by Annis Bell
David thought of Korshaw and his customers, trying to envision the world of orchid lovers. How far would someone go to possess a true rarity? Korshaw, for one, had seduced the naïve Etta Ramsey simply to find out what Cunningham was doing in his hothouse. Veitch had shook his head and said that such people were utterly mad! Veitch was a respectable businessman and knew exactly which orchids would bring in the biggest profits at auction, but he was also enough of a realist to understand that new plants were being imported all the time, and that orchids would soon be accessible to those besides the very rich.
David had asked Blount to investigate Cunningham since Rachel had been employed with him; the girl seemed to be the key to whatever was going on at Winton Park. At first, when Jane had telegraphed him to say that Rachel’s death was probably no accident, he had been furious. That was so typical of Jane! She wanted to help and paid no heed to the possible danger she was putting herself in. But he had to grant her that she could not have foretold this turn of events.
It was already dark when the coach turned into the courtyard at Winton Park. The wheels rattled loudly across the stones, rolling to a stop on the gravel in front of the entrance. He leaned back, gazing up at the Jacobean walls. A lantern hung over the front door, and several windows were lit. Somber, Thomas had said of the place, and that’s exactly what it was. After David paid the coachman, the butler came down the steps to meet him.
“Good evening, sir. We were not expecting any visitors. Who may I say is here?”
David noted politely, “Captain Wescott.”
“Very good, Captain. I will have your bags brought inside momentarily.” The butler bowed and led the way with measured steps.
David stepped inside the main hallway and glanced at the large grandfather clock. It was already eleven o’clock. No wonder the house was so quiet. But still, as he stood at the base of the stairs, he listened carefully, hoping to hear Jane’s voice.
“Captain, Sir Frederick is in his hothouse, and Lady Charlotte has already retired for the evening. If I may, I will have the staff prepare a chamber and something for you to eat,” the butler suggested.
“Thank you. Could you take me to the room of my wife, Lady Jane?”
Without showing the slightest sign of surprise, the butler nodded and led David upstairs to the second floor. Wescott noticed the prominently placed Halston crest and the fancy wood paneling, but other similarly old families had far more magnificently adorned houses. Clearly, Sir Frederick invested his fortune not in valuable paintings or sculptures—as Thomas did, and he was a rare visitor to the upper house of Parliament. Only when it was absolutely necessary and unavoidable did he appear for parliamentary gatherings, but he was more often noted by his absence. David did not even know who might be counted among Halston’s close allies. Sir Robert Parks and Lord Cunningham were rivals, and they were far more famous as orchid collectors, though they continued to be influential members of London society. Cunningham was certainly getting on in years, but he was still a true socialite and an infamous philanderer. His son, regrettably, was proof that the apple never falls far from the tree.
They encountered nobody on their way upstairs or down a wide corridor, but David heard women’s voices. He recognized Alison’s bright laugh and was relieved that she was well.
The butler stopped in front of a door and knocked. After a moment, Hettie’s round face appeared. “Oh, it’s the captain!” she called, smiling broadly. “This is a surprise! I’ll fetch your wife!”
Before David or the butler could utter a word, Hettie charged past them and disappeared into the room opposite. A muffled cry of joy rang out, the door flew open, and Jane fell into David’s arms. The butler discreetly departed.
Jane pressed herself to him and buried her face in his neck. “David!” she sobbed.
Stroking her hair, he murmured, “Jane, come, let’s go into your room, and you can tell me everything.”
Once the door was closed behind them, he threw his gloves and coat over a chair and took Jane in his arms, kissing her passionately and discovering that her lips had lost none of their sweetness. Then he took her by the hand and led her to an armchair by the fireplace. Pulling up a chair, he sat across from her, close enough to take her hands in his.
“I’m so happy you’re here, David!” said Jane, looking at him through teary eyes. “I was afraid something terrible had happened to Charlotte last night.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Jane squeezed his hands. “Sir Frederick and Dr. Cribb haven’t let anyone in to see her. She wasn’t well before so the doctor prescribed her laudanum. Then I heard someone fall down during the night and cry out, and—”
“You heard that from here?” asked David doubtfully; the doors were solid and the family’s rooms no doubt some distance away.
Jane removed her hands from his and wiped her cheeks dry. “I was on my way to the kitchen and just happened to pass by Charlotte’s room.”
Raising one eyebrow, he was unable to suppress a smile. “Coincidentally, in the middle of the night, you went creeping around another person’s home?”
“Well . . . all right, I wanted to go down to the cellars to see Rachel’s body. Because of the head wound?” She looked at him so earnestly that he could not help but laugh. “Are you laughing at me?”
Shaking his head, he leaned forward and quickly kissed her. “No, I simply find you completely incorrigible and irresistible. Name one lady, apart from yourself, who would even think about looking at a corpse in the dead of night?”
Jane smiled, then lifted her hands to her slightly disheveled hair.
“Pointless,” he said, shaking his head.
“Excuse me?”
Lightning fast, he pulled a hairpin out of her carefully arranged hair and tossed it behind him. “What are you going to do about that?”
