Murder at the Opera

by D. M. Quincy

  “They were sent over by a friend—well, not a friend exactly.” Atlas realized he was bumbling. “They were made by the Duke of Somerville’s cook.”

  Now both young men, Nicholas and Jamie, wore identical smirks on their faces.

  “Ah. Why does that not surprise me in the least?” Nicholas’s eyes brimmed with amusement. “Should we expect a happy announcement in the near future?”

  Atlas shook his head. “You really are a Catesby.”

  Pausing in the open doorway, Nicholas looked delighted. “How so?”

  “You have already demonstrated quite the knack for being a prying nuisance.”

  Atlas headed back to his sitting room, ignoring the quiet laughter of the two young men that followed him.

  * * *

  Atlas found few things as riveting as watching Juliet Jennings perform.

  That evening, from his perch in the Duke of Somerville’s box, he focused his full attention on the songstress down below on the stage. Dressed in shimmering blue silk, Juliet sang with power and emotion, her voice weighty and full. She was mesmerizing.

  Juliet was one of those rare women whose vocal talent eclipsed her considerable beauty. Indeed, it was Juliet’s enrapturing performances that had prompted Atlas to pursue a liaison with her all those years ago. He’d fallen in love with her talent well before being introduced to the woman herself.

  At the intermission, he turned to find Somerville watching him with an imperturbable expression on his young face. Dressed in his dark evening finery, the duke looked as flawless as ever. “Enjoying the opera?”

  “Very much.” Atlas scanned the vacant three rows of blue seats in the ducal box, which was lit by an overhead chandelier. But there was no sign of Lilliana.

  “Where has Lady Roslyn gone?” he asked.

  “While you were mesmerized by the fair Mrs. Jennings, my sister decided to take a turn with a friend.”

  Atlas frowned. “I could have escorted her.”

  “She left prior to the intermission and did not care to interrupt your very apparent enjoyment of the opera.”

  Atlas sprang to his feet. “I shall go and find her. If you will excuse me.”

  “Please do be seated.” The duke gestured with one elegant, manicured hand. “There is something I should like to discuss with you before my sister returns.”

  “Can it not wait?” Atlas was eager to find Lilliana. It perturbed him that he had not even heard her leave the box. There were times when he became so engrossed in something that the rest of the world faded away like the murky, indistinct background of an oil painting.

  “No, actually, it cannot.” Somerville’s voice was firm. “Please do sit.”

  It was more of a command than a request. Despite his youth, His Grace had the air of a man used to giving orders and having them followed without question.

  Atlas chose to do as Somerville asked, not because the man was a duke, but because of the deference he deserved as Lilliana’s brother. He perched on the edge of his seat. “What is it, Your Grace?”

  “I should like to know what your intentions are toward my sister.”

  Atlas allowed his full weight to sink into the chair. “My intentions?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I hold Lady Roslyn in the highest esteem.”

  The duke steepled his tapered fingers under his chin. “Go on.”

  Atlas resisted the urge to shift in his seat under Somerville’s expectant gaze. He understood what the man was asking. “She is the sister of a duke.”

  “And? Her last husband was a merchant. You are a considerable improvement over Godfrey Warwick.”

  “Most men would be.” He cleared his throat, which felt somewhat clogged. “She had little choice in the matter then. Now she can freely choose a husband.”

  “I fear my sister’s time among the masses has diminished her sense of duty to her rank.”

  Atlas met Somerville’s gaze. “Am I to understand that you would have no objection?”

  “My sister must do as she pleases. I rather think that Roslyn has suffered enough, do you not agree?”

  “I am not certain that the lady wishes to be courted by me.”

  The duke stared at him. “I credited you with possessing greater sense than that, Catesby.”

  Atlas’s cheeks heated. “Although she welcomes my friendship, I cannot be certain that Lady Roslyn wishes to deepen our acquaintance any further.”

  Somerville scoffed. “Why do you think she rejected proposals of marriage from both the Marquess of Roxbury and the Earl of Northhampton?”

