A Lady's Guide to Etiquette and Murder

by Dianne Freeman

  When I did finally meet him, I took him for a typical man about town; younger than Reggie and his friends, perhaps in his thirties, impeccably dressed, tall, dark, and though not quite handsome, he had a natural come-hither expression few women would ignore. But I also sensed something both kind and courageous in him—the very traits Alicia and I needed at the moment. Perhaps that was why I trusted him. Perhaps it was pure instinct.

  “I think we can trust Mr. Hazelton. I’m just not sure if he’ll do it.”

  Alicia bit her lip as she considered my choice. “If you trust him, we’ll simply have to convince him.”

  We could hardly knock on Mr. Hazelton’s door without waking guests in the surrounding rooms so we slipped inside. As bed-hopping was one of the primary entertainments at a house party, I sent out a silent prayer he’d be alone. The light from the hallway was bright enough to see only one figure slumbering in the bed before Alicia closed the door quietly behind us, throwing the room into darkness.

  We waited at the door until our eyes adjusted and I gave Alicia a nudge with my elbow. She widened her eyes and mouthed the words, Why me?

  Good heavens, she’d chosen this moment to be shy? I pointed at the bed and pushed her forward.

  “Ladies?”

  We both jumped at the unexpected sound.

  “While I’m honored to find you fighting over me, something tells me I won’t like the reason.”

  The sleepy drawl emanated from the bed. I turned to see Mr. Hazelton, or at least the head, bare shoulders, and arms of Mr. Hazelton. The rest was just a shadowy outline under the coverlet. He cocked a brow in question and it dawned on me how this must look to him. Two women in his room, in their nightgowns and wrappers would normally be looking for a favor far different from what we planned to ask.

  I had to set him straight. “Forgive me for interrupting your sleep, Mr. Hazelton, but I’m afraid a tragedy has happened. My husband has . . . has passed—” I could get no further as my body convulsed with sobs. I clapped my hands to my mouth to quiet them but there was no holding them back. Now? I couldn’t control myself for another thirty minutes?

  “Attend to her.” Hazelton whispered the order at Alicia as he pulled the coverlet off the bed and rushed into the dressing room.

  Alicia wrapped an arm around me and seated me on the bed. “Good work,” she whispered. “He’ll do anything for you now.”

  I turned to her in horror. Good heavens, if the woman was serious, she and Reggie truly deserved one another. The shock of her comment had the fortunate side effect of stopping my ridiculous bout of crying. With a few deep breaths I was once again in control of myself, just in time for Mr. Hazelton’s return, now dressed in trousers, slippers, and dressing gown.

  He gazed down at me with sympathetic eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Lady Harleigh. How can I be of service?”

  I explained the situation to him as delicately as possible, watching his expression change from concern to surprise with a tinge of censure. I’m sure most of it was for Alicia but some might have been directed at me. A proper lady should never find herself in such a situation, though I have no idea how I could have avoided it. Whatever his opinion of me, I was both amazed and gratified that he agreed to help us move Reggie’s body. And I’ve felt guilty about involving him in my horrible drama ever since.

  Imagine my chagrin at seeing him walk up to my new home.

  “Mr. Hazelton. Are you visiting your brother?” As I spoke, I had to fight the urge to flee. George Hazelton is the last person I’d want to see today—no, make that ever. I was certain he felt the same.

  “My brother?”

  “Your brother.” I raised my brows. “The earl. Does he not have number nineteen?” I nodded to the house directly next to mine. I knew very well the earl held the lease on that house but left it empty now that he’d inherited the family townhome in Mayfair.

  “Ah, yes. This was Brandon’s house but he no longer has a need for it. Since I’m finding myself in town more and more these days, I decided to take it off his hands.”

  “So, you live there now?” Leave it to me to lease the house next door to George Hazelton.

  He nodded. “Indeed. And you must be the new number eighteen.” His lips curved upward, and I saw a hint of a crinkle around his green eyes. A genuine smile? Directed at me? I couldn’t be sure. And that was the trouble with him: I was never sure.

