by D. M. Quincy
“Perhaps I will join you as well.” He bit into the cheesecake but could not properly appreciate the sweet creamy symphony of lemon, orange, and almonds. “I do so enjoy Mrs. Jenning’s performances at Covent Garden.”
Her expression soured. “By all means, do as you like,” she said coldly, reaching for an egg custard, even though they both knew she did not care for sweets.
He intercepted her pale, fine-boned hand mid-air and brought it to his lips. “And so I shall. Do as I like.”
“Will you?” Challenge sparked in her beautiful eyes, and neither of them was thinking of Roxbury or Juliet. She made no attempt to slide her gloved hand from his grasp. “I suppose we shall see about that.”
CHAPTER 11
The Rising Sun in Knightsbridge, where Francis Pike apparently hoped to find his fortune, was a century-old red brick building with carved and paneled rooms where Atlas was forced to battle his way through the boisterous crowd. The air was thick with smoke and the smells of ale and perspiration.
A man leapt onto a tabletop and cupped his mouth with both hands to address the crush. “We are closing the book.” He shouted to be heard above the din. “We will use the entire fund to purchase lottery tickets.”
A cheer went up. All around Atlas people argued and debated, the overconsumption of spirits no doubt adding to the rabble. After making a few inquiries, Atlas was directed to a well-dressed young man sitting at a back table with another man.
“That is another fifty pounds,” remarked the buck Atlas presumed was Francis Pike.
His companion scoffed. “I would say all of our debts are settled.”
“Previous debts, perhaps.” Pike regarded his companion with tolerant amusement. “But not the ones you have incurred in the last week.”
“All of my debts should be erased, past and future,” his tablemate said as he tossed what appeared to be a comfit into his mouth. “Have I not already proven myself?”
“Francis Pike?” Atlas asked, raising his voice to be heard.
Vessey’s son looked up, providing Atlas with his first proper view of him. Francis Pike’s hair was very blond, almost white, and he might have been handsome except for the long, sharp nose that dominated his face. It was as if fate had conspired to announce this man’s common birth by stamping a blatant imperfection at the center of his otherwise flawless aristocratic features.
“I am he.” The young man spoke in a precise accent that sounded a bit too studied to be completely natural. Atlas recalled the clergyman’s remark that Mrs. Pike’s son was very aware of his consequence. “And who, might I ask, are you?”
“My name is Atlas Catesby. I would like to speak with you about your mother.”
Pike visibly stiffened. “My mother is no longer with us. And I shall not hear a negative word about her. She was an honorable woman, and I do not intend to have her name besmirched by anyone.”
Pike’s spirited defense of his late mother impressed Atlas. Most in society would find Mrs. Pike unworthy of respect, particularly this straight-spined young man, who seemed very conscious of his societal standing.
“I have heard as much from everyone I have spoken to,” Atlas said gently. It was true. No one he’d encountered had uttered a single unkind word about Wendy.
“Catesby?” Pike’s companion interjected, speaking around the confection in his mouth. He was slight and disheveled, his expensive clothing wrinkled, his cravat undone. “You are the one who is investigating Mrs. Pike’s death.” He nudged Pike with his elbow. “Catesby here wants to find your mother’s killer.”
“Is that so?” Pike regarded Atlas with increased interest. “Why?”
“She was an innocent woman who was murdered. Is that not reason enough?”
Vessey’s bastard regarded Atlas warily. “There are some who would not call her innocent.”
“She was killed. The person who murdered your mother should not be allowed to get away with it.”
“I agree.” Pike’s guarded expression relaxed a fraction. “Please do forgive my bad manners.” He gestured toward his companion. “This is my friend Jasper Balfour.”
His friend gave an easy laugh. “Mr. Catesby is not interested in me. He is here to meet you.” Balfour came unsteadily to his feet. “I will be on my way now that the books are closed. Good evening.” He sauntered into the crowd and disappeared from view.
