Murder at the Opera

by D. M. Quincy

  “You were loath to tell me you hated your father’s mistress? Why hide such a thing?”

  “Because it is ungentlemanly of me to condescend to despising a woman like Mrs. Pike, a demi-rep that all of society thinks is beneath my notice.” Nicholas slumped back into his chair. “The family of a gentleman is meant to ignore such associations.”

  “Did you tell Mrs. Pike that you wished she were dead?”

  “I did.” Nicholas hung his head. “I know it was beneath me to behave in such a manner. To show that kind of emotion in public.”

  “Did you encounter Mrs. Pike at Covent Garden by chance on the day you confronted her?”

  “No. I sought her out. When I came down from university, Mrs. Pike was not in residence at my father’s home on Cavendish Square. I learned my father had moved her to Admiralty House. My father has apartments there due to his position.”

  Atlas knew that Vessey, in addition to being in the House of Lords, also held a high political position in the navy. “I am aware that there are ministerial flats there.”

  “I was curious to see what she looked like, to learn more about the woman who’d captivated my father for all of these years. I saw her come out of the Admiralty. My coachman confirmed who she was. I ordered him to follow her. She went to Covent Garden.”

  “What time of day was this?”

  “Late afternoon.”

  “Do you know what she was doing there?” Atlas assumed Wendy had gone to visit Cooke.

  Nicholas shook his head. “She was inside the theater for about an hour. I spoke to her when she came out.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She refused to speak with me. At first she completely ignored me.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “She finally broke her silence. But only to say that my father would be very angry with her if he knew we had spoken. I was in a state of extreme frustration. For years I had thought of what I would say when I finally met the woman who had cast such a long shadow over my life. And once the moment was finally upon us, she refused to utter a single word of any consequence. I was extraordinarily agitated, and that’s when I told her that I hated her and wished she were dead.”

  “How did she respond?”

  “She didn’t. She just rushed away to her waiting carriage. And I was immediately ashamed for accosting her.”

  Atlas did not know what to believe. He fervently wanted to take Nicholas at his word. But the truth was that Atlas did not know Nicholas at all, despite their shared bloodline. He had no idea at all what lengths the boy would go to in order to get what he wanted.

  “Did your father learn about the incident?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Pike told him.” Anger flashed in Nicholas’s eyes. “She no doubt wanted my father to think less of me.”

  “I imagine Vessey spoke to you about it.”

  “Yes, he told me I must never accost Mrs. Pike again. That is was beneath me to give a woman of her status any notice at all.”

  Meanwhile Vessey could do as he pleased. The irony of that was not lost on Atlas. “Where were you the evening Jasper was killed?”

  Shock flooded Nicholas’s face. “Surely, you cannot think—”

  The pain in Atlas’s head ratcheted up. “Please just answer the question.”

  “On Wednesday last?” Nicholas paused to consider his answer. “I stayed at home on Cavendish Square. The servants will attest to that.”

  Atlas felt certain that the paid staff would confirm Nicholas’s story. But could the word of servants be trusted when their livelihoods were at stake? “I see. And the evening Mrs. Pike was killed?”

  “I was with Jasper. We went to a cockfight in Camden Town.”

  “Just you and Jasper alone?”

  Nicholas nodded.

  “I suppose there is no one who can confirm your story?” It was either extraordinarily bad luck or a convenient lie. “Someone, perhaps, who is still alive?”

  “You must believe me.” Nicholas’s pleading gaze met Atlas’s eyes. “I may have been jealous of the role Mrs. Pike played in my father’s life, but I am not capable of murder.”

  * * *

  That afternoon the sun made a rare appearance, staying in place long enough for Atlas to escort Lilliana to Hatchard’s Bookshop on Piccadilly.

  The previous afternoon, before their frosty parting at the opera, Atlas had sent around a note thanking Lilliana for the food basket. He’d also taken the opportunity to share what he’d learned from his nephew about Jasper Balfour’s indebtedness to Harry Dean. Lilliana had promptly responded by asking Atlas to escort her to Hatchard’s.

