Lady Tinbough's Dilemma

by Clare Jayne

  Both men wanted Ewan to drop the murder investigation, saying he was mad to even think of looking into it, let alone dragging Miss Campbell into such a dangerous business. That had stung his conscience but she understood the dangers and Aileas’s death had distressed her so it was her right to pursue the killer just as much as it was his, which she would certainly do with or without his assistance.

  No, his main concern from last night was Miss Campbell’s response to the mention of marriage. Had her comment about his age meant that, at eighteen, she considered herself too young to marry him? He had no objection to a long engagement. But she had not looked as if the idea appealed at all. Surely she cared for him? He had let himself believe she shared his feelings but maybe he was wrong. She had never behaved as other young ladies did, blushing or flirting with him, but he had just thought that such reactions were not in her character. Her face had an impassive quality that gave away little of her feelings.

  He finished getting dressed with none of his usual attention and Rabbie said, “This murder business has you worrying about things you should never have had to deal with. The sooner it’s over the better you’ll feel.”

  After his friend’s comments the previous evening, Ewan had had more than enough of people telling him what he should do and how he should feel so he just made a non-committal sound in response and headed down to breakfast.

  It was early when he arrived at Miss Campbell’s house yet she already had a visitor in the form of the young, muscular caddie they had spoken of last night. Lady Huntly was also in the room, glaring at the young man, but left when Ewan arrived, silently trusting Miss Campbell’s well-being to him which was a surprising honour.

  “Would you repeat your findings to Mr MacPherson, Mr Cassell?”

  The youth nodded politely to her, hat in hand, perched on the edge of a chair, clearly uncomfortable amongst the fine ornaments and furniture of the drawing room.

  “A couple of maids left Lord Tinbough’s house suddenly,” he told Ewan. “They told me he can’t be trusted, that he...” He glanced at Miss Campbell awkwardly. “... he took liberties.”

  “How badly did he behave?” Ewan asked. “Aileas Jones was probably expecting a child, which she lost.” He hesitated to speak frankly on such a subject in front of Miss Campbell but knew she would not want to be shielded. “Is it likely that he forced himself on her?”

  Jed Brodie half glanced in Miss Campbell’s direction again, looking keen to be gone. “Aye, sir. He did that to one of the lassies.”

  Ewan paid him for his assistance and the young man fled.

  “Poor Aileas,” Miss Campbell said as he returned to his chair near hers. “That despicable man.”

  “We cannot accuse him of anything without proof,” he said.

  “We should have asked Mr Cassell if he would find out if the maid Lord Tinbough abused would be willing to speak at a trial.”

  “I doubt he would stand trial for rape based on one person’s testimony.” He did not say it aloud but the testimony of a maid against a lord would never be taken seriously. “He would certainly not be arrested for murder on this.”

  “Then we must link him to Aileas’s death. Do you think he would admit it if confronted?”

  “Perhaps, but if he did not then we would be worse off. He might try to destroy any evidence he has in his possession. Besides, as certain as this sounds, we cannot be positive that he did rape her, let alone that he then murdered her.”

  “If we can prove he gave her the locket we would at least know our supposition was correct, then we could decide how to proceed against him,” she suggested, tapping a finger on the edge of her chair.

  “I took note of Lord Tinbough’s appearance after we began looking into the missing emeralds so I could describe him to jewellers. If I have the locket with me they should be able to say who they sold it to.”

  “I have several lectures today,” Miss Campbell said, biting her lip.

  “I recall,” he agreed with a smile. “This is something I can easily pursue on my own and I can call on you late this afternoon to let you know what I discover, if that is convenient.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  He left her, the memory of that melting smile staying in his mind as he returned to his curricle. Surely that was proof that she felt some affection for him?

  After a couple of hours of visiting shops throughout the city, Ewan finally located the right one: a successful-looking establishment full of silver, gold and gems displayed in locked cabinets with glass lids.

  “Yes, we sold this locket and the buyer had us engrave it,” the jeweller said. He was a well-dressed man of around fifty with hair tied back in a queue and pale blue eyes.

  “I need to know the gentleman who bought it...” Ewan began.

  “Why?” he man asked. “What is this about, sir?”

  “I am investigating a murder – the young woman who received this locket as a gift is now dead. The man who bought this might be the killer.”

  “I see.” The jeweller looked down, frowning, at the small locket on the counter between them. “My brother dealt with the commission, taking down the details of the engraving required. He’s back in England now – he only stayed with me for a week. I took payment for the locket but... I have hundreds of customers. He was a stranger, not a regular customer – that is all I remember.”

  “Perhaps if I described a man we suspect to you, it might help?” Ewan said and, when the man agreed, he told him, “He is a middle-aged, tall, thin gentleman with dark hair, usually hidden by a wig. His clothes are fine but old-fashioned and he has a family ring you might have observed: silver, with an engraved letter T on it.”

  The jeweller grimaced as he thought for several seconds. “No. I remember no one like that. If he wore gloves then...”

