The Black Orchid (A Lady Jane Mystery Book 2)

by Annis Bell

  “No, I—”

  But she got no further. David kissed her, then held her face in his hands. “Please.”

  There was enough insistence in that one word for Jane to swallow her objections and nod. David disappeared through the heavy cellar door, and Jane stood and listened for the sound of anyone approaching. Before long, she heard a door to the kitchen open; there was a crashing sound, someone cursed, and footsteps headed in her direction. Jane pressed herself beneath the door arch, which allowed her just enough room. The cellar walls were almost three feet thick, and the doors were set into the stonework at the same depth.

  A man’s heavy steps came closer and closer, stopping just before they reached Jane’s hiding place. She heard the sound of a crate being set down, then another curse, then someone shuffled away. Jane waited a moment longer, then scratched at the door. “David!”

  The door to the kitchens opened again. Jane recognized the butler’s voice.

  “David! Hurry up!” She peeked around the corner at the butler, who seemed to be waiting for someone. Then she heard Sir Frederick’s voice.

  Finally, the door opened and David slipped through. Taking Jane’s hand in his, they retreated the same way they had come. Only when they were out of earshot did he stop and look at her.

  “Well? What did you see?” Jane asked breathlessly.

  “The woman had been lying in the moor for two weeks. Be glad you were spared the sight. There was a head wound, yes. But whether it came from a blow or from a fall is almost impossible to tell. I’m not a coroner and can only speak from my own experience.” He ran his hands through his hair and put on his hat. “Come, show me the stables.”

  Along the way, they stood on the uppermost terrace of the garden, gazing out over the edge of the forest. “The woods are bisected by the river,” Jane explained. “The moor starts down that way. Maybe O’Connor has time to lead us there. In any case, I can find the way myself, at least as far as the moor.”

  “No doubt. I’d like to see the place the girl was found. Here, look at this.” He pulled a soiled, folded letter out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  They continued slowly, side by side, along the path to the stables, passing boxwood hedges and bare deciduous trees.

  “That’s why you took so long!” Jane unfolded the letter and carefully examined a discolored page. The words were blurred by water and barely readable.

  Tonight . . . midnight . . . the hunter’s hut . . . moor . . . Love . . .

  The last word was so blurred that it was completely indecipherable. “Oh, that’s annoying. Who could have written this?”

  Taking the letter from Jane, he studied the handwriting. “A very fluid hand, but that’s about all I can say.”

  They had arrived at the stables. One of the stablehands was leading two horses padded with blankets across the yard. Jane recognized him as the young man she had spoken to before. A young groom was saddling a pony just inside the stable. David put the letter in his pocket. “Perhaps one of those fellows?”

  Jane shrugged. “Maybe Miles? No, he seemed friendly enough to me.”

  “No reason to rule him out,” David said and waved the young man over.

  “Whoa, easy, easy,” Miles said gently to the light-colored mare he was leading. “Good morning, sir.”

  Jane stroked the muzzle of the other horse. “Moondancer, aren’t you a beauty. Yes, we know each other, don’t we? Miles, this is my husband, Captain Wescott.”

  “Captain! I would have gladly joined the army, except I can’t stand to see horses used as cannon fodder.” The young man was wearing a threadbare tweed jacket over a shirt and checked vest. His cheeks and hands were red from the cold, but it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

  “Seeing a horse die on the battlefield is no pretty sight, I’ll grant you that. Are you from this area?” Petting the nervous horse’s nose, David murmured comforting sounds.

  “Aye, I am, and it’s good to have family not far away. When my girl finally says yes, I’ll keep my job here, and she can live with my parents,” he explained.

  “Miles!” someone bellowed from the stable, and Jane flinched.

  “Ugh, that’s Mr. Gubbins,” Jane said. “Terrible man. Didn’t you say he’d had his eye on Rachel?”

  Scruffy, red-blond hair stuck out from beneath Miles’s cap, and the young man looked Jane in the eye when he said, “Yes. I’ll stand by that, my lady, but I have to go now. Did you want to go out riding?”

  “Yes, if Mr. O’Connor is available? He must know the lands around here,” said David.

