by D. M. Quincy
“As well he should.” The color was high in Thea’s face. “The man is a menace. He almost killed you as well.”
Charlton pressed a hand flat against his chest. “It does my heart good to know that you care, Mrs. Palmer.”
But Thea ignored him, her focus on Atlas. “Why didn’t the theater owner tell the truth about seeing Francis backstage. You said you believe he truly loved Mrs. Pike. They were wed after all.”
“Simon Cooke says he protected Francis because he believed it was what Mrs. Pike would want. She would not want her son to hang.”
Lilliana’s eyes rounded. “Even though he killed her?”
Atlas shrugged. “Who knows what Mrs. Pike would have wanted? We cannot ask her, obviously. But Simon Cooke knew her to be a devoted mother who loved her children more than anything. Vessey managed to convince Cooke that Mrs. Pike would have wanted Cooke to protect her son rather than condemn him.”
Before long, they excused themselves from their friends in order to mingle among their other guests.
“Did you go and see the clergyman this afternoon?” Lilliana asked as she took Atlas’s arm and they strolled away. “You mentioned you might do so.”
“I did but he is no longer being held. Samuel Brown has already been transported.”
“That was certainly quick.”
“The man admitted to the crime of stabbing Cooke. His guilt was never in question. All that remained to be seen was the severity of his punishment.”
“How long is his sentence?”
“Ten years. Brown is on his way to America, where he will serve out his sentence in hard labor.”
“Why did he lie about being engaged to Mrs. Pike?”
“Who knows? Perhaps he so badly wanted it to be true that he convinced himself it was so. He was clearly obsessed with the poor woman.”
They paused to exchange mindless pleasantries with guests Atlas was barely acquainted with, but he made every effort to pay attention and feign interest. He could not help but be well aware of the curious gazes that followed them.
Lilliana’s prediction had been correct. Their betrothal had caused a minor sensation in the society pages—the fourth son of a baron with little property winning over the sister of a duke. As they turned away from a group of Somerville’s friends, the couple came to Atlas’s brothers.
Hermes bowed over Lilliana’s hand. “Who would have thought my somber brother would be such a sly one?” he said. “To have landed such a prize.”
“I am certainly undeserving of my good fortune,” Atlas acknowledged. “I am most definitely wedding above myself.”
“Did you know, Lady Roslyn,” Jason, Baron Catesby, interjected, “that the Catesbys can trace their blood back to the Conquerer? You can be assured any children from your union will have the purest of blood.”
“We shall see you both later.” Atlas steered his future bride away from his brothers. “Much later,” he added under his breath.
“What is the hurry?” Lilliana asked Atlas as he led her to the opposite side of the room. “I should have liked to become better acquainted with your brothers. I have barely spoken to them.”
“I prefer that you become acquainted with my brothers after we wed,” he said, “when it will be too late for you to jilt me.”
Her beautiful eyes twinkled. He could barely believe she had consented to wed him. “Surely they are not that disagreeable,” she protested.
“The Catesbys are rather like whiskey. We take some getting used to.”
Her mouth curved into that delightfully crooked smile. “An acquired taste?”
Atlas spotted Nicholas, who bowed as they approached. “May I offer my most sincere congratulations?”
“You may,” Lilliana said. “How do you fare? This must be a most difficult time for your family.”
Nicholas shrugged, his expression one of uncertainty. “My half brother will likely hang. I cannot say I will miss him because I never had the chance to know him.”
“Perhaps that is for the best considering that Francis is a murderer,” Atlas said gently.
“My father is distraught,” Nicholas added. “I am doing my best to be a comfort to him.”
“Lord Vessey is fortunate to have you,” Lilliana said.
Nicholas turned to Atlas. “I owe you my thanks.”
That took Atlas aback. He had fretted that Nicholas would blame him for the misfortune that had befallen his family. “For what?”
“I know my father confessed to you but that you did not believe him. You deserve my thanks because you persisted and found the true killer when it would have been more expedient to blame my father.”
“May I interrupt?” The duke approached, looking as immaculate as always in custom black evening wear that suited his trim form. As was customary for the duke, the question was more of a command, which Nicholas instantly obeyed. After greeting His Grace with the appropriate show of deference, the young man deftly excused himself.
“Are you enjoying the party?” Somerville asked them.
“It is perfect,” Lilliana assured her brother.
Somerville looked to Atlas. “I felt a more elaborate celebration was in order to be truly worthy of a duke’s daughter.”
Atlas surveyed the numerous vases of fresh flowers, thousands of glittering candles, and the dozens of guests. “More elaborate than this?”
“Naturally. I was prepared to host a ball for five hundred, but Roslyn would not hear of it. She insisted upon something small and private.”
Atlas cast a grateful look at Lilliana. “Whatever the lady desires.”
“As to the house I will be gifting you, you will require a minimum of twenty servants in order to run Mallon Place efficiently. The duchy will, of course, cover those expenses.”
Atlas was about to protest, but Lilliana spoke first. “That is incredibly generous of you Matthew.” She was likely the only person in London to call her brother by his Christian name. “However, Atlas and I would like to choose our own home. Perhaps something new. I have never lived in a newly constructed home.”
