by Louise Allen
Then I was too busy fielding questions to see how he was faring. Yes, I was a distant cousin of Lord Radcliffe. Yes, I really was from Boston in the United States. No, I hadn’t been presented at Court, yes, England was very exciting and London was wonderful and as soon as I was fully well I intended exploring and going to the theatre and opera. Yes, I had hired a house, but I wasn’t receiving yet because my companion was laid low with an er – lowering of eyelids, mumbling – a feminine complaint.
There was an immediate flutter of interest, the ladies moved closer, assumed expressions of concern and sympathy. ‘And it was so awful,’ I lamented. ‘I wanted to find the best doctor for her, because you know what it is like in a strange town, one just doesn’t know where to turn to find someone really reliable, especially for something, well, personal. So I mentioned it, as discreetly as I could, to my cousin and he said he had met a Doctor Talbot socially and that he had a very good reputation from what he could gather, so why not start by calling on him to see what I thought? Because I couldn’t expose poor Mildred to anyone who wasn’t totally reassuring and gentlemanly.’
It was obvious that they had all heard about Talbot because there was a collective gasp. Goodness knows what anyone observing us would think, because they were clustered round so closely that I might as well have been handing out ten pound notes.
‘So, we went around yesterday without an appointment because Mildred was in such discomfort. It is an intimate irritation, you see,’ I added in a whisper. ‘And we found the doctor’s manservant in a worry because he hadn’t seen him all morning and Cousin Lucian agreed something should be done and got the man to open up the consulting rooms – and there he was. Dead.’
There were gasps, then one matron said, ‘You didn’t see anything?’
‘Goodness, no. But I couldn’t help but overhear. His head, a poker – the hearthrug…’ I finished with a tremble. I hoped I wasn’t overdoing it, but they seemed to be lapping up the drama. It seemed awful to make such a production over the poor man’s horrible death, but if it helped find his killer, I was willing to go all out.
‘How dreadful for you.’ One elderly lady patted my hand.
I smiled bravely. ‘Did any of you know him?’ No-one seemed to be exactly distressed by the doctor’s death itself.
‘He delivered all of my grandchildren.’ Now who was that? I wracked my brains. Ah yes, Lady Chesterfield. ‘A most competent accoucheur with an excellent manner. Quite the gentleman.’
‘I had him for the birth of my second,’ a younger lady whispered. ‘And how I wished I had consulted him for the first!’
‘I recommended him, did I not, Lady Winbush?’ That was Mrs Notting. I thanked my stars for the memory exercises we’d been taught in Special Constable training. ‘He was wonderful with poor dear Charlotte, my sister, when she reached that troublesome time of life, if you understand me. So sympathetic.’
‘I thought he was patronising,’ remarked a tall young woman who had been silent up until then. She looked unhappy, or perhaps simply subdued, and had a rather top-heavy bosom, emphasised by too much lace. She sniffed and gave her dark curls a toss. ‘I mean, I went to him because I was in such discomfort every month and he just said I needed more exercise and shouldn’t coddle myself. All I can say is he was lucky not to have to go through that, time after time!’
‘Not such bad advice,’ one of the younger married women remarked, earning herself a glare from the sufferer. ‘Of course, that is one of the things that marriage is a cure for, I’ve found,’ she added with a naughty laugh. Some the ladies shushed her and looked disapproving, the rest laughed too. But the indiscretion seemed to remind the older women that there were innocents amongst them and the group began to break up.
‘Oh dear, I have scandalised the tabbies,’ the culprit remarked to me.
‘The doctor gave her good advice, in my opinion,’ I said. ‘Naturally I couldn’t possibly comment on your observation. But I am sorry if what I said about Doctor Talbot upset her.’
She laughed. ‘Were we introduced? You are Miss Lawrence, aren’t you? I am Chloe Armistead. My husband is that dashing brute over there, Viscount Turnham.’ She fluttered her fingers at a rather gorgeous blond with broad shoulders and long legs who grinned back. ‘Don’t mind Miss Reece, she’s recovering from a major family upset – they say she refused to marry some ghastly distant cousin her papa was set on, so the poor girl’s been in disgrace. Enough to make anyone want some coddling.’