  I could well believe his manners were far too polished to snub me completely. In fact, his impeccably good manners had driven me to distraction in the few times we’ve met since Reggie’s death. He was always kind and polite, but behind that façade was he remembering how he had to clean up my mess?

  Just now he simply could have nodded, or tipped his hat to me as he walked by. Instead he approached me on my very doorstep, and welcomed me to the neighborhood. Me, the woman who’d imposed on him to remove her dead husband’s body from a scandalous scene. Just what was he about?

  I forced myself to recover my senses, and smiled back, hoping he couldn’t see mine was not genuine. “I’ve just taken occupancy this week in fact. We were about to do the ceremonial hanging of the knocker.”

  “By all means, please proceed.” He waved an elegant hand at the door.

  I’d completely forgotten about Jenny, and when I turned, I would have coshed her with several pounds of brass knocker if she hadn’t ducked quickly. Once it was hung, both she and Mr. Hazelton applauded. I felt rather silly, especially when I saw a man on the pavement near my steps pause and glance our way. A working-class man in a shabby brown coat, he looked out of place in this genteel neighborhood. As he merely tipped his hat and moved on I didn’t give him another thought.

  “Well done,” Hazelton said. “Glad I was here to mark the occasion.” He extended a hand, which I took instinctively. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Lady Harleigh. Please feel free to call on me if I can be of any service.”

  Was it my imagination, or had he left with a particularly wicked grin?

  Chapter 3

  The next day started a blur of activity as my household of females set about putting my new home in order. I delighted in the work. For the most part, I only compiled lists of future needs—a change to the paper in my bedchamber, a few new pieces of furniture. But in the nursery, Rose and I splurged. I knew she’d be missing her cousins at Harleigh, so I tried to involve her in decorating the nursery. I gave Nanny the day off, and Rose and I spent a long day at the shops. And I do mean a long day. My mother never took me shopping with her when I was a child. Now I know why.

  Once Rose understood she’d be making the decisions, she pondered each choice as if her life depended on it. She insisted on seeing every option—every option—before finally deciding on the one she’d seen first. I don’t know how I endured it, but after several hours, with my feet burning in my fashionable shoes, we’d reached our final stop, the drapers.

  I paused outside the door as I felt what was becoming a familiar sensation of unease. Glancing to my left, I surveyed the shop-lined street. It took a moment to spot him, standing before a shop window two doors down, casually looking at the display. He was a middle-aged man with the appearance of an office clerk, in a wrinkled brown suit and felt hat. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have noticed him but it was the same man I’d seen outside my house yesterday. And this was the third time I’d seen him on our excursion today.

  If he was shopping, he was doing a very poor job of it as he carried no parcels or packages. Yet he appeared at every shop Rose and I had visited. Was he following us? This was a respectable center of commerce but I suppose thieves could be on the prowl anywhere. He didn’t look like a thief though. He just looked threatening. Perhaps I should have hired a footman to accompany me through town.

  I pulled open the door and ushered Rose inside, feeling safer once the door closed behind us, comforted by the familiar surroundings of the drapers. I loved this shop.

  The front room was large and open, with bolts of fabric lining th
e walls, and ten square tables for displaying them. Customers gathered in groups around each of them, waiting for the thump and swish, as a new bolt hit the table, and the fabric unwound to reveal its beauty. It was intoxicating. I almost forgot about the strange man outside. Almost. Yes, I wanted to indulge my daughter but I’d feel safer once we were home.

  By the time the clerk had shown us nine bolts of fabric suitable for bed curtains, my feet were screaming at me to sit, but the few chairs in the room were occupied. My gaze had drifted to the front window several times. Was he still out there? I had to push Rose along. “The fabrics are all the right weight, dear. Do you dislike these colors?”

  She looked up at me, her round, blue eyes very serious. “They’re all solid colors.”

  “I’m not sure a print would work in your room.” Another glance at the window. “Perhaps we should come back another time.”