  Atlas’s head snapped back. “Northhampton?” He knew about Roxbury, but Northhampton? “Lilliana … er … Lady Roslyn … rebuffed an offer from Northhampton? When did this occur?”

  “Quite recently.”

  Jealousy cut through him. “I have never seen her with Northhampton.” Atlas was not acquainted with Lilliana’s latest suitor, but he did know who the man was. The earl was younger than Atlas and not unhandsome.

  “He has apparently admired Roslyn from afar for some time.” Somerville favored Atlas with a pointed look. “It seems he held back because he assumed her interest was elsewhere.”

  “I see.” That may have been true at one point, but Atlas now doubted Lilliana was keen to pursue a future with him.

  “Northhampton has reassured Lilliana that he is a patient man. He is willing to wait until she is ready to become his wife.”

  Atlas stopped short of blurting out, Like Hades he will!

  “If you do not wish to offer for Roslyn, I cannot force you,” the duke continued smoothly. “However, if you do not intend to court my sister, then I must insist that you step aside and allow her to examine her many other opportunities.”

  Atlas’s hand fisted in his lap. “I am not standing in her way.”

  “Your very presence in London obstructs her path to contentment. If you truly wish the best for her, you will take yourself away from town and allow Roslyn to get on with her life.”

  “What is it exactly that you expect from me? Surely, you are not asking me to retire to the country.”

  “No, indeed, although the English countryside is a place of unparalleled beauty. You are a traveler. Why not take another voyage once you have completed the investigation into Mrs. Pike’s death?”

  “You are asking me to go away.”

  “Yes, the farther the better. Roslyn mentioned that you were interested in sailing for India last summer. Perhaps you should reconsider taking that journey”

  It would take at least six months to reach India, a land Atlas had always longed to visit. However, at the moment, the thought of such a voyage held about as much appeal as a toothache.

  The duke seemed to take Atlas’s momentary silence as acquiescence. “I would be more than happy to fund such a journey,” he added, “as well as expenses for you to remain in India for at least a year, and even longer if you so wish. In the best accommodations possible, of course. Money is no object.”

  Atlas’s temper snapped. “Do you truly believe I would take money from you?” He all but snarled the question.

  “No.” Somerville seemed oddly gratified by Atlas’s show of open hostility. “I did not.”

  “Then why did you offer it?”

  Somerville gave an eloquent shrug. “Is it not obvious?”

  “Is what not obvious?” Lilliana had reappeared, but she was not alone. The friend who’d taken her for a turn about the theater stood at her side. Atlas and Somerville rose to their feet.

  “Welcome back, my dear sister.” Somerville turned to Atlas and gestured to the man by Lilliana’s side. “Catesby, have you met the Earl of Northhampton?”

  CHAPTER 24

  Atlas somehow managed to make it through the remainder of Juliet’s performance without punching either Northhampton or Somerville in the mouth.

  Northhampton had promptly accepted Somerville’s invitation to join them in the ducal box and settled himself in the front row on
Lilliana’s right side, with Atlas sitting to her left. Lilliana and the earl chatted quietly while Atlas remained silent, his rigid arms crossed tight over his chest. Although his eyes were trained on Juliet, Atlas saw nothing but his own fury. His insides broiled as Lilliana entertained her latest suitor.

  The earl excused himself as soon as the show ended to return to his own box, where his mother entertained some of her friends. Somerville offered his arm to Lilliana, and Atlas followed as they strolled down the stone-paved corridor. When the duke paused to greet some acquaintances, Lilliana turned to Atlas.

  “I see you have a new suitor,” he said before she could speak.

  “Yes. You certainly seemed captivated by Mrs. Jennings.” She delivered the words in the frosty tone she normally reserved for distant acquaintances.

  “By her performance, yes. I would have thought Roxbury is the better match for you, considering that he is a marquess. Northhampton is merely an earl.”

  “Still making assumptions about my suitors? I would have thought you’d learned to refrain from presuming anything concerning my future.”

  The word suitors raked across his nerves. Before he could cobble together a suitable response, Somerville’s acquaintances took their leave, and the duke turned to his sister. “Shall we?”

  Lilliana took her brother’s arm. “Yes, let’s.”

