The Duke's Christmas Mystery: A Regency Romance Christmas Mystery

by Kate Carteret

  “Good heavens, the Baron begins to look more and more guilty.” Esme laughed incredulously. “The houseguests were of his choosing, the play was his idea, he lost more money than anyone in Sheridan Winchester’s investment, and he is throwing suspicion at all around him.”

  “I had thought the very same, but let’s go over the rest of them.” He said, not wanting the conversation and their opportunity to be almost decently alone to slip through his fingers.

  “Caroline Ponsonby.” Esme began. “Undeniably cold-hearted and self-serving, but does that give her motive?”

  “She’s a climber without a heart. Perhaps she had listened to a fortnight of the Baron working out how best to throw Jane onto my path. Perhaps that gave her ideas of her own?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “She has nothing but disdain for poor Jane Beresford. Perhaps it would have been a simple thing for her to set Jane up to do the killing on her behalf?” Esme said. “Is she truly as evil as all that? Or is she simply vain and selfish?”

  “I am tending towards the latter.” James said and could see Esme nodding slowly in agreement.

  “Then there is Philip Wallace.” Esme went on.

  “Thwarted in love, upended by Caroline and Sheridan when they became engaged. Would his pride be enough to see him commit murder using his cousin, Jane, as an unwitting weapon?” He said.

  “Despite Lord Beresford’s assertion, I do not believe Philip still loves Caroline. I do not believe he would pursue her again, even with Sheridan Winchester out of the way. Perhaps his pride does not ride quite so high so many months after the fact.” Esme wrinkled her nose in a most endearing way.

  “That is a very good point. And I can tell you, Lady Esme, that male pride does wane with the passage of time.” James smiled at her and she laughed.

  “That is good to know, Your Grace.”

  “So, Augustus Daventry. The victim’s long-standing friend since they were at Eton. Do we believe that they could argue like the bitterest of enemies and return as brothers in a matter of minutes?”

  “I have seen a look on his face which suggests a quiet but deep grief. I know it is not evidence, it is just an observation.” Esme sighed. “And it is feasible that he could have committed this murder by proxy and still feel remorse and sadness after it was done.”

  “I have seen that look also. I am tempted to believe Augustus Daventry, I must admit. He has been friends with an arrogant and vain young man for the better part of his life. I cannot imagine a financial matter that did not end in his ruin causing him to turn to murder. They must have argued over bigger things in the past, surely.”

  “Which leaves the Baron, whom I suspect for all of the reasons we have previously discussed.” Esme said firmly.

  “We agree on all, Lady Esme.” He smiled at her. “We seem to work well together.”

  “Yes, we do.” She said, and he saw her blush a little, reminding him of the first time they were introduced.

  There was more he wanted to say, something that would suggest to her his deepened interest. But in a house of murder, how could he make a romantic moment? Would she be appalled by it?

  As if searching for something to do beyond remaining in her seat and blushing thoroughly, Esme reached out for the small woven linen basket. She reached in and drew out the now-dry bloodstained gown that Jane Beresford had been wearing on stage when tragedy had struck. She spread it out over her knee and seemed to study it in depth.

  “I must say, Lady Esme, you are rather a gruesome sort of woman.” James laughed, hoping that there was enough ease between them that his comment would not be received as an offense.

  “I do appear to be, do I not?” She laughed and looked up at him, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh.” She said in a tone which he could not have described, but a tone which made him sit up straighter nonetheless.

  “What is it?” He said as he watched the color now drain away from the cheeks which had been so flushed.

  “This.” She held the garment out and he rose from his seat.

  Kneeling at the side of her chair, he stared at the inch or so of fabric she had spread taut between her gloved fingers.

  James squinted hard and finally saw what it was which had drawn Lady Esme’s attention. The cream gown had a pocket in the skirt, as so many gowns did. But at the opening of the pocket, there was a tiny tear, a slice, and the very finest strands of fibers stood proud from the fabric. Fibers like the one clinging to the dagger which had killed Sheridan Winchester.