  “In this kind of weather, he’s usually out in the woods checking on the feeding sites for the wild game.” Miles led the horses into the stable, where Mr. Gubbins was waiting for him with a dour expression on his face.

  “I think we can safely cross Miles off our list,” David said. “But let’s ask dear Mr. Gubbins for his help.”

  When they approached Mr. Gubbins inside the stable, he said, “If you can be patient for an hour, I’ll send someone out to fetch O’Connor.”

  “Who’s the pony for? Little Cedric?” Jane asked.

  “The boy is afraid of horses. That’s something we have to cure him of, though; as master of Winton Park, he has to be able to hold his own in the saddle. We’re famous for our hunts, you know,” Mr. Gubbins said proudly.

  Then Jane heard the boy screaming in protest. “No! I don’t want to! Noooo!”

  The boy’s shrill, grating shrieks grew ever louder, until Miss Molan appeared with Cedric at the stable door. She looked just as sure of herself as she had at their first meeting. Holding tightly on to the boy’s wrist, she kept her grip firm as they approached the pony, stopping near Jane and David.

  “Good day, my lady,” Miss Molan greeted Jane tepidly, but her eyes brightened when she saw David.

  “Cedric, what did we agree earlier?” she said to the boy, whose little face was livid.

  Cedric swallowed, opened his clenched hands, and said, “After I’ve gone for a ride on the pony, I can see the rabbits.”

  “Good boy. Now go to the pony and talk to him so that he gets to know you,” Miss Molan suggested.

  “It doesn’t need to know me. It only needs to carry me.” The boy stamped over to the piebald pony, which was being held by the young groom. “Help me up!” Cedric ordered the groom, without looking at him.

  Jane watched the inconsiderate boy.

  “Miss Molan, we’re trying to shed some light on Rachel’s accident. Would you know who her friends were here? Did she have an admirer?” David asked quietly.

  Without taking her eye off her charge, who now sat stiffly, concentrating hard, his hands grasping the pony’s mane as it was walked around the interior of the stable, Miss Molan replied, “She hadn’t been here long. Ask the other maids. I had nothing to do with her.”

  “Maybe you saw something? Had she perhaps spent an inordinate amount of time talking with a particular male staff member?” David tried again.

  “Does Sir Frederick know that you are interrogating us?” Miss Molan asked.

  “Of course. And it is entirely in his interest to banish any shadow of a doubt hanging over the poor girl’s death. It should also be in your interest to help us do that.” His expression was inscrutable, but there was an edge to his tone.

  “Naturally, but I observed nothing unusual. You can see for yourself that I am kept permanently busy with Cedric.”

  Jane looked on as the boy was lifted off the back of the pony. He ran toward them with a triumphant smile. “How nice that he at least likes rabbits,” she said.

  “Yes, he thinks they’re delicious. He wants to watch one being slaughtered, and Sir Frederick gave his permission.” Miss Molan took Cedric by the hand. “Come on, then. A promise is a promise.”

  Jane and David stood still for several seconds, saying nothing.

  Finally, Jane asked, “Is that normal?”

  “I couldn’t say. It wasn’t at the boarding schoo
l where I grew up, certainly, and my father never said a word to me, let alone actually showed me anything.” David cleared his throat. “It’s getting colder out. Let’s drink some tea in the house and wait for O’Connor there.”

  “What do we do with the letter?” Jane asked. She had put her arm through David’s again. “Sir Frederick doesn’t want a police investigation.”

  “Hmm. My only authority is as an advisor for Rooke. I’m not on official business, so to speak. Jane, do you remember the big bank scandal four years ago?”

  “You mean when the high and mighty directors of the Royal British Bank were caught? That was all over the papers. Those pompous old men were so puritanical, starting every meeting with a prayer! At the same time, they were secretly living in complete luxury, financed by tricky bookkeeping and misappropriated deposits.” She looked curiously at her husband.

  “Precisely. There are many people like that, and when it comes to the black market trade in goods from the colonies, the whole enterprise stinks to high heaven. It’s all about exploitation and fraud. We’re on the trail of a consortium that sends ships overseas and to the colonies, then manipulates the prices of certain goods, like rice and tea. I can’t tell you any more than that, but somehow, I suspect that Korshaw was mixed up with those people. Orchids are a luxury item, and high profits are to be had.”