  “I like that one.” Rose pointed to a bolt of fabric behind the clerk. Eager to end this transaction sometime before the shop closed, he brought it to the table before I could protest. Not that I had any objection to the fabric itself. The cloth was amazing, so heavily embroidered with a hunt scene, it was really more of a tapestry. But done up as bed curtains, her room would look like a gypsy camp.

  Rose reached out, letting her fingers slide over the scene with reverence. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Unfortunately,” the clerk said, “there isn’t enough for bed curtains.”

  My instinct was to give thanks to whomever bought all the fabric. Then I turned to Rose, her shoulders slumped, as she gazed with admiring eyes at the hunt scene. Her disappointment reminded me that I had never been allowed to choose anything for myself, not even my husband. She deserved a choice.

  “If you really love this fabric, we could buy a small length, and use it to trim one of these others.” I pulled out a length of sky blue material and held it next to the embroidered scene. “Do you see how the scene repeats itself as you move up the length? We could cut it just here.”

  Her smile made my poor, aching feet seem trivial. “Can we do that?”

  “If you think you can sleep with horses running around your bed all night.”

  Rose laughed and took hold of my hand. I nodded at the clerk to measure and cut our fabrics. “I’ll dream about it,” she said. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to ride in the hunt.”

  My stomach cramped at the thought. Riding to the hounds was a dangerous sport. But she wasn’t nearly old enough yet. There’d be plenty of time for us to argue about that later. For now, I’d be happy to gain control of my nerves and get us home safely. Both my feet and the strange man made me decide against walking. I turned to the clerk. “Would you have someone hail a hackney for us?”

  * * *

  I didn’t check the street upon our departure, but simply bundled Rose into the hackney. Of course we arrived home unmolested. I was behaving like a ninny. The man was probably unemployed and walking around the shops looking for work. I was jumping at shadows.

  On our return to the house, Mrs. Thompson took custody of my coat and hat and told me I had a visitor waiting. I glanced at the card she handed me. Inspector Delaney of the Metropolitan Police. What could he possibly want from me?

  “Rose,” I said, “it appears I have some business to take care of. Why don’t you go upstairs and see if Nanny is back from her half day?”

  She dutifully took herself upstairs. I watched her turn at the top of the flight before I addressed Mrs. Thompson. “The Metropolitan Police? What does he want?”

  The housekeeper spread her hands, clearly at a loss. “I’m afraid he wouldn’t state his business, my lady. Only that he expected you home soon and he’d wait.”

  I frowned. He expected me home soon? “Have you put him in the drawing room?”

  “No, ma’am. He’s in the kitchen with a cup of tea where we can keep an eye on him. Should I bring him up?”

  I nodded. “I suppose I’m curious enough to meet with him.”

  My curiosity was quickly relieved when Mrs. Thompson walked into the drawing room, followed by the man I’d seen earlier on the street.

  “You—”

  “Inspector Delaney,” he said, dragging his hat from his head, leaving clumps of gray-streaked hair standing on end. The style perfectly matched his eyebrows, which seemed to be growing in six directions at once. In my drawing room he seemed taller than I’d noted when I saw him on the street. And even more imposing.

  Mrs. Thompson closed the door as she left. I stood facing him, my hands clasped to keep them still. “You were following me today.”

  “I needed to speak with you, my lady, and it turned out you were difficult to track down.”

  “Yet you managed to do so several times.”

  He narrowed one eye. “I didn’t think you’d want to discuss this matter with the little girl in tow.”

  “I see. Instead you left me to believe you were stalking us.”

  “That wasn’t my intention. You see, the only reason I became involved was because you fled Surrey.”

  “I did not flee Surrey.” What was he implying? “I simply moved to Belgravia.”

  His gaze was steady. And rather unnerving. “I was told only that you were in town, so naturally I first called on you at Harleigh House. Ah, that reminds me.” He reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a letter, pointedly studying the direction of the house, before handing it to me.

  “Odd you haven’t even told your mother you’ve moved.”

  I snatched the letter from his hand. It was indeed from my mother, sent to me at Harleigh House. The nerve of the man. I had been on the point of asking him to sit but now he could just stand there until he fell over. And I hoped he would. “Why are you in possession of my personal correspondence?” I narrowed my eyes. “And how did you know I’d be home soon?”