  “Then the description could match hundreds of people.” Ewan thought hard, trying to recall something else memorable about the man and failing. His idea had yielded nothing and he did not know how they could possibly now link Lord Tinbough to the murder.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ISHBEL WAS disappointed that the jeweller had not remembered Lord Tinbough but, as they sat in the library, cups of tea and slices of cake on delicate china plates on the table between them, she told Mr MacPherson, “The important thing is that you found the person who sold the locket and, given a few days to consider it, he might remember enough to identify Lord Tinbough. I kept thinking today that someone else must have seen his interest in Aileas. Perhaps we should speak again to the staff.”

  “They might say something to warn Lord Tinbough that we suspect him,” Mr MacPherson said and took a sip of his drink.

  “Then what if your valet goes back there?”

  “It might seem more credible if he were to go to the tavern popular with the male servants.”

  “How do you know they visit a tavern?” she asked, raising her cup of tea to her lips.

  “Men usually do,” he said with a smile. “It is a place men often visit to socialise, particularly working men.”

  She nodded, absorbing this information. “I see. Would your valet be willing to help again?”

  “I expect so. I will speak to him when I get home.”

  They glanced round as the door was pushed open and Harriette swept into the room, wearing an elegant dress that matched her red hair. She took in Mr MacPherson’s presence with a frown, dispelling the relaxed atmosphere that had filled the room a moment before. Ishbel held her breath, hoping she would not say something rude. “Oh, you are here,” Harriette said to him as she picked up her embroidery, standing over them both. “I wish you would tell Isobel she cannot have anything to do with this hunt for a killer.”

  Ishbel opened her mouth to argue but Mr MacPherson was ahead of her, saying, “As much as I hate the idea of her being in danger, Miss Campbell is as determined as I to see justice served, which cannot be faulted. You set us on this path, My Lady, and you must know that Miss Campbell
will make up her own mind what to do and will certainly take no orders from me.”

  “Then perhaps she should be given a pistol to protect you both.”

  Mr MacPherson ignored the implied slight and said, “I have no doubt she would be an excellent shot.”

  “Then the two of you are as ridiculous as each other. What does your aunt think of you putting your life in jeopardy?”

  Mr MacPherson hesitated then said, “I did not inform her of the murder. I did not want to worry her.”

  “How kind,” Harriette said dryly. “Deal with the matter. I will not have the killer learning of your investigation and threatening my family. Solve this matter quickly or I will find a way to put a stop to your inept meddling.”

  He nodded and Harriette left as abruptly as she had come in.

  “I am so sorry about my cousin...” Ishbel began but Mr MacPherson shook his head.

  “She is worried about you and she is correct that the longer the investigation goes on for the more likely it is that you could be put in real danger. Lady Huntly or her husband might even be threatened. There is no knowing how Lord Tinbough will react if he feels cornered, so we must try to draw this matter to a swift conclusion.”

  “Very well,” Ishbel agreed, “but we also cannot act rashly and make a mistake that might leave him free to harm more people.”

  They agreed on this and he took his leave, not simply bowing as he usually did but taking her hand in his and leaning down to kiss it. The feel of his lips upon her skin was indescribable, bringing her entire body to life.

  Why had he done it?

  She watched with uncertainty as he walked away.

  Ishbel found it difficult to concentrate on her private studies that evening, her mind returning again and again to thoughts of Mr MacPherson and the killer. She cared for Mr MacPherson and liked the signs of his fondness for her but it was not fair to mislead him. She realised belatedly that his comment at the ball about marriage might have been a hint of his intentions towards her, so she must reiterate her determination to never marry. She let herself imagine being his wife and, for a moment, felt only happiness at the idea, then the realities hit her: a wife was expected to devote herself to running a household and bearing children. First he would insist that she stop attending the university and they would argue but she could not stand against him – a man could beat his wife if he wanted to. She could not imagine Mr MacPherson doing such a thing but to marry meant giving a man absolute control over her: he would have her money – not that she had much – and he would rule every part of her life. The man was the master. She thought of Lord Huntly and conceded that this was not always the case. There was another more basic fact that she could hardly bear to acknowledge: her own parents had not loved her so how could anyone else?

  She slept badly – she felt afterwards as if she had had a nightmare but could remember none of the details, just a sense of panic.

  Mr MacPherson arrived not long after she had breakfasted with her cousin and Lord Huntly. They met in the library, the footmen drawing back the curtains to let in the light, and her nerves faded at the sight of his familiar broad grin. She curtsied and he bowed, making no attempt to kiss her hand again, which she told herself was a good thing. He turned down the offer of refreshments and they sat in their usual chairs to talk.

  “Rabbie managed to find the tavern that members of Lord Tinbough’s staff visit and he spoke to several of them. One valet did confirm that Lord Tinbough has a reputation for improper behaviour towards the female staff but the others got suspicious over the questions, so he got nothing more from them.”

  “Then what if we somehow arranged for the jeweller to see Lord Tinbough?” she suggested. “Surely the jeweller cannot fail to recognise him in person?”

  “You could be right. It should not be difficult to find out when Lord and Lady Tinbough are due to attend a formal dinner or other function.”

  “Harriette might know what their plans are as she spends time with Lady Tinbough.” Ishbel said this with reluctance, entirely distrustful of Harriette’s behaviour by now. However, when Mr MacPherson agreed, she had no choice but to send a footman to ask if her cousin would join them.