  Beyond Somerville, a familiar face separated from the crowd. Francis Pike. The young man’s entourage included Vessey, and then Atlas’s surprised gaze landed on a somber, pale-faced Nicholas trailing his father and half brother. It seemed Vessey had finally seen fit to introduce his two sons to each other. An urgent instinct to protect Phoebe’s son overcame him.

  “Coming Catesby?” Somerville called over his elegant shoulder.

  “Do excuse me. I see a friend.” Atlas bowed, his attention still on Nicholas. “I shall take my leave of you here, if I may.”

  “Good night then.” Lilliana dismissed him in an icy tone that could freeze the Thames in July.

  The duke dipped his chin. “Good evening.” Somerville’s knowing expression suggested he assumed Atlas intended to quit the field of suitors eager to court Lilliana. Atlas left them to make his way toward Nicholas.

  “Atlas!” a familiar male voice called out. Atlas ignored the summons as he battled his way through the crush toward his nephew. “I say, Atlas”—the voice was much closer now—“where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  Atlas halted, allowing Jason, the eldest of the Catesby offspring, and the brother who had inherited their late father’s title, to catch up with him.

  “There you are.” Jason raised a gold-and-diamond-encrusted lorgnette to peer at his younger brother. “I thought that was you in the Duke of Somerville’s box with Lady Roslyn.”

  Atlas looked beyond Jason, searching the crush of people for a glimpse of Nicholas. “I am rather in a hurry.”

  “The gossips say you are courting the lady.” Nothing would please Jason more than an alliance with one of England’s finest families. He’d taken his elevation to baron very seriously and felt it his duty to raise the standing of the Catesby name. “It would be a most agreeable connection for our family. Would Somerville allow such a match?”

  Atlas suppressed a groan. “I must go.”

  “Wait,” Jason said before Atlas could escape. “Do you know how Charlton is getting on? I heard he was shot. Terrible thing that!”

  Surveying the scene ahead of him, Atlas couldn’t see Nicholas. “Charlton is recovering.”

  “Are you still rather well acquainted with the earl? That is a friendship you should continue to cultivate.”

  Atlas resisted the urge to snatch Jason’s lorgnette out of his hands and grind it under his heel. “I am leaving now.” He turned to go.

  “I comprehend that you think I am ridiculous, but I am looking out for future generations of Catesbys.” Jason walked in lockstep with Atlas. “Whom exactly are you looking out for?”

  Supremely uninterested in pursuing this conversation with his brother, Atlas murmured his farewell and quickened his pace, rapidly losing Jason in the crush. He trotted down the grand staircase and out onto the piazza in search of his nephew. However, the only familiar face he found in the crush belonged to Francis Pike.

  “Mr. Catesby,” Pike said. “Did you enjoy the performance?”

  “Very much, thank you. Did I see Nicholas with you?”

  “Yes, but he’s gone on ahead with some of his friends. I am awaiting our father, who is still inside.”

  Atlas studied Pike’s ashen face. “You do not look well.”

  Pike gave a wan smile. “What is a man supposed to look like after his father insists upon spending an evening at the very place where his mother was gunned down not three weeks past?”

  Atlas felt a pang of disgust at Vessey’s profound insensitivity. “I could not even begin to conceive it.”

  “Additionally, his lordship also chose this evening to officially introduce me to Nicholas.”

  “Why ever would he choose this time and this place for such an encounter?” Atlas shook his head. “I can only imagine the strain you have been under.”

  “Thank you for your concern.” Pike’s shoulders slumped as he surveyed the scene around him. “I think I shall follow Nicholas’s example and find my own way home.”

  After Pike took his leave, Atlas decided to walk home to Bond Street rather than attempt to hail a hackney. Crossing the crowded piazza, he spotted the fruit vendor hawking her wares. He saw that Mary White had cornered a potential customer, a tall, well-dressed gentleman, who seemed to be listening intently as the woman shifted the weight of the oranges that she carried in the sling around her neck.

  The man reached into his pocket and dropped payment into Mary’s open palm. But she continued to hold her hand out until the gentleman withdrew more money and deposited it into her hand.

