by Joan Smith
“Perhaps she had been out. That would account for the cold arms.”
“She wasn’t wet, and it was raining.”
“She could have worn your father’s coat and galoshes.”
“What would she do that for?”
“To protect her clothes if she was going to meet someone.”
Nigel pulled at his ear, frowning. He had been reviewing every word Fleur had uttered at Belmont, and one speech bothered him. How had she known his papa raised sheep? He certainly hadn’t discussed farming with her, though she said he had. Mama had noticed something suspicious, too. She had gone to Fleur’s room before dinner, and she hadn’t answered the door. Fleur couldn’t have fallen asleep in two minutes in the middle of the afternoon, so where was she? Had she gone for a walk and come across the sheep field? Fleur didn’t walk just for the fun of it. If she went out, she was certainly meeting someone. Meeting the person in a field isolated from the house suggested some havey-cavey business.
It seemed possible to discuss it with Pamela, who was being unusually understanding today. She listened quietly, but could make nothing of it. Nigel was soon back on his hobbyhorse of blaming Maxwell.
“He was hiding in the closet when I found her the first time, and carried her off as soon as I left.”
“Why would he do that?”
“To hide the body in the badger sett. Wes says there’s no case without a body, you know. Then he slipped back in and took away her clothes to make us think she’d left willingly.”
“The other carriage was waiting near the spinney.”
“Maxwell is the only one who saw it lurking by the spinney. I don’t have to tell you what his evidence is worth. The others only saw a carriage on the road. Nothing in that. What would you expect to see on a public road except carriages?”
“I wonder why Breslau asked if it was headed toward Kent?”
“Very likely he’s trying to implicate you.” Nigel realized he had strayed from his chosen path of blaming Maxwell and asked, “What have you and Wes been doing here?”
She outlined their discoveries.
“Maxwell obviously hired Henry Halton to give him a hand. That’s why he’s letting on he don’t know him,” Nigel decided. “When Halton gets back, I’ll beat him till he tells me where they put her body.”
“Breslau thinks blackmail may be involved.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she had something on Maxwell. Not that she’d ever stoop so low as to blackmail anyone.”
“I don’t think it was Maxwell he had in mind.”
Nigel bristled up fiercely. “If you’re saying that diamond bracelet was blackmail, Pamela—”
“No, no,” she assured him. “But why did your papa give it to her?”
“How should I know? A son can hardly ask his father such a thing. Maybe she bought it from him. Mama never wears it. Fleur is very fond of diamonds, and Papa is worried about money just now. I’ve seen him pouring over his account books. It’s just the sort of thing she’d do, to help out a friend.”
“Of course.” Pamela didn’t betray her opinion of this foolishness by so much as a blink. “I never thought of that.”
“Well, you don’t know Fleur as I do,” he said forgivingly.
The day’s excitement lent a sparkle to Pamela’s eyes and a becoming flush to her cheeks. In honor of London, she had her hair carefully arranged in a new do seen at the theater the night before. She looked much prettier than usual, and her behavior today had been exactly what a man would want—very meek and reasonable. Nigel looked at her with the dawning of a new interest. Pamela wouldn’t be half bad if she’d only stay like this.
It was his blighted love for Fleur that added the final touch of magic. Fleur was unique, of course. There wasn’t such another woman in the world, but besides being too old for him, he had come to realize she wasn’t quite the thing. Just a touch fast, leaving her door open to welcome that old goat of a Maxwell into her room, and under his father’s roof. Really, that was coming it a bit strong. One would be better off with a genuine lady, like Pam. He could leave her at Belmont with the kids while he followed his career in London. A man had to have legitimate heirs after all.
What was passing in Breslau’s study they had no idea. Pamela assumed Wes was relating their findings; Nigel knew Maxwell was trying to poison Wes’s mind with lies about his father. Wes wouldn’t be fool enough to listen to that poppycock. Wes would decide what was to be done.