Atlas took the liberty of slipping into the high-backed wooden bench Balfour had just abandoned. “I was hoping you could answer some questions for me.”
Pike gave Atlas an intent look. “Do you truly believe you can find my mother’s killer?”
“It is my intention to try.”
“I rather expected you to have accused my father by now.”
The comment took Atlas by surprise. “Why is that? Do you think Vessey killed your mother?”
“Of course not. But I know who you are. Your sister was married to my father.”
“Yes.” Atlas maintained a placid exterior. “My sister was wed to Vessey. She was his marchioness and the mother of his heir.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious.” Francis seemed amused. “I am very well aware of who my father’s heir is.”
“What kind of relationship do you have with Nicholas?” Atlas asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
“I cannot see how my relations with my half brother can possibly be relevant to my mother’s murder.”
“It never hurts to have a complete picture of all of the aspects of a victim’s life.”
“Beaumont was not in my mother’s life. My father preferred not to cross certain lines of propriety.”
“Surely she met the boy.”
“She did not and neither have I,” Pike said courteously. “My half brother and I do not have a relationship. And before you assume that I am consumed with hatred and jealousy, allow me to assure you that the sole reason we have no relationship is because Nicholas is not aware of my existence.”
Atlas stared at him. “Still? Even now with you residing in town?”
Pike nodded. “It is as my father wishes.”
“Why? Is it because Vessey does not care for Nicholas to learn his father kept a mistress at the same time he was married to Nicholas’s mother?”
“Perhaps. My father has mentioned that Beaumont is something of a Puritan. There is no reason to upset the boy.”
“But the two of you are now in London at the same time. Nicholas is bound to learn of your existence soon, if he hasn’t already.”
Pike lifted one shoulder, as if the matter barely concerned him. “I do as my father pleases. He wishes to orchestrate our meeting at a time of his choosing.”
Atlas tipped his head to the side. “Do you always do as your father asks?”
“I try. There is no man in the world that I admire more than the marquess.”
Atlas managed not to grimace at the complimentary words. “Did your mother have any enemies that you know of? Did she by chance mention anyone who frightened her or made her uncomfortable?”
Pike thought for a moment. “There was a clergyman who was infatuated with her.”
“Samuel Brown.”
“I see you have heard about him.” His expression darkened. “In the last month or so, she became more uncomfortable in Brown’s presence. The intensity of his unrequited affection unsettled her.”
Atlas was not at all convinced that Brown’s love for Wendy was unrequited. Everything he’d learned thus far suggested otherwise. “Did your mother ever argue with your father?”
“Of course. They were together for many years. They were bound to have disagreements.”
“Did they argue about anything in particular?”
“My mother enjoyed buying nice things, and there were a number of disagreements about her spending habits. However, mostly they argued about my father awarding my mother an annuity.”
“Which he refused to do, as I understand it.”
The edges of Pike’s mouth turned do
wnward. “He thought it was crass of Mother to ask. Lord Vessey had always taken care of her and, I am quite sure, would have continued to do so had she lived.”
Atlas wasn’t so certain. It seemed to him that Vessey had used money as a tether to keep Wendy tied to him. But why had he felt the need? Was it simply the frugality for which the marquess was well known, or had he felt Wendy slipping away?
“My father had nothing to do with my mother’s death,” Pike told him. “My mother and father were not married, but we are his family, my mother, my sisters, and I. He would never hurt Mama. He adored her.”
“How old are your sisters?”
“They are just girls. Helen is eleven and Caroline is nine. Vessey would never deprive them of their mother.”
After asking a few more questions, which yielded little useful information, Atlas rose and thanked Pike for his time.
“You may reach me at the Albany should you have any further questions,” Pike told Atlas as the two men exchanged goodbyes. “I will do everything in my power to help you find my mother’s killer.”
The mention of the Albany did not go unnoticed by Atlas. Fashionable young bachelors about town coveted the prestigious Mayfair address. Residing in the apartments off Piccadilly might confer some of the consequence that Pike’s illegitimate birth denied him.