‘Miss Reece? Is she the daughter of Sir Thomas?’
‘Yes. He’s not so bad – a bit of a dry stick – but her mama is ferocious. The daughter of an earl and doesn’t let anyone forget that there’s a duke in the family tree too. I believe the cousin in question was inbred to the extent that they’d have drowned him if he’d been a gundog, but the title…’
‘Ghastly,’ I agreed. ‘They aren’t going to force the marriage, are they?’
‘No, I gather he’s been snapped up by some desperate female in Scotland so Annabelle is safe. Until her mother spots another chinless heir, that is. Oh look, darling Armistead is looking for me, must dash, we’re off to the Paulsworth’s reception next. Lovely to meet you – you must call.’
She fluttered off to her handsome viscount leaving me not much the wiser. Doctor Talbot had been well-thought of, had a sympathetic and gentlemanly manner and the only criticism was from a disgruntled young lady who hadn’t liked some sensible but down to earth advice. Even the worst of PMT wouldn’t be enough provocation for braining one’s doctor with a poker, I thought. There was nothing to disprove our speculation that ladies might develop a crush on Talbot, but, on the other hand, no-one seemed to be hinting that he had a reputation for encouraging that kind of thing, not if formidable matrons were happy for their daughters to be attended by him.
But then, he wouldn’t, not if he was not attracted sexually to any of them, I brooded as I drifted in the direction of Luc who was now deep in conversation with the group around Sir Thomas.
He saw me approaching and broke away. ‘Are you all right? I rather abandoned you there.’
‘Fine. I got them talking about Talbot, but there was nothing counter to what we already thought. He did have a good reputation and an attractive bedside manner, by the sound of it, although I picked up no whispers of scandals.’ I glanced across at the huddle of men I assumed were all politicians. ‘What about you?’
‘Mentioned Coates and got a lot of tutting from Reece about unstable young men who spend all their money or get entangled with unsuitable women.’
‘Does he believe that’s what happened?’
‘No, seems to be generalisation. A trifle smug about it being one of Salmond’s young gentlemen. Presumably no-one on his staff ever commits an indiscretion.’
‘I met his daughter fleetingly. She’d been a patient of Talbot’s too and it seems he gave her some practical advice which didn’t fit in with what she wanted, which was sympathy and coddling. But that was the only objection to him that I picked up and it is to his credit that he was prepared to give sensible advice rather than merely pandering to what the patient thinks might suit them.’
‘Hmm. We are at the stage of still having too many ideas and no proof of anything.’ Luc scanned the crowd. ‘I was looking for Salmond, see what he has to say.’
‘Someone is trying to attract your attention.’ I nudged him. ‘In fact, he matches the description we had of Mr Salmond. How did that fellow lodger describe him – jolly with side whiskers?’
‘And you immediately assumed he was the villain of the piece? I think it must be him.’
‘Definitely a criminal mastermind,’ I murmured. ‘Just look at those friendly, twinkly eyes.’
Chapter Eight
‘I am addressing the Earl of Radcliffe?’ The villain of the piece looked as though he could make a good living as either Mr Pickwick or Father Christmas. On the least likely suspect scale, this surely had to be our man. ‘Pray excuse my accostin
g you, but I believe I have you to thank for taking care of my poor young colleague, Mr Coates.’ He suddenly seemed to notice that I was with Luc and broke off. ‘I do apologise, I should not speak of such things in front of a lady.’
‘Please, don’t mention it. I was at his lodgings, comforting the landlady, poor woman. Such a dreadful thing to happen to a promising young man. He was promising, I take it?’
Mr Salmond looked a bit taken aback at my question. ‘Well, naturally. I only employ intelligent and hard-working young gentlemen, Miss er…’
‘Miss Lawrence, my cousin from America,’ Luc said. ‘Cassandra, Mr Salmond of the Home Office.’
‘We visited your offices this afternoon and met some of your young men,’ I said. ‘They were so hospitable and intelligent. I am just fascinated learning about your government and everything British.’
He beamed at me. ‘How delightful to find a lady interested in such matters. You obviously have a wide and enquiring mind, Miss Lawrence.’