It was half an hour before they were called back into the study to hear his decision. Pamela stood dumbfounded when he announced it.
“General Maxwell agrees with me that we should do nothing further for the moment. He and Nigel will be remaining in London.”
“Breslau! Aren’t you going to try to find Fleur’s murderer?” Pamela demanded.
“We have found him,” Nigel said with a challenging eye at the general. “And if you don’t call in Bow Street, Wes, I shall.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Breslau said blandly. “Nor would your papa thank you for doing anything so woolly-headed, Nigel. Just sit tight.”
Nigel ranted wildly about the room. “I never thought you was such a flat, Breslau. You’ve let this old war-horse convince you he’s innocent, when anyone with half an eye in his head can see he’s as guilty as sin.”
Maxwell just shook his head. His tolerant smile was enough to infuriate a saint, and enough to give Nigel second thoughts. There was something deep going on here. Old Max wouldn’t be smiling like a horse trader if it wasn’t something that reflected badly on Papa. Perhaps he’d best say nothing till he got Wes alone and heard the whole story.
“We should be trying to locate Halton and the carriage he hired, at least,” Pamela suggested.
“It will be back before nightfall,” Breslau told her.
“Nightfall! That’s hours away!”
“So it is. Why don’t you have Nigel take you shopping? I have some errands to perform. I’m sure you will want a few new gewgaws for the theater tonight.”
“We were at Drury Lane last night,” she reminded him.
“The more interesting melodrama will take place backstage tonight.”
Nigel and Pamela exchanged a bewildered look. Nigel leaned closer and said in a low voice, “He’s finally done it. Gone completely crazy. It’s up to us to find out what the deuce is going on here, Pam. We’ll humor him, and pretend we’re going shopping. I have a few things we must look into.”
Pamela wasn’t convinced the wily gleam in Breslau’s eye denoted insanity. Far from it. She was on thorns to learn what he knew.
“I’ll just get my bonnet and pelisse,” she said, and hurried after Breslau when he left to have the carriage summoned. As soon as the butler left, she snatched at his arm. “What are you up to?” she demanded, all formality abandoned.
He looked at her hand, then looked at Pamela. Something in his eyes made her loosen her hold. “Is that why you came chasing after me?” he asked. As she watched, his face softened, and his thin lips parted in a small smile. “I made sure it was to thank me for rescuing you from the Fosters.”
“Out of the frying pan, into the fire. You’ve saddled me with Nigel for the whole day.”
“You might take this opportunity to divest yourself of his attentions once and for all.”
“That’s hardly my top priority at a time like this.”
Breslau took hold of her hand and stepped into the closest doorway, which happened to be the butler’s room, out of view of any observers. Without releasing her hand, his other arm went around her waist. “It is precisely ‘at a time like this’ that your being Nigel’s intended is intolerable,” he said in a hushed voice.
Pamela was stunned, as if he’d struck her. “What on earth are you doing?” she gasped.
“Shocking the unshockable Miss Comstock, it seems.” He smiled, and placed a light kiss on her cheek.
“You’re trying to divert me with this tasteless flirtation,” she d
ecided, and was at pains to conceal how well he was succeeding.
“You are familiar with the word then, if not the deed?” he asked archly.
Her heart hammered irregularly. Her cheek felt scalded where his lips had touched it. She made a token effort to free herself, and was considerably diverted when he refused to release her. Instead he put his other arm around her, but loosely. She hardly felt free to accuse him of holding her prisoner.
“I obviously lack your close familiarity with the deed.”
“Till now you’ve lacked a competent instructor”—he smiled—“but diverting you from too close a questioning is only a secondary motive in this tasteless performance. Are you not interested in my primary one?” His eyes lingered meaningfully on her lips.
She stared steadfastly into the distance. “No,” she said firmly.
A quiet laugh echoed in the room. “Stubborn to the last gasp, Miss Comstock. And here you assured me you were no actress.”
