With that Mr. Frake was inclined to agree. A shrewd young lady, Miss Dearne. “I think I’ll just have a word with his lordship before we go getting ourselves all worked up about this.”
“Yes, it might be quite informative to learn what really passed between Louisa and Lord Ingram.” Miss Dearne’s voice held a rueful note.
Mr. Frake stared hard at her, his mind rapidly sifting through the undercurrents of possible meaning behind that utterance. The young lady showed signs of considerable strain. Grief, mayhap? Or a guilty conscience?
That was an unpleasant thought. He’d be sorry to learn such a nice-seeming young lady could up and murder her own sister, but it wouldn’t be the first time in his experience such a thing happened. Above the law, the Quality thought themselves.
Becoming color flooded her cheeks and she fumbled with the handle on the carriage door then pulled it open. “We had best return to Allbury House, Constance. There is a great deal there demanding my attention at the moment. Mr. Frake?” She inclined her head.
He nodded affably. “I’ll call on you later, if I may, miss. Miss Yarborough?” He sketched a brief bow and the ladies, followed by the dresser, climbed into the carriage.
He watched them drive off then turned his attention to the haberdashery across the street. On one point, at least, he agreed with Miss Dearne, that Lord Ingram seemed a sensible sort of gentleman, somewhat cold, even—not one to go crazed with unrequited passion. Still, appearances, as he knew all too well, could be deceiving.
He didn’t have long to wait until Lord Ingram, a package under his arm, emerged into the sunlight.
Mr. Frake strolled over to join him and offered his most affable smile. “Ah, m’lord, if you could spare me a moment more?”
Ingram’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “I thought you had dismissed me. What else do you require?”
“Well now, I hear tell as how you took your attachment to the young lady quite seriously. Enough so as you once threatened to murder her if she ever looked at another man. And now here she is, stabbed to death, the very night you discover she up and married someone else. Mighty interesting, that looks to me. Mighty interesting indeed.”
“Murder her? Out of jealousy, do you mean? Where had you that bit of nonsense?”
“From a reliable source, m’lord.”
“Reliable!” The crease deepened once more in Ingram’s brow. “As reliable as Louisa’s relating of the matter, I suppose.”
“In the habit of prevaricating, was she?”
His mouth tightened. “I believe she considered it to be mere romantic embellishment. I can assure you there is not a word of truth in that assertion—though I can think of no reason why you should believe me.” He regarded Mr. Frake through narrowed eyes. “Have I now been promoted to the unenviable position of your primary suspect? How pleased Miss Dearne must be. She has feared she occupied that place in your affections, you must know.”
Mr. Frake waved that diversion aside. “Did her late ladyship slip out of the seminary to meet you at night?”
He looked surprised and more than a touch irritated. “No. Of course not.”
That might be the truth, Frake reflected, but then again it might not. “Do you know if she was seeing anyone else?”
“I would be very much surprised to learn she was not.”
“Is that so, m’lord?”
Lord Ingram’s eyes hardened. “She was a young lady trying out her newfound wings. I doubt sincerely she would have flown to just one tree.”
“Not a constant lady, would you say then?”
“Is any female?”
“I believe so, sir. Would you care to tell me what passed between you and the young lady the last time you saw her?”
Ingram stared at the paving stones for a long moment. “As I recall, I threatened to spank her.”
Mr. Frake’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed, m’lord?”
Ingram drew a deep breath. “I was considerably annoyed at the time. I do not enjoy being made a fool, especially by a female.”
Frake waited.
After a moment Ingram went on. “A friend had just told me Louisa was still in the seminary. When I demanded the truth from Louisa she became quite coquettish, then angry when she realized I intended to escort her back to the school. We argued about it.”
“And what was the outcome, m’lord?”
Ingram raised his eyebrow a fraction. “I escorted her back to the seminary, of course. What she may have told her friends though, I have no idea. Unless she mentioned the event in her diary?”
Mr. Frake looked up. “What diary?”