‘Well, I do hope so. It must have been a very sad loss, poor Mr Coates. Was he in a very responsible position – or is that some deep, dark state secret?’
‘No, he had nothing too taxing yet. He was just starting out, you understand, been in post about eighteen months, but I’m sure he would have been making his way up the ladder of advancement in a year or so. He was fulfilling everything asked of him most satisfactorily.’ He sighed heavily. ‘A waste of a young life.’
Well, that firmly put the lid on the pressures of work theory, I thought as I nodded in agreement. Not over-burdened, apparently keeping pace with expectations and no promotion in view for months.
‘On a lighter note, I did enjoy the visit. I was amazed to meet a Frenchman, even!’
‘Ah yes, our invaluable émigré. So useful to have a really reliable translator. No-one ever thinks the Home Office needs them, but we’re dealing with every nation under the sun it feels sometimes.’
‘It seemed strange, that was all – with this country being at war with France.’
‘And your country being at peace with them.’ The look he gave me was suddenly very sharp, very shrewd. Not Mr Pickwick after all. ‘But de Hautmont is opposed to our enemies, my dear. His is a personal hatred that we cannot match.’
We chatted of trivial matters for a while, then he drifted away with further thanks for Luc’s efforts at Coates’s lodgings. ‘I will see you at the inquest, no doubt, my lord.’
‘He isn’t the cuddly old buffer he seems to be, is he?’ I mused as Luc handed me a glass of champagne.
‘If a cuddly old buffer is what I think, no, he isn’t. He’s intelligent and tough and I don’t think that there’s a great deal of love lost between him and Sir Thomas, somehow.’ Luc scanned the room. ‘I wonder how James has been getting on.’
James, it seemed, had no information, but had picked up more than a little panic amongst his friends. ‘Can’t talk here,’ he said, smiling as someone passing greeted him. ‘And it isn’t useful information,’ he added out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Just fear about blackmailing murderers. I think the usual clubs and meeting places are going to be rather quiet for a week or so.’ He was making a joke of it, but I could see the tension in his face.
I couldn’t blame his friends for wanting to go to ground. With the penalties for homosexual behaviour what they were, life as a gay man must have been a constant matter of precaution and suspicion. Add blackmail and murder to that normal level of threat and there was every excuse for alarm. As it was all over the world still, I reminded myself with a mental nudge to stop being smug about my safe, tolerant, comfortable existence.
‘So, what now?’
‘Home for us, I think,’ Luc said. ‘James?’
‘Hmm?’ He was staring across the room and I followed his gaze.
‘Wow.’ That was inadequate, but it was all I could manage.
‘What?’ Luc demanded. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, the pair of you. Stop it.’
‘What, stop gazing at the most beautiful young man I have ever seen? Spoilsport.’ I elbowed James in the ribs. ‘But you had better stop dribbling.’
‘Who the hell is that?’ James asked. He had at least got his mouth shut now.
‘The black-haired man talking to Sir Thomas? That’s his nephew and heir, Elliott Reece, who works in his section at the Home Office,’ Luc said. ‘Objectionable character, I thought – very full of himself.’
‘Comes of being so handsome, I suppose,’ I said. Thick, raven’s-wing black hair, high cheekbones, a beautifully sculpted mouth, elegant figure and eyes so blue I could make out the colour from where we stood. This was what the men in Salmond’s office must have meant when they dropped hints about nepotism – Sir Thomas favouring his nephew.
Luc snorted.
‘Don’t be jealous,’ I murmured, intending to provoke. ‘I couldn’t cope with a man who was so much prettier than I am.’
It wasn’t as much a snort as a choked growl that time. ‘He’s spoiled rotten, I’d say.’ Luc was clearly having a sense of humour failure. He turned towards the door. ‘Jas? Are you coming?’
‘Yes. If you’ll drop me off, I’d be grateful.’ He grimaced. ‘I can’t find the enthusiasm for making a night of it and Cassie won’t even let me admire the scenery.’