“Something new?” Somerville’s mouth twisted as though his sister had just suggested she intended to reside in a hut. “But whatever for? I have plenty of properties for you to choose from.”
“I rather fancy the idea of a brand new house after living in old piles for my entire life.” Lilliana’s smiling gaze met Atlas’s. “It would be a fresh start for us in every way.”
“Whatever the lady desires,” Atlas repeated. The idea of purchasing a home for his new family filled him with pleasure. At the age of three-and-thirty, he was finally putting down roots.
Excitement glittered in Lilliana’s eyes. “I have seen that they are building new homes where the Duke of Bedford’s mansion once stood.”
“You intend to reside in Bloomsbury?” Somerville looked pained. “There is a reason Bedford relocated to the West End.”
Lilliana smiled brightly. “I rather like Bloomsbury. It is less stuffy than Mayfair.”
Somerville threw up his hands. “You must do as you like. I suppose I shall have to think of another wedding gift,” the duke said as he wandered away.
“Are you certain that you would prefer to live in Bloomsbury?” Atlas asked after Somerville had gone. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable in Mayfair.”
She took his arm. “Can you be content in Bloomsbury?”
He squeezed her hand. “I shall be happy wherever we live, so long as you and the boys are by my side. My days of traveling are over.”
She looked aghast. “I certainly hope not!”
“Why is that?” Her reaction confused him. “Do you fancy having a husband who is away a great deal of the time?”
“Not at all. But I also should not like for you to give up things that are important to you.”
“There is nothing more important than the family we are creating.”
“Perhaps when you finally do go to India, I shall accompany you,” she said.<
br />
He regarded her with surprise. “But what of the boys?”
“We could engage a tutor and take them with us.”
They came to a closed door, and he realized Lilliana had been directing him to this destination. She had a glint in her eye. “I have a betrothal gift for you as well.”
“That is not necessary.”
“I wanted to.” She pushed open the door, and they were in a room surrounded by maps and globes.
“What is this place?” he asked.
“The Map Room.”
“Naturally,” he remarked. “I should have assumed the duke would have a room dedicated entirely to maps.”
She led him over to the table. And there, laid out before him, was a perfectly put-together puzzle of Lilliana. But it was not the usual formal portrait. The woman in the painting was smiling and unguarded, her eyes warm and open. This was the Lilliana most of the world never saw. It took his breath away.
“Matthew commissioned it months ago. However, after you and I became betrothed, I thought you might like to have it,” Lilliana explained. “I took it to your mapmaker on Regent Street, and he transformed the painting into one of your puzzles to your exact specifications.”
“How did you know where to take it?”
“I asked Jamie.”
“I am surprised the boy managed to keep a secret from me.” He admired the painting of his beloved. “It is perfect.”
“Since your last puzzle was of death, I thought you might like something a little less dark.”
“It is beautiful. As are you.” He took her into his arms. “And I am the most fortunate of men.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Murder at the Opera was loosely inspired by the infamous 1779 murder of Martha Ray, a talented singer and the longtime mistress of the fourth Earl of Sandwich.
Martha and the earl lived together for sixteen years before she was murdered outside of Covent Garden by a young male admirer. Some have suggested that Martha was intimately involved with James Hackman, the soldier turned ordained minister who killed her. Unfortunately, some retellings of the crime blame the victim, casting Martha as a sinful woman who bewitched an innocent man. Other accounts suggest Ray’s murderer stalked her before the killing.
I am grateful to the author Louise Allen, who was kind enough to send me a print copy of her book Walks Through Regency London. I followed Louise’s detailed walking tours during my research trip to London in May 2018.
I love to hear from readers and am very fortunate that reader Polly Brockway knows a thing or two about plants and flowers. She—in consultation with horticultural expert Dr. Michael Dirr—helped ensure that any references to horsechestnuts, horsechestnut trees, and other plants in Murder at the Opera are reasonably accurate. Any errors are my own.
The unique windows with mirrored shutters in Lord Balfour’s home in Murder at the Opera were modeled after ones found in the Waterloo Gallery at London’s Apsley House, home to the first Duke of Wellington and his descendants. Once I witnessed how those shutters work, I couldn’t resist featuring such a clever hiding place in Murder at the Opera. If you’re ever in London and have an opportunity to visit Apsley House, I highly recommend that you seize the chance.
Finally, thank you as always, dear Reader and Friend, for taking the time to spend a few hours in Atlas and Lilliana’s company. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about their adventures as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them.
ALSO AVAILABLE BY D. M. QUINCY
ATLAS CATESBY MYSTERIES
Murder in Bloomsbury
Murder in Mayfair
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
D. M. Quincy is an award-winning journalist who--after covering many unsolved murders--decided to conceive her own stories in which a brilliant amateur detective always gets the bad guy (or girl). As a US Foreign Service brat, D. M. was bitten by the travel bug practically at birth, and like her protagonist Atlas Catesby, tries to visit far-flung places as often as she can. When she isn’t hunched over her laptop researching ways for her villains to kill people, D. M. devours foreign television mystery series on Netflix and plots her next travel adventure. She lives in Virginia with her family.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Dora Mekouar
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-64385-235-5
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-64385-236-2
Cover design by Mimi Bark
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
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First Edition: December 2019
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