“I am only interested in what you and General Maxwell plan to do. You might as well tell me, Breslau, or you’ll have Nigel and myself on your tail all day.”
He shook his head confidently. “We’ll lose you before we hit the Strand. Max and I shall be using my team and carriage, you see. Enjoy your day.” On that maddening speech he finally released her.
“You are a beast!”
Breslau considered her charge a moment. “This is true,” he nodded. “Broadly speaking, life on the planet is composed of flora and fauna. I am certainly no flower.”
“An affected beast. Why do you say ‘this’ when you mean ‘that’?”
“A vulgar wish to be noticed. Let us not splice hairs, my pet. Both are demonstrative pronouns. I maintain that when I do this”—he lifted her fingers and placed a light kiss on her knuckles—“I am demonstrating an interest in a beautiful young lady. And when I do that”—he turned her hand over and placed a kiss in her palm—“I demonstrate precisely the same thing.” He lifted his eyes, which danced with mischief. “Don’t you agree, Miss Comstock?”
She slowly withdrew her hand. Both demonstrations affected her most forcefully. Her palm tingled from his kiss, and her voice was breathless. “I never heard such sophistry,” she breathed.
“Brace yourself to hear worse this evening,” he threatened. “I do admit, however, that you have some cause for annoyance, so I’ll give you a clue regarding the new development in the case.”
Her eyes shone with interest, and her lips parted in a smile. Watching her, Breslau made a spontaneous motion toward her, but froze when she stepped back.
“The clue?” she asked.
“Wretch! You’ll find it on the entertainment page of the Morning Observer. It’s placed in a black box for maximum visibility. It should keep you busy and out of mischief.”
“Reading a notice in the paper won’t take all day. How am I to get in the rest of the time?”
“Make yourself at home. Pick up a rag and dust off Aunt Agatha.”
On this cavalier speech he strode from the room to take up his curled beaver, overcoat, and gloves. General Maxwell joined him and the two of them left.
Nigel strolled into the hallway. “Did you discover where they’re going?” he asked.
“The Morning Observer!” she exclaimed, and darted off to the morning room.
Chapter Ten
The whole front page of the Morning Observer was taken up with articles relating to the Prince of Wales’s appointment as Regent pending the King’s indisposition. This news was a few weeks old, but every day added more details to the appointment. Pamela spent very little time scanning the columns. The Regent would keep his father’s ministers in office. Whigs throughout the country read it with stunned disbelief, but it brought only a fleeting frown of impatience to Pamela. That he refused to open parliament in person didn’t even merit a frown. This was not what Breslau was referring to.
She turned the page and gave a gasp of surprise.
FLAWLESS FLEUR MISSING, BELIEVED DEAD was printed in heavy black type. How had the papers learned of it? With Nigel looking over her shoulder, she read avidly.
The Marquise de Chamaude, famed Drury Lane actress, had disappeared from the home of Sir A. and Lady—, where she had gone to spend a two-day holiday.
The following paragraphs were familiar, having to do with escaping Paris in a cart of cabbages and eventually landing at Brighton, to be rescued by the prince.
The rest of the highly colored account was wildly inaccurate. About the only word of truth in it was that the marquise’s memoirs would soon be published by Colchester Press. Nigel frowned to see the editor’s name had been omitted entirely. They read with considerable surprise that the marquise had been troubled prior to and during her country visit. The intimation was that French spies were after her, and she had fled to the country to escape death. But death may have found her. She had been carried off from her bed while sleeping.
The writer concentrated on the grave—no mention of its being a badger sett—and the marquise’s favorite shawl. He omitted that a glove had been found as well. An illustrator had drawn the grave in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by mourning yews and headstones. With artistic liberty, he sketched in a corpse covered with a paisley shawl.
A few paragraphs gave a resume of Fleur’s most popular roles, and a tantalizing hint that her life story was already being dramatized for Drury Lane. It was suggested that Rose Flanders, the marquise’s understudy and a talented performer in her own right, might play the role. “Tasteless!” Pamela frowned. The final item was a lugubrious question—would the Flawless Fleur be found alive? They read it twice, wondering aloud who had informed the papers.