As Atlas made his way out of The Rising Sun, he wondered what Wendy had been playing at toward the end of her life. She’d apparently agreed to wed Brown, yet had told her family that the clergyman made her uncomfortable. She’d also told Brown she would move to Anglia with him, while also apparently consenting to perform at Covent Garden. Everywhere Atlas turned, he encountered another contradiction about the dead woman’s intentions for her future.
Despite all of the many facts he had gathered about Wendela Pike’s final days, Atlas somehow felt further than ever from finding her killer.
CHAPTER 12
“Catesby.” Jonathan Bradford, the Marquess of Roxbury, greeted Atlas from the comfortable surroundings of his study, a well-appointed chamber that spoke of the man’s immense wealth. “This is a most unexpected visit.”
“I must confess it is for me as well,” Atlas said with a bow.
“And yet here you are.” Roxbury sat in a comfortable leather armchair, with one knee crossed over the other. Smoke from the lit cheroot clasped between his thumb and forefinger engulfed him in a silvery haze. Atlas had been in the marquess’s darkened study once before. When the man had summoned him to warn him off of Lilliana.
“I am investigating the death of Wendela Pike.”
“It is a very tragic affair.” The pale light from the window illuminated Roxbury’s face. Although he was not an overtly handsome man, Roxbury possessed even features and a generally agreeable manner. “However, I fail to see how Mrs. Pike’s unfortunate end has any bearing on me.”
“Allow me to come straight to the point.”
“Please do.”
“I understand you spoke with Vessey on Mrs. Pike’s behalf, regarding her desire for an annuity or a settlement of some kind.”
Roxbury’s cheeks hollowed as drew on his cheroot. “What of it?”
“May I ask what prompted you to intercede?”
“I spoke to Vessey because Mrs. Pike’s desire for financial security was not unreasonable.” He exhaled through both his mouth and nostrils as he spoke. “I was very sorry he declined to settle a sum on Mrs. Pike after all of the years she had devoted to him. She resided with Vessey for the better part of twenty years and presented him with robust children of whom he seems quite fond.”
“Perhaps he suspected her of being unfaithful.”
“That would surprise me very much.” Roxbury exhaled a long stream of diaphanous smoke. “From all I observed of her conduct, and in my conversation with her, Mrs. Pike never once hinted of an attachment to another man. Indeed, I am convinced she had bedded no other man.”
“I understand that Mrs. Pike turned to you because you are very generous to your own mistress.”
Roxbury examined his cheroot and did not respond.
Atlas persisted. “I am interested in speaking with your … with Mrs. Walker.”
“Whatever for?”
“I understand she and Mrs. Pike were friends. I am hopeful Mrs. Walker will be able to shed some light on Mrs. Pike’s state of mind before her death.”
“What possible difference could that make now?”
“I shall not know until I speak with Mrs. Walker. Could you provide me with her direction?”
“There is no need for that.” Roxbury rose, moving with purpose and precision, to pull the bell ring. A butler appeared immediately.
“Summon Mrs. Walker, if you please,” Roxbury directed.
“She is here?” Atlas asked.
“Indeed.” Now Roxbury seemed slightly amused. “I am nothing if not accommodating.”
Before long, Mrs. Walker presented herself. She was in her mid-thirties, about the same age as the late Mrs. Pike, trim and neat in a severe dark gown that was in no way designed to entice or seduce. The large ring of keys attached to a band at her waist explained the morose gown. Mrs. Walker wasn’t just Roxbury’s ladybird; she was also his housekeeper.
Indignation burned in Atlas’s belly. This woman’s presence in the mausoleum where Lilliana might very well have presided as mistress appalled him. Lilliana had already suffered through one intolerable husband. Atlas had thought Roxbury was different.
“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Walker,” Roxbury said when the housekeeper came in. “Catesby here has some questions for you about Mrs. Pike. He is attempting to discover who killed her.”