“Do you mean you haven’t seen it? I thought that was what you looked for this morning.”
“You did, did you?” Frake muttered. So that was why his lordship was so helpful-like, probably hoping to get a look at it first. “I didn’t find no trace of it.”
Lord Ingram tugged his quizzing glass at the end of its riband. “She only mentioned it once when I knew her in Bath but for some reason it stuck in my mind as being a rather lively volume. She may well have abandoned the keeping of it after leaving the seminary.”
“Mayhap she did.” Mr. Frake tapped a finger on the handle of his cane. “I think I’ll just speak to Miss Dearne about it to be making sure.”
“Yes, her sister would be likely to know,” Ingram agreed smoothly. “Do you require anything else of me at present? No? Then I shall take my leave.” With a sardonic bow that gentleman headed down the street.
Mr. Frake watched the retreating figure with a frown. Passionate love or idle flirtation, which was he to believe? Or did the truth lie somewhere in between? Whatever the circumstances, it appeared that fine gentleman did not harbor pleasant feelings for the young lady. He’d have to send a man to Bath to follow up on this lead. Surely there must be some servant at the select ladies’ academy who would still remember. And there was always this mysterious diary.
The opera house next, though, he decided. That might save a great deal of trouble. Lady Allbury hadn’t been killed during the interval. Therefore, if the murderer hadn’t been one of the Allbury party, he had to have returned after the laudanum took effect, slipping through the corridor at a time when everyone should have been in their seats. It was just possible someone might have seen him. Or her.
He hailed a hackney then gave the jarvey the direction. The vehicle moved forward and he settled back against the ancient squabs. His thoughts returned to Lord Ingram.
Of one thing he felt certain, that gentleman had not harbored a jealous passion throughout the three-year separation. Vengeance, though, as Miss Dearne had pointed out, might be another matter. And so was fear. It seemed very possible to Frake that the young marchioness could have known something about Ingram to his detriment, for which he wanted to silence her.
Frake clucked his tongue. Perhaps he sniffed around in the wrong quarter and jealousy actually was the motive. What if Lord Ingram had been deeply involved with the young lady three years ago? Allbury, as a husband, might not be any too pleased to discover his new wife had carried on with his friend. He might even have been fit to murder. It would be interesting to see what his man turned up in Bath.
At least he had that hope with which to rally himself. His promising excursion to the opera house proved less than helpful. Wherever the lackeys and waiters might have been that night, it did not appear as if any of them had loitered within view of the corridors leading to the Allbury box. Temporarily stymied, Mr. Frake returned to Allbury House in Berkeley Square.
The door was opened to him by Fenton and Frake nodded a greeting to the aging butler. They were like to become well-acquainted, he mused as he handed his shallow beaver into the man’s waiting hands. Not that that would please the butler any.
“Is Miss Dearne at home?” he asked.
“Yes sir. And anxious to speak with you, I believe. If you will come this way?”
Anxious to speak with him? Now that was something new. Frake followed the butler up th
e stairs and along the corridor to the Ladies’ Sitting Room where he found Miss Dearne pacing the floor. The pile of cards on the writing table had grown considerably and now lay toppled over in an untidy heap as if her agitated hands had no longer been able to cope with the stress.
“So you have come back, have you?” She rounded on him. “To make a further mess?”
Phyllida clenched her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. She overreacted, she knew, but surely, just this once, she had the right.
“Make a further mess, miss?” Mr. Frake repeated her question. He drew out his pipe and tapped it meditatively. “Now where did I go and make a mess?”
“Of Louisa’s bedchamber. How dared you leave it like that? There was no call to tear it apart, without any regard for anyone’s feelings!” Tears started in her eyes and she blinked them rapidly away.
He clucked his tongue, his expression one of unbounded sympathy. “Now then, what’s all this about?” His tone soothed, inviting her confidences. “I made only the most cursory search.”
