Helen left her mother and went downstairs. The shock of that dreadful time had faded with the years. She could face it without flinching and firmly thrust the memories away. Lawley might have forgotten it too, although his anger at what he saw as unfair treatment made it seem unlikely.
She had been bedridden for some weeks following that terrible ball while gossip filled the news sheets and fueled the talk in drawing rooms. Her mother, fearing Helen’s spirits had sunk dangerously low, tended her most lovingly. Mama had insisted that Lawley had taken nothing from Helen that mattered, that she was still the same innocent she’d always been. But Helen knew he’d taken far too much that night, every vestige of her confidence, her hopes, and her dreams. His taunting words as he’d ravaged her were etched into her memory, how he’d sneered when she cried and fought him, saying she should welcome his attentions because she wasn’t very pretty and said he would have preferred to be with one of the Season’s beauties. Struggling with him, she’d hit her head on a stone wall and lost consciousness. She was thankfully unaware of being carried inside by her father to uproar and speculation.
Lawley, a younger son of an impoverished baron, denied everything, saying that the “silly girl” was merely hysterical, but when the ton gave him the cut direct, he’d departed for the Continent soon afterward, leaving behind a mountain of debts. As his pockets were to let, it was Mama’s opinion that he’d sought to compromise Helen and force the marriage.
Her dreams might still be haunted by his violent act, but she refused to give in to what that man had done to her. What she might do if she ever came face to face with him again at some society function, she wasn’t sure, but fury not distress now drove her. She only hoped she would never find out.
A deep sigh escaped her, and then she straightened her shoulders. She must stop this stupid admiration of Lord Peyton. While he did not fit her notion of a rake, one who seduced innocent young women, he might consider a lady of her age to be eager for a light flirtation. And if that was the case, well, he could think again. Tomorrow, she would treat him as she had learned to treat every gentleman she met in society, with her head held high, as if his kiss was a matter of complete indifference to her.
Chapter Eleven
At Kinsey House the next day, Fiske’s face was even more sober than usual, and a heavy aura of expectation hung in the air. “Mr. Dalby from Bow Street called earlier and questioned the family and the staff, milord.”
“Thank you, Fiske.” Jason had expected it after having sent a message to advise the magistrate at Bow Street of his findings, along with the poisoned bottle of tonic.
He entered the drawing room, hoping to find Lady Helen, but Lady Kinsey sat alone.
“Well, what news, Lord Peyton?” she asked. “Bow Street has been most unhelpful.”
“I’m afraid I have no news, Lady Kinsey. But I remain undaunted. I hope to interview the rest of the staff today, beginning with the housekeeper, if that is convenient. And I have some questions for his lordship’s secretary.”
“Of course. But my staff are already most unsettled at having been grilled by Mr. Dalby. He reduced one of the upstairs maids to tears. I know you will deal with them in a more sympathetic manner, but I doubt you’ll learn any more than he did.”
“One can but hope, my lady.”
“Indeed. We must continue until the murderer is found.” Lady Kinsey’s gray eyes darkened. “I pray the matter is at an end before the ball is held.” She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “How could we invite guests to stay at Kinsey House with a murder hanging over our heads?”
“I do understand your concern,” Jason said. “Is there anyone you haven’t mentioned? A recent houseguest perhaps?”
“Only Lord Nicholas, Kinsey’s younger brother. He stayed with us for a month. But I don’t see how he can be of interest to you.”
“When did he leave?”
“Several weeks ago.”
“Has he remained in London?”
“No. I believe he’s in Kent visiting his father, the Marquess, at his country seat, Walcott.”
“He was here when Bart fell ill?”
She frowned, reading his thoughts. “Nicholas left here at around that time.”
When Lady Kinsey’s mouth tightened, Jason sought for a tactful way to ask what he must. Second sons who failed to inherit, or go into the church, the army, or the law, could be short of funds, particularly if a small stipend had to be stretched to accommodate a love of gambling. Lord Nicholas wouldn’t be the first of the beau monde to commit a crime. Especially if money was involved, and Jason considered it a more likely motive than revenge, although he had too little to go on to be sure of anything. “I’m afraid I must ask these difficult questions, my lady.”