We waited until Garrick brought the carriage round before we discussed anything. ‘Tension between the two Under Secretaries,’ Luc summarised as we finally set off towards Piccadilly. ‘Coates definitely had no promotion or additional work pressures but was well thought of. The ladies, young and old, had nothing worse to say about Talbot than that he was condescending, and that sounds like pique. None of James’s friends have any clue, but are uneasy. Sir Thomas’s nephew is a brat, but a pretty brat. Have I missed anything?’
James shook his head. ‘Nothing that I can see. We must sleep on it, I suppose, and see what the inquests reveal.’
Luc, it appeared when we got back to Albany and Garrick had been sent off to his well-earned rest, was not inclined to sleep on anything, let alone a mattress, until he had comprehensively taken our minds off anything except what Sophie described as applied biology.
Which would have been easier to deal with, I think, if it had simply been biology in action. Our lovemaking was intense and focused and fast and we fell apart panting in the candlelight. I should have curled up and gone to sleep, holding on to as much gorgeous naked man as I could get my arms around. Instead I found I was awake and a bit shaky and I wanted to cuddle, not to sleep.
Luc was silent, but I didn’t know him well enough in bed yet to tell whether something was wrong or whether this was normal, so I curled round, put my cheek against his chest so I could hear his heartbeat and waited. After a moment he tugged the covers up over us and pulled me in tight. ‘I was impatient with your hesitation about us,’ he said so abruptly that I jumped. ‘But you were right to be uncertain.’
I took a heartbeat to get my voice under control. ‘Really?’ And you couldn’t say that before we made love?
‘You saw we would be forging links that are different from anything either of us has experienced before, although you did not say so in quite that way. I have not felt like this for another woman.’
I spoke without considering what I was asking. ‘Not for your wife?’ Then I had several seconds to kick myself for being a tactless idiot who was probably going to hear a great deal she’d rather not.
‘No. We liked each other of course,’ he said slowly, as though putting his marriage into words for the first time. ‘It was a very suitable match. I believe there was mutual respect, shared interests for many things. No problems in the bedchamber. I truly mourned her death. But I went on. With sadness, of course, with regret. But I went on. If I lose you, Cassie, I am not certain how I go on from that. Not as the same man.’
‘Then we don’t lose each other,’ I said, more briskly than I felt because I was suddenly very close to tears. ‘Quite simple. I come back.’ Was he telling me he l
oved me? Did I love him?
Don’t ask, I thought. Don’t ask him, don’t ask yourself.
‘It is that easy?’ There was laughter back in his voice now, rumbling under my ear.
‘Of course. It is for us.’ And that was probably hubris and if some bored god was lounging around on a cloud over London looking for a complacent idiot to give a good shaking to, then he now knew where to send his thunderbolts. ‘Go to sleep, Luc. I’ll be here in the morning.’
The inquest on George Coates was held the next morning at the Coachman and Four public house just around the corner from his lodging house. The room was used by the local glee singers, the pigeon fanciers and just about every other local group and society, as far as I could tell from the paraphernalia stacked away in corners, but it did have a lot of chairs and benches.
Not that the audience was vast, not for the suicide of an unknown young man without, so far as the public were aware, any particularly scandalous circumstances attached. At least half the seating was unoccupied.
I wore a plain gown and a veil and slid a notebook and pencil onto my lap as I sat to one side next to Garrick. There was evidence from two work colleagues and Mr Salmond testifying to George’s good character and stating there had been signs of strain and anxiety but no work-related causes they could think of.
Mrs Kentish sniffed into her handkerchief throughout but her evidence left the court with the impression of a pleasant, straightforward young man who had seemed depressed recently. Dora backed her up with sensible, clear testimony.
Then came the other lodgers, which was interesting because only James had previously met them. The three upstairs in the attic rooms struck me as fairly bright, probably perfectly reliable employees and absolutely typical of any fun-loving, normal males in their mid-twenties. Put them in the right gear, give them smart phones and a few drinks and they’d fit right into the twenty-first century Friday night scene anywhere.
‘Were you aware of anything causing Mr Coates anxiety?’ the Coroner asked each of them and got a negative every time. ‘Any money worries?’ No, they agreed. He had sufficient for his needs it had always seemed and had been neither tight nor reckless with his cash. Had they seen any visitors to Coates’s rooms?