“Cursory?” Phyllida unearthed her handkerchief from her reticule and applied it to her eyes with determined, angry dabs. She detested females who continually indulged in the vapors. That was not, normally, one of her failings. “If you didn’t tear it apart then who did?”
“Perhaps I’d better see her room again,” Mr. Frake suggested, “to determine just that.”
Silent, she marched from the salon then led the way to the next floor where she threw wide the door leading to her sister’s bedchamber. Mr. Frake stepped inside and came to a halt, a soundless whistle escaping his pursed lips.
At least he demonstrated proper feelings concerning this outrage. Phyllida folded her arms about herself, fighting off that sense of violation that had swept over her when she first viewed this chaos. Someone had torn the room apart, prying into Louisa’s possessions, destroying the aura of her presence as Louisa herself had been destroyed.
“If you didn’t leave it like this, who did?” She turned strained eyes on the Runner.
“Someone who wanted pretty desperate-like to find something, I’d wager.” He drew a watch from his pocket and frowned at it. “And during the last three hours since I was here before.”
“But who?” Phyllida’s gaze wandered about the chamber. Clothes cupboards stood open with costly gowns, shawls, slippers and every imaginable lady’s undergarment strewn about the room as if hurried hands had grabbed armloads at random and sent them flying. Papers lay scattered and everywhere settled the white dust of the powdered lead. The irrelevant thought drifted through her mind that Louisa had not even needed that aid to touch up her already flawless complexion. Then her gaze moved on to the rouge pot that had been overturned on the dressing table. Its contents now covered an array of combs and brushes.
Mr. Frake sucked in his breath and worked his lower lip between his teeth as he stared at the upheaval. “Miss Yarborough? We surprised her in here when I came to look earlier. Do you think she had time to come back before you went to Jermyn Street?”
“No, of course not! That’s—” Phyllida broke off. “At least, I don’t think she had time.”
He nodded in the manner of one shelving the topic for the moment—though not for good. “Perhaps of more importance right now is whether or not our searcher found what he—or she—was after.”
He picked up a preposterous bonnet with a jutting high poke lined in silk and decorated with a collection of ostrich plumes that could have dressed several birds. He shook his head and Phyllida grabbed it from him and replaced it in the hopelessly disordered wardrobe.
“Now, miss, would you be knowing if anything is missing-like?” he asked.
She stared at him, dismayed. “Could you?” she demanded. She waved an arm about the chaos surrounding them.
“Such as her diary, say?”
“Her— Didn’t you take it with you earlier?”
“No, miss. I did not. I didn’t even know she had one until Lord Ingram mentioned it a little while ago.”
“Lord Ingram? What did he know of it?”
“Very little, miss. Do you know where she kept it?”
“No, I don’t. She never showed it to anyone that I know of. She just laughed and hinted about its—secrets.”
“Well now, that’s very interesting. You might—”
A gentle cough sounded behind them and both Phyllida and Mr. Frake spun about.
Fenton stood in the open door, his expression wooden. “Lord Ingram, miss. To see Mr. Frake,” the butler announced in measured tones. He stepped aside, revealing the tall figure of the captain in the hallway beyond.
Pleasure surged through Phyllida only to retreat the next moment like a routed army. She dropped her gaze from his compelling face, refusing to acknowledge an attraction that had no viable ground for existence. What did she really know of him anyway—except that he seemed to have despised her sister?
“And what brings you back, m’lord?” Mr. Frake asked, echoing Phyllida’s thoughts.
“Allbury.” Ingram’s gaze rested on Phyllida and a sardonic light glinted in his eyes. “When I told him I was putting up at a hotel he asked me to stay here instead. I felt certain Bow Street would wish to be informed of my change in direction, so I have come to tell you at once.”
Phyllida blinked. Ingram would be staying here, at Allbury House? She could expect to encounter him at every turn, at all hours of the day and evening? And she had thought her life had been chaos before!