  “She must have drawn the dagger from her pocket. The real dagger.” James said slowly. “But did she not pull the thing from her sleeve on stage?”

  “She must have taken it to the prop table hidden in her pocket and hastily made the switch. And then she surely put the fake dagger in her pocket before sliding the real dagger into the sleeve of her gown for the performance, just as rehearsed. And when the awful deed was done, she took the fake dagger away in her pocket to hide it.” James heard Esme’s voice crack.

  “My Lady?” He said, looking up into her pale and devastated face.

  “I never considered Jane Beresford for a moment. Not once.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “And I do not want it to be true. I cannot bear it.” She began to rise to her feet. “Well,” She went on in a voice that was just a little too determined to be steady. “We will have to search her chamber for the fake dagger, for it must be there. She has had no opportunity to dispose of it, save throwing it from her chamber window.”

  “Indeed.” James rose to his feet also, studying her face and seeing tears shining in her eyes. “My Lady?” He said again with concern. “Esme?” He lowered his voice further still.

  Esme did not answer. She dropped the gown back into the linen basket and searched in the pocket of her own gown for a handkerchief. Once found, she covered her face with the handkerchief and silently wept.

  For a moment, James stood still, not knowing how best to proceed. But when he could bear her anguish no longer, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Esme leaned against him, accepting his embrace willingly.

  As she fought to regain control of her emotions, James gently stroked her hair whilst she leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “I am so very sorry.” He whispered as he continued to stroke.

  “Oh, I did not want it to be her. She has suffered so much, with nobody to listen to her. What a great strain her dreadful father placed upon her these last two weeks. I know that nobody on this earth has the right to take a life, but I cannot help but see what she has suffered. I cannot help but think that she was pushed and pushed until she could take no more.”

  “I know. It really is a horrible tragedy. Not just for Sheridan Winchester, but for Jane Beresford too. He did not have to love her. He had every right not to. But her father should never have forced them all together like this, just to put on such a silly play with the idea of impressing me. What a rotten mess this all is.”

  “We still have to find the fake dagger. As you said in the beginning, whoever has that must surely be the murderer. I am afraid I must know it for certain. I must be absolutely sure.” She straightened up and James reached out and touched her tearstained cheek by instinct.

  “We need to get Jane out of her chamber.” He said slowly.

  “Yes.” She began to calm as she formulated a plan.

  James did not interfere; he knew that she needed this to be able to keep going and he would support her in any way he could. After that one night, James knew that he would do anything in the world for Esme Waterson.

  “Perhaps you could tell the Baron that everyone must gather in the drawing room, Jane included. I shall make a show of going upstairs with my sister to collect her, but only Katherine will go into the room. Once she has Jane out of sight, I will sneak into the chamber and search for the dagger.”

  “You do know how to make a good plan, Esme.” He said, experimentally dispensing with formal address and pleased t
hat she did not object.

  “Thank you.” She said and smiled sadly at him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What on earth is happening?” Katherine hissed as the sisters made their way up the wide and sweeping staircase of Beresford Hall. “And what on earth have you been doing all evening? I can hardly believe, even now, how you scampered through the ballroom like a child to be up on that stage and in the thick of it all. Really, I cannot…..”

  “Katherine, do be quiet!” Esme said and then softened. “Forgive me, this has been a rather difficult evening. But to answer your question, I scampered up to the front on an instinct. An instinct which told me I could help. And I was right.”

  “How so?”

  “I have helped to solve this most awful murder.” She whispered when they reached the top of the stairs.

  “Who is it?” Katherine’s eyes were wide as her predilection for chastisement was replaced by her taste for gossip.

  “Jane Beresford.”

  “Jane?” Katherine said a little too loudly.

  “Shh!” Esme said. “I need you to go into her room and tell her that her father wants her downstairs. When you are gone, I need to search for the fake dagger.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Katherine squeaked. “Must you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well.” Katherine said and nodded.