  “The footman who provided me with the direction of your new residence asked me to deliver it, as I was coming here anyway. Yesterday, you seemed to be occupied. When I arrived today, I was told you were shopping, and I thought it might be better to have our conversation away from the house.” His lips twitched. “Less talk among the servants that way.” He shifted his weight and clasped his hands behind his back. “However, when I saw you with your daughter, I decided to return here and wait for you. I didn’t think you’d be long as I could see your feet were giving you pain.”

  They still were, but I was not about to sit. “Since you’ve gone to so much trouble to speak to me, perhaps you’d like to state your business?”

  “It seems there’s been a development in the matter of your late husband’s death.”

  “Oh, my heavens.” I gaped at the man.

  “Perhaps you should sit, ma’am.”

  My move to the sofa was slightly more graceful than a stumble, but not by much. His announcement had left me stunned. I took a moment to compose myself and waved him to a chair across from me. He sat and pulled a small notebook from his pocket.

  “My husband died over a year ago, Inspector. What could possibly have developed?”

  Delaney never took his eyes from my face. “There is a question about the cause of death.”

  “The cause of death? He had a heart attack. The doctor who attended him confirmed it.”

  “The police from the Guildford constabulary will be talking to him.”

  “The police from Guildford?” Heavens, it seemed all I could do was repeat his words. Like a parrot. Or an idiot. “Inspector, would you please start from the beginning? Why are the police suddenly, and belatedly, interested in my husband’s death?”

  The inspector’s gaze flicked toward his notebook, then back at me. “I’m afraid I don’t have that information. This isn’t my case, but since you were in town, I’ve been asked to obtain a statement from you, to the best of your recollection, about the activities of the household in the twenty-four hours before your husband’s death.”

  I studied the man’s face. This seemed so
much like a bizarre joke, I expected him to burst into laughter at any moment. But he was clearly serious. “We were hosting a shooting party,” I began haltingly, trying to bring the images of that day back to mind. I explained about the weather keeping everyone housebound. At his questioning, I detailed what was served for dinner and approximately how much food and alcohol Reggie had consumed. I concluded by telling him most of us had gone to bed early. That was not conclusion enough for the inspector.

  “How was the body found?”

  “How?” I looked into his face. His gaze was firm, but not unkind. He clearly realized how hard this was for me. I prayed he had no idea why it was hard. Hazelton, Alicia, and I had managed to maneuver Reggie back into his own bed somewhere around six that morning. As a servant would be in soon to build up the fire, and his valet would come shortly thereafter, we decided, rather callously I thought, to allow them to discover their master’s body.

  “The maid,” I said. “She came to stoke the fire and found my husband lying half out of bed. She fetched Formsby, Reggie’s valet, who confirmed Reggie’s death and sent my maid to inform me.”

  I noticed my hands shaking and pressed them against my legs. I’d only had to tell that story once before and hoped I’d gotten it right.

  “You said the doctor confirmed it was a heart attack?”

  I nodded. “Yes, Reggie had a heart condition. He took digitalis to control his heartbeat. The doctor who attended his death was aware of it and had given him the medication.”

  Delaney closed his book around the pencil and returned it to his pocket. “I’m sorry to have troubled you with this, my lady. I’ll send my report back to the Guildford constabulary. I suspect they’ll talk to the doctor and tie up whatever loose ends they think they have.”

  “Is that what this is about? They have loose ends?”

  “Most likely,” he said, rising to his feet. “Unless they have some reason to suspect murder.” With that he gave me a nod and showed himself out.

  Chapter 4

  My interview with Inspector Delaney caused me a sleepless night of worry. Did the police really suspect Reggie was murdered? The next morning I asked Jenny to bring a breakfast tray to the library, where I wrote to Reggie’s doctor to see what he might know about this business. After all, he was the one who determined how Reggie had died. If I’d known anyone at the Guildford constabulary, I’d have written directly to them. This would have to do for now.