Another hairpin flew to the floor, and Jane stood up. “I’m going to tell Hettie that I won’t need her anymore tonight.”
When she returned from the adjoining room, he was unbuttoning his shirt.
“Did you come with Blount?”
“No, he’s taking care of a few things for me in London, but we can discuss that tomorrow.”
Her eyes gazed into his as she helped him untie his neckerchief. “And what are we going to discuss now?”
“We’re not going to talk at all now, Jane.” When his lips touched her neck, nothing escaped her mouth but a sigh.
It took a moment for David to realize where he was. Jane’s chestnut hair was splayed over his chest and arm, and her body was still entwined with his. He swept a strand of hair out of her face and looked at her, relaxed in sleep. Yes, she meant far more to him than he had ever imagined possible. If anyone ever did anything to hurt her, he would follow them into hell to take revenge.
His father had been wrong. Love was not a disease for fools. Love did not destroy. It healed. He glanced out the window, where the morning sun was rising over the woods and hills. His father’s hate had poisoned David’s heart for so many years, hardening it against any emotion. He had passed through so many battlefields without finding redemption, and then fate had thrown this unconventional woman into his arms.
He felt movement, and Jane stretched and opened her eyes. “You’re still here.”
“Yes, my darling, and now I want you to tell me everything you’ve discovered about the dead maid.”
Instantly, Jane was awake. She summarized all that she had been through. “Zenada gave me the letter because she thinks, as I do, that Rachel met her murderer here!”
“Those are strong words, Jane. And it was Cribb who told you about the wound on her head? He certainly would not have done so if he were conspiring with Sir Frederick in some ugliness. I think we can rule out the doctor.”
“Good. But not Sir Frederick?” She stroked his chest.
“There’s nothing either for or against him. Listen, if you keep doing that, I’ll lose my concentration.”
&
nbsp; “She’s still here.”
“Who?” He held onto her hand tightly as it reached his navel.
“Rachel. She’s going to be buried today.”
“Jane, let’s get up. I want to take a look at her. Cribb will allow me. After all, I’m officially involved in a police investigation.”
“What? You didn’t come here for my sake?”
“Of course I did! I’m only on this whole damned case because of your orchids.”
Jane sat up suddenly. “My orchids? Ally asked me to come here!”
Taking a deep breath, he rested a hand behind his head. “Either way, an orchid gardener named Korshaw has been murdered. Korshaw worked at Veitch and Sons. Thank you for the orchid, by the way.”
“Korshaw? I wonder if that was the man who served me? A coincidence? My God,” said Jane, turning over, her hair veiling her body.
“He was responsible for sales, so I imagine you dealt with him.” David explained to her what he knew about Korshaw and his jilted fiancée.
“At Cunningham’s? Rachel was also employed there. Oh, David, what are we going to do now?”
“There are several possibilities . . .”
While Jane was still in the bath, David used the early morning hours to get an overview of the situation for himself. Out in the corridor, he was met with a wall of cold air that confirmed the dramatic drop in temperature in the last twenty-four hours. New snow covered the grounds, reaffirming his conviction that they were in for an early and hard winter.
On the landing between the guest and family wings of the house, he encountered a rather plain young woman whose black dress indicated her status as a lady’s maid. She carried a tray on which a small empty medicine bottle and two glasses perched. Because he already knew Hettie and Nora, he guessed that this must be Lady Charlotte’s maid. “Good morning, miss,” he greeted her pleasantly.
“Good morning, sir,” she replied quietly.
“How is Lady Charlotte this morning? Excuse me—Captain Wescott, at your service.”
“Gladys, sir.” She swallowed, and the tray began to tremble in her hands. “Not very well. I’m going for the doctor.”
From a room farther along, he heard a child crying and another yelling angrily. A door flew open, and a woman exited, dragging a howling boy behind her. She then opened another door, pushed the boy inside, and turned the lock from the outside. “You will calm yourself down, Cedric!” she said sharply.
“That’s Miss Molan, the governess, sir.” Gladys steadied the tray with both hands, but the glasses still tinkled against each other.
When Melissa Molan saw David, she stood up straight and stared at him defiantly. Turning on her heel, she returned to the children’s room. A self-confident young woman, David noted. And clearly one who was used to being around men, in contrast to shy Gladys, who was flustered by David’s very presence.
“Mr. Draycroft!” Gladys suddenly cried and she stumbled forward.
David instinctively grabbed her by the arm, preventing her from falling down the stairs. The tray and everything on it, however, clattered onto the stairs. The butler picked up the fallen items.
“Good morning, Captain. The dining room is the first door on the left at the bottom of the stairs.” He seemed to be waiting for David to release the maid’s arm.
“All right?” David asked Gladys.
“Yes, thank you, sir. Mr. Draycroft, we need the doctor for my lady. Is there still any laudanum left?” Gladys asked.
“Mrs. Gubbins keeps some in the medicine cabinet. I’ll have it brought up. Go to milady, Gladys,” Draycroft ordered, and the maid obediently left. After straightening his neckerchief and vest, David continued down to the dining room, where he found his host already at breakfast.