  Atlas suspected the true reason she desired his escort was so that she could interrogate him in person about Balfour and the debt he owed Dean. He also welcomed the opportunity to discuss what he’d learned about Nicholas.

  Somerville’s coachman dropped them at the corner of Duke Street. As they strolled down Piccadilly, Atlas shared everything he’d learned. Lilliana’s haughty froideur tended to thaw a bit whenever they discussed the investigation.

  “Surely Nicholas is not capable of such an act,” Lilliana said.

  Atlas fervently hoped she was right. “There is something I cannot get out of my head.”

  “What is that?”

  “When Vessey first saw Mrs. Pike’s body, he said, ‘Oh, Wendy, what has he done to you?”

  “You fear he was speaking of Nicholas.”

  “It is possible. I haven’t wanted to seriously contemplate that my own nephew could be a killer. Now I realize I must force myself to consider all possibilities, including the ones that horrify me.”

  “Mr. Dean appears to be as likely a suspect as Nicholas,” she remarked as they walked past the Fortnum and Mason grocery shop.

  “Dean is known to lose control when he drinks a great deal,” he agreed. “It is entirely possible that he was foxed on the evening Mrs. Pike was killed.”

  “And was not in his right mind?”

  “It is possible.”

  “That suggests that, in this altered state, Dean induced Jasper to kill Mrs. Pike in revenge against Francis Pike for humiliating him at the duel.”

  They came to the bookshop’s dark green exterior, where the double doors were flanked by two bow windows. The scent of leather and books engulfed them as soon as they stepped inside. Books were set out on wooden tables and lined the shelf stacks, and a wide staircase led to an upper level.

  Lilliana walked purposefully the back of the shop.

  “Are you looking for a book in particular?” Atlas asked.

  “Yes, Peter has become very fond of reading.” She slowed before a book-lined wall and slowly walked alongside it, her gaze traveling up and down, perusing the titles. “He has requested the book Robinson Crusoe.

  “Is that not a bit advanced for a boy of nine?”

  “He shall be ten soon. Ah, here it is.” She pulled a title from the bookcase. “Peter is very clever and excels at reading. He has asked for this particular book, so we shall see how he manages. If it proves too difficult at present, it shall not be long before he will be able to read it. Children learn so quickly.”

  “Robinson Crusoe! That is one of my favorites.” Atlas turned toward the man’s voice and found himself face-to-face with Harry Dean, who had a couple of books tucked under one arm.

  “Mr. Dean.” Atlas hid his pleasure at this very convenient chance encounter. “Allow me to present Lady Roslyn, sister of the Duke of Somerville. Lady Roslyn, this is Mr. Dean. Mr. Harry Dean.”

  Curiosity glimmered in Dean’s gaze as he bowed. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

  “And I yours, Mr. Dean.” She exchanged glances with Atlas, a speculative look in her eyes.

  Dean held up the books he was holding. “I am purchasing these particular titles for my book society.”

  “If you gentlemen will excuse me,” Lilliana said, “I shall go and purchase Robinson Crusoe for my son.”

  Dean bowed.
“And I shall continue my hunt for new titles.”

  “Just a moment more of your time, if you please,” Atlas said as the younger man turned to go.

  Dean paused, his eyes wary. “Yes?”

  “It’s about Jasper Balfour. I understand he owed you a great deal of money.”

  “At one time, yes, that is true.”

  “At one time?”

  Dean remained perfectly still. “He paid off the debt in full not too long ago.”

  “When exactly did Jasper clear up his debt to you?”

  A few moments passed before Dean answered. “It was at the beginning of this month. If I had to wager a guess, I would say the fourth or fifth of November.”

  Atlas went through the calendar in his head. Jasper had given Dean the money two or three days after Mrs. Pike’s murder. “Do you know where he obtained the money to pay you back?”