  “Jane’s chamber is the second on the left. I shall stay out of the way until you are gone.”

  In the end, Katherine did her job well. She shepherded Jane Beresford downstairs in no time at all, leaving Esme with the chamber to herself.

  With a heavy heart, Esme searched the room, trying not to let her pity trip her up as she went. The fake dagger was barely hidden beneath clean white nightgowns in a tall chest of drawers, as Jane either did not think she would be suspected or finally did not care either way.

  Taking the dagger in both hands, she pressed at the sharp looking point. The entire blade disappeared with ease inside the handle; a perfect prop for a Christmas Mystery theatrical. She sighed and set off for the drawing room.

  When she arrived, everybody was in their seats with just the Duke and Lord Beresford standing. From the look on Lord Beresford’s face, it was clear that he knew the whole business had been blown wide open. He had suspected his poor daughter all along and that was why he was so keen to lay blame everywhere else.

  Despite it all being his own fault, at least he had tried to protect his daughter in the end. But it was all too late.

  Esme looked to the Duke as soon as she came in, nodding lightly as she handed him the stage dagger. Jane immediately cried out, the remnants of color draining from her face.

  “What? What is it?” Caroline Ponsonby sighed dramatically.

  “It was me, God forgive me.” Jane wailed, collapsing sideways on the couch.

  “I knew it!” Caroline accused. “How could you?”

  “Perhaps if you had not been so keen to rub the poor woman’s face in things, showing off and being so unkind, this might have been avoided.” Esme said, surprising herself with the harshness of her tone.

  The entire room fell silent and she felt all eyes on her.

  “And Lord Beresford,” She went on, glaring at him angrily. “Had you not been so keen to impress the Duke and the county, you might have seen your own daughter’s pain. But no, you forced her into the worst of all situations and expected her to manage. You have a part in this, Sir.”

  “Indeed, you do.” The Duke said firmly.

  “But why, Jane? Why kill him?” Lord Beresford said in a resigned voice.

  “Because they laughed at me. They were so open about it, it was as if I were not even in the room. Caroline calling me pathetic and mousey and Sheridan agreeing.”

  “That was who was laughing at you.” Esme said gently.

  “Yes. Just as the first guests were arriving. How clever you think yourself, Caroline Ponsonby. But you never loved Sheridan. You never loved anyone.” Jane began to shake, and her eyes were wide and wild. “And Sheridan was a fool. A spiteful, vain fool.” She began to speak quickly and in a way which Esme found a little unsettling. “But that was the last straw. In my home, you thought you could mock me. Well, Sheridan will never mock me again, will he? I went straight to the shield room and took the dagger. I put it in my pocket and kept it there, all the while wondering if I could go through with it. And then, as I swapped it for the one on the prop table, still there was the idea that I would not do it, even when I slid the real dagger inside my sleeve and made my way onto the stage. But it was the words of the play. As I stood there in front of everyone, it felt so real. It was my life. The man I loved telling me that he wanted another, and the eyes of all the county on me, humiliating me as always. I could take no more.”

  “Oh, Jane,” Esme said under her breath. “You tried to tell us in the beginning.”

  “She did.” The Duke said and sighed loudly. “The dagger was real. I killed him. I killed him.” He parroted the words Jane had spoken in the moments following the murder. “It was not a horrible realization on your part, it was a confession.”

  “And once again, nobody really heard me. Nobody listened.” She said bitterly. “But then I saw his blood and I was back to myself again. It wasn’t a play anymore. I’d killed the man I loved, and he lay there in front of me. Oh, I cannot bear it. I killed him. I killed him!” She began to wail and shake, and Esme raced to her side, doing her best to comfort her with the help of the Duke’s sister, Lady Helena.

  At that moment, the door opened, and the butler walked in sheepishly with none other than the constable at his elbow.