“Of course, you must. But Nicholas is a favorite of my children. His nieces and nephews adore him. He’s on the verge of marrying. Why he would want to kill our footman is beyond imagining.” She sighed. “If that is all, Fiske will escort you to the library and notify Mrs. Chance.”
In the library, Jason was exploring more of the fabulous collection when a woman in black came into the room. She had an efficient look about her that seemed to go with housekeepers. Never a hair out of place, and hers, as black as a raven’s wing, was neatly swept beneath her cap. She nodded unsmilingly at him. Her strong features might be called handsome, but even when young, she would never have been pretty. He’d seen the lady enter the garden gate with her basket on the day he first met Lord Tobias and Lady Diana.
“Mrs. Chance, milord.”
“How do you do. Please be seated, Mrs. Chance.”
She sat on the leather sofa and smoothed her skirts with brisk strokes, a chatelaine of keys jingling at her waist. “I fear I shan’t be of much use to you.”
“You packed up Bart’s effects. Can you tell me what you found?”
“Only a few clothes, a book, and his toilette things. His nightclothes were sent to be laundered and used for cleaning cloths. His footman’s livery remains with the house.”
“I believe you and Bart had a disagreement?”
“He was insolent.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “Insolent? How so?”
Her brown eyes grew frosty at the memory. “He refused to run an errand for me.”
“What was the errand?”
“It was merely a note for my brother, advising him that I couldn’t visit that afternoon. Bart read it, which made me very angry with him.”
“How do you know that he read it?”
“Why, he did so in front of me. He was annoyed, said I had no business asking him to deliver personal messages. That he worked for the Kinseys, not me. I planned to go myself, my lord, as my brother expected me, but Lord Nicholas was receiving guests for afternoon tea and we were short staffed. I was needed here.” She bristled defensively. “I was forced to caution Bart over the matter.”
“Was that the only time you had difficulties?”
“No, as a matter of fact. I took him to task again for lighting a fire in the fireplace in his bedchamber. Fires aren’t lit in the staffs’ bedchambers, not during the day and certainly not now the weather is warmer.”
“And what was his answer?”
“Bart told me to mind my own business, my lord. He got quite above his station. I was planning to speak to Fiske about him, but then Bart became ill.” She sighed. “I was sorry then and tried to make him as comfortable as I could.”
“Did Bart get on well with the rest of the staff?”
“As far as I know, milord.”
“That is all, thank you, Mrs. Chance. Could you please advise the kitchen staff that I wish to speak to them? In about half an hour.”
Jason was considering whether to find out which guests Lord Nicholas had entertained when Mr. Thorburn entered.
As he greeted him, Jason was struck again by the man’s pallor. He looked what he was, a veritable bookworm, like those who could be found buried amongst stacks of tomes in librari
es.
“I’ve been hoping to speak to you, my lord.” Thorburn sat down at Jason’s request, his hands resting on his knees, the picture of earnestness. “I want to help in any way I can.”
“You assist Lord Kinsey with his antiquities?”
“Yes. I catalog them, write the necessary correspondence, and sort out where those fascinating finds of his lordship’s should go. Some are offered to museums; others his lordship retains. What you see here is just a small part of it. Lord Kinsey has a fine collection at his country estate. And I am expecting a shipment to arrive in London any day from his recent trip.” His eyes took on a gleam of anticipation.
“What qualifications does one require for such a position?”
Thorburn straightened his back against the leather squab. “I believe myself eminently qualified. I studied archeology at Cambridge and am able to assist his lordship in deciphering meaning from ancient scripts and languages.”
“That must be fascinating work. Do you enjoy it?”
“But of course, my lord. I consider myself very fortunate to have such a position.”
Jason rested one leg on his other knee. “Could Bart have had any enemies?”