  “I have no idea. As I said, I was quite surprised when he came to me with the means to absolve the debt.”

  “Do you have proof Jasper paid you?”

  Dean huffed a laugh. “How could I possibly prove that? I no longer have the vowels. Naturally I returned them to Jasper once his debt was paid.”

  “Did anyone witness this?”

  “No,” Dean said guardedly, “that is not the sort of transaction one conducts in public.”

  “Do you happen to know whom else Jasper owed money to?”

  Dean shrugged. “Everyone at some point or another. He even used to record it all in a notebook in order for him to keep track of his debts.” He gave a sad smile. “Jasper was honorable. He took paying off his debts very seriously.”

  The two men parted ways, and Atlas rejoined Lilliana.

  “Well?” she demanded. “What did Mr. Dean say?”

  “That Jasper paid off his debt in full two or three days after Mrs. Pike died.”

  “Oh.” She contemplated that bit of news. “That does not help much, does it?”

  “If Dean is the killer, it is possible that he absolved Jasper of all his debts so that Jasper would not disclose that Dean killed Mrs. Pike.”

  “Or,” Lilliana offered, “if Mr. Dean is not the culprit, the true killer paid Jasper to keep him quiet, and Jasper used that money to repay Mr. Dean what was owed to him.”

  “Fortunately, we are not out of clues as of yet. Jasper apparently had a habit of recording all of his debts in a notebook.”

  “The killer’s name could be written down in it.”

  “It is entirely possible. The notebook might still be in Jasper’s rooms at the Albany.”

  “Well then, there is nothing to be done for it,” she said pertly. “We must search Jasper’s rooms.”

  “We?”

  “You might need someone to create a diversion while you access Jasper’s rooms. I can be quite useful.”

  He bristled. “I cannot put you in that kind of danger.”

  “You speak as though I am a reticule to be placed somewhere. But I am not. I will put myself wherever I care to, and at the moment that means I am going to the Albany.” Marching in the direction of the gentleman’s apartments, which were located just across Piccadilly, she called back over her shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

  CHAPTER 25

  “What the devil are you doing?” Atlas hissed as Lilliana climbed in through the window behind him. “You should not be in here.”

  “Neither should you.” She accepted his proffered hand like a queen descending from her carriage, rather than an interloper breaking into Jasper Balfour’s cozy set at the Albany. “That is why we are coming in through the window rather than the front door.”

  “You comprehend exactly what I mean.” He spoke in a harsh whisper lest they be overheard by any of the building’s residents. “You should have stayed in the carriage.”

  “That would hardly be fair. Neither of us would be in here at all had I not bribed the maid.” Once she steadied herself, Lilliana straightened and surveyed their surroundings. Jasper’s bedchamber appeared much as the young man had left it—the bed linens in crumpled disarray, a half-empty glass of brandy by the bedside.

  Atlas became keenly aware of Lilliana’s warm presence beside him in these close quarters, of the scent of jasmine and cloves intermingling with stale air and notes of shaving soap. His cheeks burned. A lady had no business in this intimate bachelor space.

  But Lilliana’s enterprising ways, her spotting and waylaying a maid leaving the Albany, were the reason they were here now. The servant had willingly pointed out Jasper’s one-bedroom apartments in return for a monetary token of appreciation.

  Atlas had waited with Lilliana in Somerville’s carriage until dark before making his way toward the back of the building and along its ropewalk way until he found the correct apartments. Lilliana had followed, much to his dismay.

  “I can only imagine what the duke will say if we are caught,” he said in a low voice.

  “Then let us make certain we are not found,” she whispered brightly, turning to go through the drawers of the writing bureau. “We must make haste. I have an engagement this evening.”

  He scowled. “With Northampton I presume?”

  “As a matter of fact, the earl is my escort for the evening.”

  He watched as she methodically went through each small wooden drawer. “What would Northampton say about your running around in this manner?”