“Breslau will be furious,” Nigel said.
“He didn’t seem furious. In fact, he was smiling while he was reading this at breakfast.”
“Was he, by Jove. It’d be the free publicity that cheered him. I hope no one knows Sir A. and Lady—are Mama and Papa. They will be far from smiling, I promise you.”
“Since your name is not mentioned no one will know who is meant. What bothers me is how the journals got the story. You don’t think—”
“That Breslau sent it in? It looks suspicious when you count up how often the words Drury Lane crop up. This will fill the seats.”
“No, it’s just that the words about her escaping from France are almost exactly as she said them to me at Belmont. Except that Fleur knew it was rutabagas in the cart, not cabbages.”
“It’s taken word for word from her memoirs, and any number of people have read them. How could Fleur have sent it in? She’s dead.”
“We don’t know that. Breslau doesn’t believe it. He isn’t worried enough. Maxwell is genuinely disturbed, though.”
“Of course he is. He’ll be doing the hangman’s jig once I get all this figured out. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he put Fleur up to gouging that diamond bracelet out of Papa to incriminate him. If I could find the bracelet in his possession, that would tell us something.”
“You’d have to return to Hatfield to do that.”
“He wouldn’t dare leave it at home where his mama might see it. He brought it to London with him. Since he hasn’t been to his flat yet, it must be in his carriage.”
“He and Breslau are using Breslau’s carriage.”
A sly gleam lit Nigel’s pale eyes. “Maxwell would have his driver stable his rig, but he’d drop the luggage off at his flat first. I believe we shall pay a call on old Maxwell, Pam.”
“We’d learn more if we followed Breslau and Max.”
“We can easily pick up their trail. They’ll be at the theater for hours. Wes virtually lives there, and there’s nothing Maxwell likes better than ogling the actresses. What bothers me is how I am to get into Maxwell’s bedroom to search for the bracelet.”
Pamela knew him well enough to realize she would save more time in the long run by going along with him. “I could rip my gown, and ask for a needle and thread. If his flat is s
mall, they’ll have to let me use his bedchamber to fix the rent. You keep the servants occupied, and I’ll search.”
“That’s a capital idea! He lives on the way to Drury Lane, too, so we shan’t waste much time if he’s hidden the bracelet somewhere else.”
What did waste considerable time was deciding what transportation could be used. The general’s carriage had left. Nigel was leery of taking Wes’s curricle and bays. What he actually feared was that the groom wouldn’t let him have them, and he didn’t want the humiliation of being refused in front of Pamela. In the end, they went into the street and hired a cab.
From that point on, things went remarkably smoothly. Nigel had acting blood in his veins. He made a believable story of wanting to see the general, and of Miss Comstock having ripped her sleeve when she reached to a high shelf to select a bolt of worsted at a drapery shop. Before you could say Jack Robinson, she was alone in the general’s bedchamber, wasting her time by looking for a diamond bracelet which she knew perfectly well was not there. Her job was made easier by the presence of Maxwell’s unpacked luggage on the floor at the end of his bed.
She unfastened it and rifled quickly through the stacks of linen and stockings. There was no diamond bracelet, but she did find a ring in a small leather box. It was a rather fine sapphire, set all around in small diamonds. She didn’t remove the ring, but as soon as they left, she described it to Nigel.
“Max brought that home from India with him eons ago. His mama and his sisters are forever trying to get it from him, but he’s keeping it for his own wife, if he can ever find anyone indiscriminating enough to have him.”
“Since he brought it to London at this time he must plan to propose to Fleur. He can’t know she’s dead, Nigel. You must be mistaken about that.”
“Who’s to say he hadn’t given it to her before, and went to get it back from her at Belmont the night before last? It pretty well proves his guilt in my opinion.”
“There’s no point trying to convince you with facts. Your mind is made up.”