“Ah, our unexpected guest from last night. Captain Wescott!” Sir Frederick stood up and shook David’s hand, offering him a chair at the table. Apart from them, only a male servant was in attendance, serving the food.
After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Sir Frederick asked, “Have you come to collect your wife?”
Setting down his cup, David gestured toward the morning newspaper on the table beside Sir Frederick. “Perhaps you read that an employee of Veitch and Sons was murdered. You’re familiar with the firm, I assume?”
“But of course! Every orchid grower of any standing knows Veitch.” Sir Frederick narrowed his eyes, and his expression became unfriendly. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, as things have turned out, I am working with Superintendent Michael Rooke on the case as an advisor. A number of nasty circumstances are involved that have turned a simple break-in into a far more serious matter.” David nodded when the servant brought him a plate of scrambled eggs and ham.
Sir Frederick pursed his lips. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. I gather this Rooke and his bobbies want to find out what’s behind it all—I beg your pardon—with your help, of course.”
An arrogant snob, David thought, but continued unmoved. “There is no doubt that our country is in need of new institutions to fight crime. Who better to do that than veterans and those who come from the streets and know the environment in which they will need to investigate?”
“Bah! Good money down the drain! We have more than enough first-rate minds among the aristocracy. What will we have become when the plebs can interrogate the nobles!” said Sir Frederick in disgust.
“If by first-rate minds, you are referring to people like Lord Lucan, who sent hundreds of fine soldiers to a senseless death, then I hold little hope for a functioning executive branch.” David chose his words carefully; he knew that Sir Frederick hadn’t served. The Battle of Balaclava was widely discussed, certainly after Lord Lucan’s trial if not before.
“Oh, Lucan knew what he was doing. It’s easy to cast judgment after the fact! An experienced officer like him!” Sir Frederick sniffed.
“I was there.” David cut a piece of ham, savoring its taste.
“Humph.” Sir Frederick threw his napkin on the table. “Any more questions? Business calls.”
“Did you ever deal directly with Korshaw?”
“Once or twice. I mainly dealt directly with Mr. Veitch.”
“What do you think of Lord Cunningham?”
Sir Frederick looked at him in surprise. “Cunningham? He has an outstanding reputation. His orchids are among the best in the land.”
“Your deceased maid was employed at Cunningham’s before she came here. Did that have any bearing on your decision to take her on?”
“Mrs. Gubbins carries out interviews with prospective staff. Do you seriously think I would question a maid about her previous employer?”
Indeed, David could not imagine such a self-righteous, arrogant man trying to worm confidential information out of anyone, much less a servant, but a man was capable of taking on unusual roles in certain circumstances. Unseen depths might lurk beneath a glossy surface.
“It would be only natural for a man to want to find out how his competitors work, which orchids have been ordered, or what particular growing methods succeeded. After doing a little research on my own, I now have the highest respect for orchid growers. One can see it almost as a science, especially when it comes to watering systems, and the humidity and temperature that have to be maintained in the greenhouses.” David had calculated correctly. At the mention of Sir Frederick’s great passion, the lord of the manor instantly forgot his wounded vanity.
“It takes years of experience with these plants to get them to flower in our latitudes. Personally, I focus on the breeding of hybrids, which demands a very scientific approach indeed. Believe me, Captain, if there is ever anything I want to know, then I will talk to Cunningham myself.”
14.
David had joined Jane for a cup of tea while she ate breakfast, then both of them had changed to go out riding. Before heading to the stables, however, Jane had a stop she wanted to make. They left the house through the main entrance.
Outside, David hesitated. �
�Do you know how we can get down to the cellars through the staff entrance?”
Jane giggled. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed an interest in Jacobean architecture?”
The cold air froze their breath, and the thin layer of snow crunched underfoot. Turning up the fur-lined collar of his coat, David tapped at his boots with his riding crop as he walked. “It’s a side of me you haven’t seen before. I’m always trying to surprise you.”
She hooked her arm in his and grinned. “And you’re doing an excellent job of it.”
A coach rolled into the courtyard, and Dr. Cribb immediately jumped out. “Good morning,” he shouted as he ran up the steps to the house.
David waved, then drew Jane away. “This is our chance. Everyone is focused on Lady Charlotte. Come on!”
Moving quickly around the outside of the house, they headed for the stairs that led down to the servants’ wing. Della stood at the top of the stairs, hurriedly stuffing a piece of bread into her mouth. Still chewing, she disappeared back into the kitchen. She had not seen them.
“Here?” David asked.
“I think there’s a stairway to the cellars through there. But what if it’s locked?”
Her husband grinned and patted his jacket pocket. “I’m prepared.”
They trotted down the steps; the door into the vaulted cellars was open, and they slipped inside. Just enough light fell through two small barred windows to show them the way. Jane stopped in front of the third door beneath the ancient arches. At the other end of the passage, they could hear the sounds of the kitchen, but there was no one else in sight.
David tried to turn the heavy iron door handle, which creaked but did not give. Reaching into his jacket, he took out a strangely formed hook; after a few seconds of twisting it within the door lock, he turned the handle again. This time, the door opened. “You keep watch. I’ll check the dead girl.”