort of daring rescue attempt you might see in an asylum. They have no money nor valuables. So there is no reason but … to gain access to someone who does not wish to be accessed. And that would be Miss Scott.”

  “I have urged Mr Cutter to have her sent away.”

  “I also,” said Cordelia. “And left money to that end.”

  Constable Evans nodded. “I am glad for it. Now, as to the identity of the person, I am afraid we are no nearer. It could be any of our suspects: Leopold Scott, Gareth Mogg, or Caradog Lloyd.”

  Yo
ung Evans was mopping the floors of the cells behind them, and could hear every word due to there being only bars to separate them. “No, sir,” he said. “We have set a watch on Mr Scott, remember. Harry came in this morning; he’d been outside all night, and passed his report on. It’s in the book on your desk. But in short, sir, Leopold Scott was at home all night, and seen to be at home. They did not draw their curtains until late. And no one left nor entered until he went to work this morning.”

  “Good work, constable!” said Frank Evans. “Well, then. What do we say to that?”

  “I say that her brother has slipped down the list of suspects,” said Cordelia. “So we must look to Mogg and Lloyd now.”

  “So we must,” Evans said. “Gareth Mogg the wine importer. He has sugar of lead, of course. But Lloyd, the barber?”

  “He knew the women. He grew up in the same village. Now he is here. And he, too, has access to chemicals.”

  “That’s true,” the young Evans said as he came into the office with his mop bucket. “You can use it in hair dye, you know, sir.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Evans reddened. “My father is a man of some vanity, I am afraid,” he said.

  “Your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I suppose you take after your father in many ways.”

  Young Evans coughed. “Shall I mop in here, or do you want me to wait?”

  “Wait till we have gone out. What do you do now, Lady Cornbrook?”

  “She comes home with me!” declared the strident voice of Mrs Jones.

  Cordelia and Ruby parted and turned as the landlady of the inn surged into the room between them like a galleon in full rig. “I have heard of the events of last night!” she declared. “When you did not come back to the inn, I sent out for word of you. In that storm, I was dreadfully afraid of what might have happened.”

  “We are perfectly well,” Cordelia said, but trying to mollify Mrs Jones was impossible.

  The landlady grabbed Cordelia’s arm and whirled her around to face the door. She clicked the fingers on her free hand, directing Ruby to follow closely.