  “Finally.” The Duke said and gave a great sigh of relief.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “It sounds like a perfectly ghastly evening, my dear.” Lady Grayling said as she sipped her morning tea. “But I do wish you would eat a little breakfast.”

  “I do not think I can manage it just yet, Mama,” Esme said and gave her mother a warm smile. “Perhaps just some tea to begin with.”

  “Quite right, Esme. Tea will help set you to rights.” The Earl said and nodded at his daughter.

  “But really, the next time I see Katherine!” Lady Grayling went on.

  “What is it to do with Katherine?” Lord Grayling gave Esme an amused smile.

  “She ought never to have let her sister get involved to such a degree. Really, it is most unseemly.”

  “Murder is most unseemly, Mama. And with the constable nowhere to be found, I could not leave the Duke to get on with it by himself. And I am very clever, you know.” Esme said, adding a measure of wounded pride to the end of her sentence.

  “Of course, you are clever, my dear, but it is hardly ladylike behavior. What on earth must the Duke have thought?”

  “You can ask yourself, my dear.” Lord Grayling said and began to laugh heartily as he looked over his wife’s shoulder and out of the window beyond. “If I am not very much mistaken, that is the Duke of Burnham jumping down from his horse by the stables.”

  Esme held in a gasp of excitement and looked out of the window behind her. The Duke was most certainly out there, and her heart began to pound.

  “Oh, do let me have a few moments with him, Papa,” Esme said in a hopeful voice. “Just to have a turn about the gardens before he comes in.”

  “But it is cold, my dear.” The Earl said, and it was clear from his tone of voice that he sought to tease her. “There is frost on the ground and it is Christmas day.”

  “Just for a moment, Papa.” Esme said in a wheedling tone. “Please. Please.” She insisted. “You will be able to see us from the window, so it is not as if we should be entirely alone, is it?”

  “I am only teasing you, my dear. Go on.” He nodded firmly. “But make sure you wear your bonnet and cloak, it really is cold.”

  “Only be careful not to disarrange your hair with your bonnet, my dear.” The Countess said, beginning to fuss.

  “Alright, alright.” Esme was
smiling from ear to ear as she pushed her chair back noisily.

  “And once you have had your turn about the garden, we shall see you in the drawing room.” Her father said by way of reminding her that this little break with etiquette was going to be short lived indeed.

  “Thank you.” She said and darted out of the breakfast room before either one of her parents had a chance to change their mind.

  By the time she had thrown on her cloak, she could hear the Duke’s footsteps crunching over the gravel. She grasped her bonnet and hurried out of the door before even putting it on.

  “Ah, Lady Esme.” He said and smiled at her, clearly caught off guard.

  “Esme.” She corrected him, remembering how wonderful it had felt to have him talk to her so informally the night before.

  “Esme.” He smiled and nodded. “I think I have rehearsed everything I wanted to say on the ride over here.” He began to laugh. “But now that I am looking at you again, I cannot remember a word of it.”

  “Would a turn about the grounds help a little?” She said as she hastily put her bonnet on and tied the ribbons. “My father has given me leave to do so, albeit only for a little while.”

  “Then we must not waste the opportunity that has been so fortuitously given.” He said and smiled broadly as he held out his arm for her to take.

  As always, the Duke of Burnham looked immaculate. He wore cream breeches and black boots with a heavy dark blue waistcoat and matching tailcoat. His fair hair had been ruffled on the ride over, making him look a little carefree and somewhat younger.

  “I hardly think I slept at all last night, Your Grace.” She began the conversation. “I could not stop thinking of poor dear Jane Beresford.”

  “I have done everything I can for her, Esme. I have already spoken to the magistrate at length and begged him to consider her mental stability. He agrees that she is in a most frail condition, a condition which I am bound to say has deteriorated overnight. I think that she too is a victim of her own actions.”

  “Will that stop her going to the gallows, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, I believe it will. As heinous as her crime was, she was not of sound mind when she committed it. I am certain that she will be ordered into the care of an institution.”