“I’ve never seen any evidence of it. I believe he was happy in his employment. Lord Kinsey was quite impressed with him. So much so that he often invited Bart into the library to discuss his work with him.”
“Bart was interested in antiquities?” Jason asked, surprised.
“It certainly appeared so. Lord Kinsey even gave him books to read. I often found his lordship and Bart together studying some scroll or other. I wasn’t entirely sure that was wise. But my employer is a very generous man. Felt sorry for Bart I imagine. It was a tragedy that Bart lost his arm, but he overcame his disability remarkably well. He appeared to take in every word Lord Kinsey said, I must say.”
“Why wouldn’t it be wise for Lord Kinsey to divulge his work?” Jason asked, his thoughts returning to the burned letter.
“Some of it should remain confidential.”
“And why is that?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say, Lord Peyton. You will have to ask Lord Kinsey.”
Jason nodded. “Thank you, Thorburn. If you think of anything, please contact me.”
Wishing to ask Fiske if he might be shown down to the servants’ hall, Jason left the library. He had not mentioned the burned letter or its contents to Thorburn. He doubted he’d get an answer, even if the man knew what the words electric fish referred to. The secretary appeared intent on guarding Kinsey’s secrets. He seemed genuine enough. The son of a wealthy country squire who’d sent his son to university to raise his station in life. But was Thorburn, as he made out, merely a keen student of ancient texts? Happy to remain in Lord Kinsey’s shadow? Or might he have bigger aspirations? And what about Bart’s aspirations? Jason realized how little he knew about him during the war and nothing about the man he’d become.
Wondering if he’d get a chance to see Helen, Jason rounded a corner and cannoned into a small soft body.
“Lady Helen…” He stepped away and searched her startled flushed face. “I wanted to apologize again for taking such liberties yesterday—”
A flush suffused her creamy cheeks. One glance at her delectable mouth and he remembered the sweet softness and the taste of her, discovering he wanted to repeat the action. It appeared he was a lost cause.
“There’s no need, my lord. It was merely the exuberance of the moment and is now forgotten.” Averting her eyes, she hurried on. “You are here to discover who killed Bart, and it’s my intention to assist you in that aim. Now, who else do you plan to see?”
She sounded so brisk his gaze roamed her serious face, searching for a way to put them both at ease. “The kitchen staff. I believe they’re expecting me.”
“As Jeremy is out, I shall take you down myself. Please come this way.”
She had retreated into the brisk, efficient manner of their first meeting. Regretting that it had been his impulsive act that had caused this change, he had an absurd desire to tease her out of it, wanting to hear her laugh. She cloaked her lively intelligence and sense of humor, but every now and then, he caught an intriguing glimpse. There was no chance of it now, however, as she led him down the servants’ stairs. Instead, he told her of his interview with Mrs. Chance.
She shook her head. “That sounds so unlike Bart.”
On reaching the servants’ hall, Lady Helen introduced Jason and left him to speak with young Jinx, Cook, and the kitchen and scullery maids, who had gathered together with the gardener and undergardener, shuffling their feet, hats in hand. He soon found everyone to be distressed and nervous, and he came away with nothing useful.
When he returned to the upper floor again, Lady Helen approached him with a hopeful lift of her eyebrows. He shook his head. “Nothing, I’m afraid.”
“Bow Street dealt rather harshly with them, poor things,” she said. “As if any of them could be responsible for such an act! May I offer you tea, Lord Peyton?”
“I would appreciate it, thank you.” He almost grinned at the inquisitive light in her eye. He suspected that her determination to discover Bart’s killer overrode her desire to keep him at a distance. He wished perversely that he had something exciting to tell her. “The servants all spoke well of Bart. Said he was one of nature’s gentlemen.”
“That is true, he was.”
“Which makes his rebellious attitude toward Mrs. Chance even more difficult to understand. But she did say she understood he was unwell.”