  “You make it sound as if important men are tangled up in it. The kind of men one can’t simply drag in front of a judge . . .”

  “That’s exactly it, Jane. Sir Frederick hasn’t yet appeared in the circle of suspects, and that doesn’t surprise me because he really isn’t the kind of man . . . But one can never know for certain.”

  They had reached the stairs below the main entrance. “Someone more like Cunningham?” Jane said. “Someone with a flamboyant lifestyle whose sons are even more debauched than the father?”

  David nodded. “And how does Rachel fit into that?”

  In the hallway, they met Gladys, about to go upstairs and carrying a laden tray covered with a cloth.

  “Oh, Gladys! May I come along? I’d like to offer Lady Charlotte some company.” Jane glanced at David, her eyes entreating him to understand.

  “I’ll be in the library,” he said.

  Jane went upstairs alongside the maid, who kept her eyes shyly on the tray. “What did Dr. Cribb say?”

  “Oh, my lady, I can’t say anything about that.” The tray rattled a little. Gladys seemed nervous.

  Standing outside Charlotte’s room, Jane heard a child’s clear laughter, and when she entered she was pleased to see Eleanor playing with her dolls on the carpet in front of the fire. Against all expectation, Charlotte was dressed and reclining on a sofa. Yet her skin appeared waxen, and there were worrying blue rings beneath her eyes. When Jane drew closer, she saw that Charlotte’s lips were cracked.

  “My dear, I’m so relieved to see you up and about with your daughter!” said Jane effusively.

  “Come sit by me,” said Charlotte, patting the sofa beside her. “It’s nice of you to come visit a broody old hen like me. It really isn’t usual for me to withdraw in this way. I very much enjoy being with my children, which is why I would also prefer for Cedric to stay here as long as he can. Until a year ago, he was a very sickly child. It seemed he was always coughing, and several times we thought we would lose him.”

  “How old is he? Seven?” That was the usual age at which boys were sent off to boarding school.

  “Doesn’t he have the face of an angel? I know he isn’t an easy child.”

  A serious understatement, thought Jane.

  “But I probably spoiled him too much. Even Frederick let him get away with a great deal, although my husband is otherwise quite strict and very careful about bringing the children up correctly,” Charlotte continued, unusually chatty.

  Gladys set the tray down on a small table and lifted the cloth to reveal a bowl of porridge and a jar of honey, but Charlotte waved off the food.

  “Are you sure you won’t eat anything?” asked Jane. “You gave us all such a fright last night.”

  “Really, it was nothing. I have dizzy spells now and then, but they pass quickly enough. Doctor Cribb has prescribed laudanum and a strong tonic. Look at me, I’m feeling much better today.”

  Jane was not at all convinced. Whatever was in the tonic made Charlotte euphoric, but she did not look healthy.

  “Come here, my darling!” Charlotte reached out to her daughter, who was holding her doll out toward her mother.

  “Lula wants to see Pebbles, Mama!” the girl said, looking charming in her lace-trimmed powder-blue dress.

  “Pebbles is unwell and needs some peace and quiet, sweetheart. He’ll be back in a few days.”

  “Look.” Eleanor extracted a sticky, brown candy from her skirt pocket. “This is from Miss Molan. I get one if I’ve been good. I’ve got lots, but Cedric doesn’t.”

  Charlotte took the candy and put it on the tray. “Gladys! Wipe her hands and put a new dress on her!”

  “No!” Eleanor cried as Gladys led her out of the room.

  “David arrived unexpectedly last night, Charlotte. Will you join us for afternoon tea?”

  “Ah, that’s why you look so happy, Jane.” Sighing, she laid her head against the back of the sofa. “The tutor is expected today. I have to be back on my feet by then, or Frederick will simply send him away.”

  Jane stood up. “So I will see you for tea later, and you can meet David then. We still want to go out riding.”