  “I have no idea.” She did not look up from her task. “Feel at liberty to ask him if you would like.”

  He fumed a little at her easy references to Northampton. “Will you inform him that you were here? With me?”

  “Will you inform Somerville that you brought me here?”

  “I most certainly did not bring you here,” he retorted in a loud whisper, refusing to be distracted. “Somerville says Northampton intends to marry you.”

  “Yes, that does seem to be his aim.”

  “You should inform the earl that he needs to look elsewhere.”

  Her head snapped up. “Is that so?” Even in the dim light, he saw the defiance that flashed in her eyes. “And why is that?”

  “Because if you wed anyone, it is going to be me.”

  “How dare you—” she halted abruptly when the words sank in. “What?”

  Beyond the bedchamber, the sound of the front door opening and then quietly clicking shut reached them. They weren’t alone. Atlas and Lilliana froze. Hers eyes went wide. Atlas set his pointing finger in front of his pursed mouth, urging her to keep silent. He gestured for her to stay where she was while he silently went to investigate.

  He peered around the doorframe. A man in dark clothing stood with his back to Atlas, searching the bookshelves behind the sofa. The man hadn’t lit a lamp, which suggested he too was an interloper with about as much business being in Jasper’s apartments as Atlas and Lilliana had. And if the intruder had come for the notebook, Atlas might well be looking at Jasper’s killer, and possibly Wendy’s as well.

  He turned back to Lilliana, gesturing for her to hide herself, once again cursing himself for allowing the lady to place herself in danger. It was entirely possible she stood only a few feet from a murderer.

  He went forward, tiptoeing into the darkened sitting room before realizing the interloper was no longer in view. He blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness when something slammed into his head.

  “Oomph!” Atlas staggered from the force of the blow. Dizzy, his eyes adjusted enough to steal a glimpse of his attacker, who was cloaked in shadow, his face obscured. The interloper grabbed an unlit lantern and swung it at Atlas, who ducked just in time, struggling through his dizziness to stay on his feet. The man hurled the lantern at Atlas, who bobbed out of the way.

  Atlas hunched over with his head in his hands, deliberately feigning more disorientation than he actually felt. The ruse proved effective. His attacker advanced as Atlas hoped he would. When the man was within reach, Atlas made his move. He raised his right elbow and brought it down with brute force. The m
an jerked away just in time to save his face. But Atlas jabbed his left elbow in a rapid-fire motion. The grisly sound of cracking bone confirmed the full force of his jab had connected with the man’s body.

  The man moaned and dropped to his knees beneath the sitting room’s open window. As Atlas moved toward him, Lilliana called out, “Have a care!”

  He spun around, furious beyond belief. “What are you doing in here? I told you to stay in the other room.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “What if you had been hurt? I was standing by to render assistance as needed. But you are clearly more than capable.” Admiration gleamed in her eyes. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  The exchange took just seconds, but it proved long enough for Atlas’s attacker to leap to his feet and throw himself from the window.

  Atlas cursed and dashed after him. He reached the window in time to see the man sprinting away, disappearing into the shadows.

  Lilliana appeared at the window beside him. She peered into the darkness. “Will you go after him?”

  “How do you propose I do that? The entire building is full of young bachelors, and I was not able to get a good look at my attacker. He has likely already blended in with the residents.” Hellfire and damnation. Despite his frustration, Atlas felt a frisson of relief that the attacker was gone. He didn’t want the man anywhere near Lilliana.

  He blew out his cheeks. “The man was probably here for the same reason we are. He came for the notebook and might well have absconded with it.”

  “If he was here for the notebook, that would make him the—” She paused as the implications sank in.

  “Murderer,” he said, finishing the statement for her. “Precisely. In all likelihood, we have just met the man who murdered both Mrs. Pike and Jasper Balfour.”

  She glanced around the room. “I think we should continue looking for the notebook. The intruder was not here for very long. What is the likelihood that he was able to locate it in such a short time?”