Lady Helen’s big eyes grew misty. “Bart would have been in terrible pain. And unable to perform his duties, which would have hurt his pride. He’d achieved so much since the war.”
“That’s certainly understandable.”
In the drawing room, Lady Helen tugged the bell pull. When Fiske appeared, she ordered the tea. “And please ask Cook to add some of her macaroons,” she instructed him.
Jason acknowledged her thoughtful gesture with a brief smile.
“Mrs. Chance mentioned that Bart lit a fire in the attic fireplace,” Jason said when the footman had left. “Apparently, that isn’t permitted except in winter. I gather they were the ashes from the letter fragment we found in the grate.”
“I haven’t the faintest notion why he would do such a thing. He would never have been deliberately disorderly. And why destroy that letter?” Her eyes glowed with passionate intent. “I do hope we discover who did this!”
“We will,” he said emphatically. He wanted to see that passionate light in her eyes for an entirely different reason. Heat flooded through his body, tightening his loins. Shocked, he sat back and crossed his legs. Lady Helen had the unfortunate effect of turning him into an ungainly youth. But there was something heady in the air, even though they both fought the attraction.
“What if Bart didn’t burn the letter?” Jason asked, enjoying looking at her, the delicate line of her jaw, and her firm chin, where a dimple appeared when she smiled.
“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that.” She ran a finger along her plump bottom lip, which hardly helped him gain control of himself. “It isn’t so farfetched to believe that Bart wrote the letter to warn someone, the reason for which we are yet to discover, and the person who poisoned him burned it.”
Jason smiled into her lovely eyes. “My thoughts exactly.”
The heightened atmosphere dissolved when Lady Kinsey entered.
“I believe Lord Nicholas received guests while he was here?” Jason asked.
Lady Kinsey sat next to her daughter. “It was just before Kinsey departed. Lord and Lady Howard, came with their son, Gareth, and their daughter, Felicity, who is Nicholas’ fiancée.”
“They were discussing the wedding, which is to be held at St George’s next month,” Helen added.
“Had they visited before?”
“But of course,” Lady Kinsey said, “they are regular dinner guests.”
“While Bart was in service?”
/>
“Yes. Both he and Jeremy attended them.”
“Did anyone leave the drawing room during that time?”
Helen nodded thoughtfully. “Lady Felicity left with a maid at one point. And my father, Lord Howard, and Gareth spent an hour in the library with their cheroots and brandy.”
“Did you notice if anyone spoke to Bart?”
“I couldn’t say what occurred in the library, but not here in the drawing room,” Helen said.
Lady Kinsey lowered her head, looking defeated. “I can’t imagine they’ll want to visit us again with this hanging over our heads. But I think you’re drawing a long bow there, Peyton.”
“You are most likely correct, my lady, but I cannot leave any stone unturned,” he said, attempting to hide his frustration.
After a cup of tea and two moreish coconut macaroons, Jason prepared to depart. Seeing Lady Helen again was the highlight of another fruitless search for clues. As the magistrate exhibited no interest in the case, which still could be perceived as an accidental poisoning, he supposed he would now waste the rest of the day at Bow Street.
Hailing a hackney, he sat back and crossed his arms, reflecting on his own surprising behavior. He responded to feminine beauty; he was a man after all. But he couldn’t remember a woman affecting him quite the way Lady Helen did. She didn’t flirt with him. In fact, she’d made it quite plain the kiss was to be forgotten.
A mocking voice in his head suggested that his regret was merely a blow to his ego. It wasn’t. It was something far more profound. He had sensed for some time that Helen carried a wound to her soul, which called to him, perhaps because of his own sad history. He had little confidence this enlightenment would lead them anywhere, however. Not with the strong wall she’d built around herself to keep out the world. But it had become imperative that he earn her trust.
***
When her mother became busy with her charity, she asked Helen to discuss the preparations for the ball with Mrs. Chance.
Unmasking Lady Helen: The Kinsey Family (The Kinsey Family Series Book 1) Page 10