  Atlas smiled inwardly. It seemed he wasn’t alone in taking pity on Mary for the heavy burden she carried. The customer shifted, and light from the oil lamps suspended overhead cut across the older man’s haggard face. To Atlas’s astonishment, he saw a momentary flash of Vessey’s face before the crush of theatergoers obscured his view of the man.

  What was Vessey up to? The marquess was the last person in the metropolis to display any sort of altruism. Atlas had no idea what to make of what he’d witnessed. But he intended to make it his business to get to the bottom of it.

  * * *

  “Good evening, Mary,” Atlas called out once he neared the fruit vendor.

  “Guv!” The woman’s lined face lit up. “Come ta buy something?”

  “Possibly. If you have what I am looking for.”

  “Wut is it yer wantin’ ta know now, guv?”

  “That gentleman you were just speaking with, the finely dressed one who paid you handsomely.”

  Expectation filled every line in her face, the prospect of another sizable payday no doubt boosting her mood. “Wot about ’im?”

  Atlas pulled his leather wallet from his pocket. “What did he want from you?”

  “Maybe ’e wanted some oranges.”

  “Very well.” Atlas returned his wallet to his pocket.

  “Not so quick there, guv,” Mary said urgently. “’E wanted me ta keep quiet.”

  Atlas kept his wallet within her view. “About what?”

  “I seen ’is son arguin’ with Mrs. Pike.”

  “Francis Pike? You saw Francis Pike arguing with Mrs. Pike? When was this?”

  Mary shrugged. “Don’t know ’is name. But I do know it were ’is lordship’s heir.”

  Atlas stilled. “Surely not the heir.”

  She nodded. “The heir. Not ’is bastard. I knows the difference. I seen ’um both come and go before.”

  Atlas felt the blood drain from his face. “You are telling me Vessey just paid you to keep quiet about seeing his heir, Nicholas, argue with Mrs. Pike?”

  “Yes, sir.” She nodded and held out her
open palm.

  Atlas ignored it. “When did this argument occur?”

  “’Bout a week before someone done ’er in.”

  “Could you hear what they argued about?”

  “Na. I ’eard the cove scream at ’er. Said she ruined ’is life. Said ’e ’ated ’er and wished she were dead.”

  * * *

  The following morning, fearing the worst and dreading what he might learn, Atlas sent a note around to Nicholas, requesting that he call at his earliest convenience.

  “I had rather hoped Lady Roslyn had sent over another basket,” his nephew remarked as the two men settled into the deep chairs in Atlas’s sitting room. When Atlas did not respond, Nicholas paused to examine his uncle’s face. “Are you unwell?”

  “I was unable to sleep last evening.” Atlas had spent a restless night contemplating the very real possibility that his nephew had murdered Wendy Pike. Nicholas had lied about never having met the woman. Who knows what other information he’d withheld.

  “I am sorry to hear it,” Nicholas said sympathetically.

  Atlas’s head throbbed. It felt like a stonemason was hammering away at his temple. “I could not rest after discovering that you have not been truthful with me.”

  “Is this about meeting Francis Pike? I give you my word that I did not know who he was when I admired his shooting skills at Manton’s.”

  “You claimed you’d never met Mrs. Pike.” Atlas pressed the tips of his fingers hard against his forehead. “Not only did you meet your father’s companion, you argued with her in a public place.”

  Nicholas paled.

  “Do you deny it?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “I was ashamed to tell you the truth.”

  “Why?” Atlas forced himself to ask the question, even though he wasn’t certain he wanted to know the answer. “Because you killed Mrs. Pike?”

  “No!” Nicholas vaulted out of the chair. “I could never harm anyone.”

  “Then what?” Atlas stared up at his sister’s son. “What were you ashamed to tell me?”

  “How much I hated Mrs. Pike. How often I wished she were dead. If she were gone, then my father would finally choose me.” Nicholas’s voice caught. “Of course, I did not know about Francis then. I was not aware that my father had another son that he prefers. How was I to know that all of these years he was spending time with that woman’s bastard while I was away at school?”