She shot a questioning gaze at her lover. In return, Roxbury gave a reassuring incline of his chin. “I am not sure I can be of any help.” She spoke in a clear, contained voice.
“I understand you were friendly with Mrs. Pike,” Atlas said.
“Yes, sir, I was.” She stood with quiet dignity, shoulders back, with her hands lightly clasped before her waist. “Mrs. Pike was a fine person. Very agreeable. I cannot imagine who would want to harm her.”
“Do you know if she intended to leave Vessey for another man?”
Her hand went to her breastbone. “No, indeed.”
“She never mentioned an attachment to another man?”
“She did not, and it would surprise me very much if Mrs. Pike were to leave his lordship.”
“Even though he refused to assure her financial future?”
“She maintained hope that his lordship would eventually provide an annuity for her and the children.”
“Did she ever mention performing in public, specifically at Covent Garden?”
“She did. She had the voice of an angel.” Mrs. Walker smiled at the memory. “But his lordship would not allow it.”
“Do you think Mrs. Pike would have performed at Covent Garden despite Vessey’s disapproval?”
“I do not believe that she would have. Although they were not wed, Mrs. Pike viewed herself as bound to the marquess for life. She was not a licentious woman.”
“Did she ever mention a man named Samuel Brown to you?”
“The clergyman? Yes, she did. He was infatuated with her. But Wendy … Mrs. Pike … had no interest in him.”
“Yet Mrs. Pike told her sister that she had fallen in love with a man and intended to leave Lord Vessey to be with this man.”
The housekeeper’s perfect composure fissured when her mouth fell open. “I can assure you that Mrs. Pike never told me any such thing. If anything, Mr. Brown had begun to make Wendy feel uneasy.”
“In what way?”
“He seemed to have become fixated with her. The cooler and more distant Wendy was with him, the more intense his ardor for her seemed to grow.”
“So as far as you are aware, Mrs. Pike remained devoted to Vessey all the way up until her unfortunate demise and never seriously entertained the notion of taking to the stage.”
“Yes, sir. She was a go
od woman. Her only vice was that she spent a bit too freely, but we are all flawed in some way. She did not deserve to be killed in such a manner.”
“Few people do,” Atlas remarked.
Mrs. Walker turned to Roxbury. “If that is all, my lord, I should like to return to my duties.”
Roxbury looked to Atlas, who gave his assent with a dip of his chin.
“Thank you, Mrs. Walker,” Roxbury said to her. “You may leave us.”
When she was gone, the marquess turned an inquiring look in Atlas’s direction. “Did you learn anything of interest?”
“You intended to bring Lady Lilliana into this house?” Atlas could no longer disguise his contempt. “With your ladybird cozily available just below stairs?”
Roxbury’s nostrils flared. “Watch yourself, Catesby.”
“I thought you would treat her honorably. That is the only reason I agreed to step aside.”
“We both know that is not entirely true.” Roxbury spoke with derision. “You stepped aside not because of some noble sacrifice, but because you know what everybody else in London is well aware of—that you are beneath the lady’s touch.”
Atlas’s face warmed. “From what I have seen here today, neither of us is worthy of her.”
“Not that it is any of your concern,” Roxbury spoke through clenched teeth, “but I settled a generous annuity, the one that so impressed Mrs. Pike, on Mrs. Walker in anticipation of wedding Lady Lilliana. Once our betrothal was official, I intended to engage a new housekeeper.”
Atlas curled his lip. “One wonders whether you would have required the same services of your new housekeeper.”
A muscle twitched in Roxbury’s cheek. “You go too far, Catesby. We are done here.” He reached for the bell pull. “My butler will see you out.”
“Do not bother.” Atlas headed for the door. “I can see myself out.”
Roxbury spoke to Atlas’s retreating form. “You are not fooling anyone with that insufferable honor that you wear like an open wound on your chest for all to admire. The true reason you are not courting the lady is quite obvious.”