  “I don’t enjoy riding very much, nor does Cedric, which is something he inherited from me. But he has to learn. A lord has to cut a good figure in the saddle!” Charlotte’s eyelids were growing heavy, and she seemed to be having difficulty keeping her thoughts straight. “Your husband, of course. That’s . . . nice . . .”

  And with that, Charlotte nodded off. Jane stroked her cheek and murmured, “Sleep yourself well again.”

  She doubted that Charlotte could do that, however. Jane cautiously sniffed the dusty candy lying on the tray, then touched a moistened finger to it. She lifted her finger to her mouth. It tasted of caramel and was very sweet. Charlotte’s two medicine bottles stood on a raised table. “Laudanum, Tincture of Opium” read one label. “Heart Tonic” read the other. Jane smelled both bottles but noticed nothing untoward. Whatever was making Charlotte sick was hiding somewhere else.

  15.

  Thirl Moor, Cheviot Hills, Northumberland, December 1860

  As they left the woods, the frosty wind lashed fiercely at their faces. O’Connor had ridden in the lead the entire time, saying nothing. Just before they started along the path leading into the moor, he pulled up his horse.

  “Stay behind me. The horses know where to tread. Give them a free rein.” O’Connor turned and gazed out over the windswept, wintry moor through which the narrow path led to the hunter’s hut. A buzzard circled overhead in the distance, then dove earthward.

  “Mr. O’Connor,” Jane asked before they set off again, “how did you happen to find the girl’s body?”

  The gamekeeper rubbed his stubbly cheeks. “It was what you said on our last ride, my lady, that prompted me to come out here for a thorough search. A day or two later and there would have been nothing left to find. A scrap of her dress had got caught in some roots. I’ll show you.”

  “So you also searched the woods?” David asked from behind, keeping his horse close to Jane’s as they rode on.

  “Aye. I searched all the places that the people hereabouts like to use for their little trysts, and I also followed the river to the place the current sometimes deposits drowned animals. Between Christmas and the New Year, Sir Frederick puts on a hunt. It’s always a big affair. I had to check all the huts anyway in preparation for it.”

  The horses walked the frozen path. A thin frost covered the bushes and grass, and they could see crackly pieces of ice forming on the water, but the dark, swampy patches shimmered treacherously. A heavy silence hung over the land
, and the snorting of the horses and the far-off cry of a bird sounded intrusive.

  “How could she possibly have come out here at night by herself?” Jane wondered aloud.

  “She was a Romany girl. They can find their way wherever they are. They’ve got the sight of cats and can sense direction like migratory birds,” said O’Connor.

  The midday sun provided little warmth, and the milky sky encased the moor in a hazy cocoon. Finally, O’Connor drew up his horse. “Here’s where the body was.”

  He pointed to a place by the side of the path where crooked roots protruded from the morass. David dismounted and examined the spot more closely. Jane stayed on her horse. Her limbs had turned to stone at the horrible realization that this was where the girl had been swallowed by the moor.

  “Did you check the hut?”

  “I did,” said O’Connor. “It was locked, as it ought to have been. There might have been some footprints by the door, but it had rained and I couldn’t have said how big they were.”

  “Then someone really had been waiting for Rachel. Would you agree, O’Connor?” David poked around in the grass, then took a few steps toward the hut.

  “I’ll don’t think I’ll get into that, Captain. I don’t want any trouble, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sometimes you’re already in the middle of something. You just don’t know it yet,” remarked David. He slowly circled the hut.

  O’Connor, nettled, turned on him. “Trying to pin something on me, is that it? Would I be so stupid as to go and find her body if I was the one who’d thrown her in?” David looked back at O’Connor but didn’t say anything. The gamekeeper’s anger was growing. “Are you done sniffing around? My dog does the job better in any case. It was he that found the scrap in the roots.”

  David had finished going around the hut, his eyes examining the ground. “Thank you for your time, Mr. O’Connor. It’s been very informative.”

  Jane had changed for afternoon tea. Wearing a rust-brown dress—it was made of outrageously expensive silk that was so soft and shiny she had been persuaded to buy it—she went up to Alison’s room. David wanted to look in on Alison briefly, too, before they went down to tea together.