  Some ten minutes later Harriette strode in and, after exchanging curtsey for bow with Mr MacPherson, she said in a dangerously silky tone, “You sent for me?”

  “Hardly that,” Ishbel said, holding back a sigh. “You want us to resolve the case swiftly so we thought you might be able to help us do so by telling us something.”

  “Go on.”

  “We need to know where Lord Tinbough is scheduled to be at a particular time. Are Lord and Lady Tinbough due to attend any upcoming social events?”

  Harriette mused on this then said, “They avoid spending any time together where possible but I believe they have both accepted invitations to Mrs Atkins’ musical evening tonight.”

  Ishbel looked at Mr MacPherson who smiled. “That should be perfect,” she said.

  “Should I be concerned for my friend?” Harriette asked, looking from one to the other of them with a serious expression.

  “Yes,” Ishbel said, wondering for the first time what the truth that she was married to a murderer would do to Lady Tinbough. “I think you should.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  MR MCBRIDE, the jeweller, agreed to their request to try and identify the man who had purchased the locket from him. He also said he would have to consider seriously whether or not to speak at a trial, a wish to help them obtain justice needing to be weighed against the likelihood of antagonising the wealthy people who were his clients and damaging his career. Ewan and Miss Campbell agreed privately that they could worry about a court case later. For now they needed definite evidence that it was Lord Tinbough who had been pursuing Aileas Jones.

  That evening Ewan collected Miss Campbell and Mr McBride in his carriage and got his driver to take them to the address of the musical evening, the summer evening light enough for them to get a clear view of everyone while the dim interior of the carriage let them remain unobserved. They watched the arrival of a renowned pianist, who was greeted enthusiastically by the host and hostess and led inside.

  “We very much appreciate your assistance with this,” Miss Campbell told the jeweller, who looked a bit uncomfortable being in such intimate surroundings with two aristocratic strangers, the inside of the carriage plush but cramped.

  “I do not see how you know that the man who purchased the locket killed someone,” Mr McBride said, “but I would certainly not want a criminal to get away with such a crime.”

  The carriages and sedan chairs of the guests began to arrive and Ewan kept watch for Lord Tinbough’s family crest. It was strange to him to be sitting here watching people who were dressed in silks and velvets in a rainbow of colours; to recognise acquaintances but be apart from it all. Would he, in the future, be able to attend balls and dinners without wondering what was beneath the smiles and polite comments? Would such a life not be a trifle dull after all this?

  “There!” Miss Campbell said, indicating a carriage that was just halting, the driver having trouble controlling the two lively horses pulling it.

  “Mr McBride,” he said, “would you look at the man who gets out of that carriage and say if that is who bought the locket?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They all focused on the people alighting then he and Miss Campbell looked at Mr McBride, waiting for his reaction. He watched as Lord Tinbough stepped down onto the pavement, the gold buttons on the man’s coat glinting in the fading sunlight, haughty features and family ring clearly visible. Mr McBride remained silent, no recognition in his eyes.

  Ewan’s heart fell, disappointment running through him. If His Lordship could not be linked to Aileas they could prove nothing. All their efforts were wasted. The information from the staff about Lord Tinbough’s lecherous character was no more than gossip.

  He put a hand on the carriage door, ready to tell his coachman to return the
m to their homes but then Mr McBride leaned forward, a sense of urgency in the movement. When Ewan looked across at him, the jeweller’s expression was intent. “That’s him. The young man.”

  Young? Ewan followed his gaze, seeing Lord and Lady Tinbough and behind them...

  “Their son!” Miss Campbell exclaimed.

  * * *

  “We got it all wrong,” Miss Campbell stated in an unhappy tone once they had returned the jeweller to his house and come back to her home. They now sat in the dining room, next to each other at the large mahogany table, untouched cups of coffee in front of them. The long velvet curtains had already been drawn together, although the evening had barely begun to dim, and half a dozen candles had been lit.

  “Not entirely. I have no doubt that the son mimicked his father in the mistreatment of the female servants.”

  “I suppose we do still have the link that we need between them. What is the boy’s title?”

  “He is the Viscount Inderly. He cannot be more than sixteen.” Ewan thought of the destroyed lives the boy was responsible for: Aileas; her parents; Beathan MacNee, the man who had loved her. Another thought struck him: “He cannot have stolen the emeralds, can he?”

  “I would not imagine so. I fear we will never get to the bottom of that. Lady Tinbough will never forgive us.”

  Ewan winced. He had not liked the lady but pitied her now. What they had discovered would ruin her life and, if they had their way, take her son from her. How would a mother react to such news?

  “Should we confront the Viscount Inderly with what we know?” Miss Campbell suggested.

  He thought about this – it was not an ideal move but he could think of none better. “We have not found enough to prove he harmed Aileas but I believe we have done all that we can, that there is nothing more to be found against him. I hope we will be able to frighten him sufficiently with what we know to get him to admit to what happened.”

  She met his gaze with a fierce look in her dark eyes that held him mesmerised. “Then tomorrow we face our killer.”