She turned her back on him and the confused reactions he created in her and addressed instead Mr. Frake. “Should I restore her things to order? Or do you wish me to leave everything as it is?”
“What has been happening?” Lord Ingram stepped forward, enabling him to look into the chamber for the first time.
“As you see, m’lord.” Mr. Frake righted a fallen chair. “Seems as someone went and had theirselves a hasty look around.”
Lord Ingram’s brow snapped down. “Did they find what they wanted? Her diary?”
Was that a note of anxiety in his voice? Might there be something damaging about him in that mysterious volume? Startled, Phyllida searched his intent face, which only made objective thought more difficult.
Mr. Frake pursed his lips. “Well now, we was just about to try and determine that, m’lord. Are you wishful to help us?”
Phyllida opened her mouth to protest then held her tongue. The Runner must have his reasons, obscure as they might be. If that were the case, she should help in any way she could.
The door, which Ingram had partially closed, swung wide. The dowager marchioness advanced one step into the room then stopped dead. Slowly her gaze moved about the disordered chamber then settled on Mr. Frake.
“What is the meaning of this-this outrage?” she demanded in arctic accents. “You will explain yourself.”
Mr. Frake rocked back on his heels. “I will?” he asked softly.
The dowager blinked, obviously taken aback by this reply. She hesitated in the doorway then recovered. “You will kindly leave.”
“Will I?” Mr. Frake murmured, his slow smile forming.
“You have no business in here. You will leave at once.”
“I fear—” Phyllida began but the look the dowager directed at her caused her to break off.
“At once,” the dowager repeated, glaring at them.
“I think not, Lady Allbury.” Lord Ingram drew his snuff box from his pocket and examined the enameled surface. He looked up, meeting the furious dowager’s stare directly. “I believe our good Runner has every right—indeed, every necessity—to be here.”
Her eyes narrowed to a gleam. “He—”
“As you can see, someone has searched this chamber. It is now his unenviable duty to discover who and why.”
“You have no business here,” she declared, her deep voice gaining momentum.
“On the contrary.” He flicked the box open with his thumb and helped himself to a pinch. “Allbury
has asked me to look out for his interests in this matter.”
The dowager froze, as if Ingram’s words had struck a chord. Abruptly she nodded. “See that you do,” she declared and hove to, much in the manner of a battleship performing a cumbersome maneuver.
“Neatly done, m’lord.” Mr. Frake nodded approval as the door closed behind the woman.
A faint smile just touched Ingram’s lips. “A knack one learns in dealing with superior officers. Shall we begin?”
Mr. Frake turned to the writing desk. A vast collection of papers had been scattered on its surface as if someone had given them no more than a cursory examination before discarding them. He shuffled most of these together and leafed through the pile then glanced over his shoulder to where Phyllida randomly picked up her sister’s bonnets and shawls.
“Are these old information about the fans, miss?”
She went to his side, took the sheets he proffered and quickly scanned the contents. “Yes,” she said at last. “Louisa kept only the finished work. These should all have been in a box.” She looked around for their missing container.
It lay on the floor, on the Aubusson carpet beneath the table where an array of laces and gloves had been unceremoniously dumped. She picked it up and a flickering glint from the westering sunlight caught her eye. She barely noticed as Mr. Frake took the box from her and replaced the papers.
“What did you find?” Ingram asked.
“I don’t know.” She scooped up a golden pendant from where it lay half-hidden beneath the leg of a chair then held it out for the Runner’s curious inspection.
“A locket.” Mr. Frake pressed the catch with his cleanly trimmed nail and pried the halves apart. Inside rested a lock of dark brown hair. After a long moment he said, “Not her late ladyship’s.” His thoughtful gaze rested on Phyllida’s crop of straw-gold curls. “Nor yours, miss.” He chewed his lower lip, frowning. “The marquis has sort of reddish hair so it’s not her husband’s, neither. Could this be either of her parents’, miss?”
Phyllida shook her head. “They are—were in their younger days—both fair. So was Tom—our brother.”
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