A Lady's Guide to Etiquette and Murder

by Dianne Freeman

  Bridget came to my side in an instant. “My lady, are you all right?”

  It took me a moment to realize I was still clinging to the arms of the man who had rescued me. “Yes,” I said. As I straightened myself, and took Bridget’s arm, I looked up at the man. “Mr. Kendrick!”

  Kendrick flagged down a cab, bundled us inside, and climbed in himself. “Allow me to see you home,” he said, while Bridget looked me over for signs of injury. “You gave me quite a scare. I saw you on the corner and was just about to greet you when suddenly you took a tumble right toward those horses. Did you trip on something?”

  “I suppose I must have done. Thank goodness you were there to catch me.”

  I didn’t hear his answer. My mind was too busy reliving the last few minutes. Someone had pushed me into the street. Without Kendrick’s quick action, I would now be severely injured, possibly dead. It might have been an accident, but the hand at my back hadn’t felt like an accident. I could not ignore the possibility that someone had tried to kill me.

  Chapter 18

  Light flooded through the windows when I awoke the next day. Bridget had set my coffee on the bedside table and was in the process of opening the draperies. I stretched and wondered why I still felt so tired. Then I remembered. The crimes—not even close to being solved. The attempt on my life. The argument with George and Aunt Hetty. And the sleepless night, due to, well, all of the above.

  When Bridget helped me into the house yesterday afternoon, Hetty had appeared from nowhere and immediately began fussing over my appearance. It seems I’d lost my hat in the fall, so my hair was in disarray, and my sleeve was torn. I suppose that was enough to tell her I hadn’t been out for a casual walk, especially since I returned in a cab.

  She clutched my arm and led me into the drawing room when all I wanted was to lie down in my own bed. Poor Mr. Kendrick, abandoned in the foyer, watched helplessly as the two women took me into their care. I called out my thanks to him and he made a hasty retreat.

  Then the interrogation began.

  “What on earth happened to you?” she said, helping me to one of the cozy, overstuffed chairs.

  Bridget answered for me. “She tripped, ma’am, and almost fell into the street right in front of a pair of horses. Mr. Kendrick saved her from being trampled.”

  “Oh, my word!” Hetty glanced from Bridget, to me, and back. “Go to the kitchen, Bridget, and order some tea. In fact, you should stay there and have a cup yourself. You look quite done in. I can take care of the countess for now.”

  Bridget nodded and hurried from the room. Hetty stood over me. I raised my eyes to meet hers. “You tripped?” she asked.

  “Bridget assumed I tripped. In fact, everyone assumed I tripped. I certainly couldn’t prove otherwise, so I didn’t argue the point. I just wanted to get home.”

  “So you didn’t trip.”

  “No.” I looked into her worried eyes and made myself sit up in the chair. “I was very definitely, very firmly, pushed by a strong hand between my shoulder blades. Kendrick caught me before I actually hit the ground. By the time I regained my feet, and looked around me, I had no way of knowing who did it. No one else had noticed. I didn’t see anyone I recognized. Whom should I have accused?” I shook my head. “It was quite hopeless.”

  Hetty raised a shaking hand to her cheek as she lowered herself into the chair next to mine. “Could it have been Kendrick?”

  I was saved from responding, by the arrival of Jenny with the tea service. Once she’d placed everything on the table, Hetty sent her off, and poured a cup for us both, adding some brandy from her supply, which I’d noticed was now in a crystal decanter. She let me have a few sips, so we could regain our composure, before continuing with her questions.

  “You said you didn’t recognize anyone in the crowd. Whom did you expect to see?”

  I waved my free hand while the other clung to the teacup like a lifeline. “I don’t know, maybe someone with the word villain written on his forehead? That would certainly make this easier.”

  “What about Mr. Kendrick? Why was he there?”

  “He mentioned on the ride home he was on his way to a meeting. Since it was his quick action that saved me, it’s hard to imagine he’s also the one who pushed me.”

  Hetty frowned. “Have you considered Graham?”

  I sighed. I really did not want to consider Graham. “Yes. I’m ashamed to admit it, but Delaney planted that seed in my mind and, as I fell, Graham was the first person I thought of.” I met my aunt’s gaze and saw concern and fear for me in her eyes. “He wasn’t there, Aunt Hetty.”

  “Would he have to be? Couldn’t he have hired some thug to do away with you? To make it look like an accident?”

  I’d just begun to sputter some sort of answer, when Jenny arrived at the door again, asking if I was at home to Mr. Hazelton.

  Hetty’s resounding yes nearly drowned out my no, and caused obvious confusion for Jenny, who hovered in the doorway, unsure what to do.

  “I don’t want him to see me like this,” I hissed.

  Hetty’s brows shot up. “Really? While that’s very interesting, I don’t much care at the moment. I think we could use his support.” She rose from her chair and nodded to Jenny. “Please bring him in.”

  To her credit, Jenny waited for my nod before leaving to fetch George. I glared at my aunt. “Just because I had a little fright, doesn’t grant you the right to take over my household.”

  “A little fright, you call it?”

  “Someone had a fright?” George strolled into the room, tall, broad-shouldered, and ready to take on all manner of problems, and my irritation at Hetty vanished. It was comforting to have him near, which, in an odd way, was also discomforting.

  I set down my tea and stood to greet him. It was a struggle not to throw myself into his arms and beg him to make all my troubles go away. Something of that struggle must have shown on my face. His smile faded and his brow furrowed as he took in my disheveled appearance. “What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  “Someone tried to kill Frances this afternoon,” Hetty blurted.

  “What?”

  “Oh, good heavens, Aunt Hetty, must you be so dramatic?”

  “Well, I didn’t see any point in beating around the bush.”

  I shifted my gaze to George, who was standing beside my chair, his hands fisted, and a vein throbbing in his forehead. Oh, dear.

  “One of you tell me what happened, right now.”

  I glared at Hetty until she sat down. I followed suit, giving George a summary of my afternoon, beginning with my fruitless visit to Mrs. Rockingham, and ending with Hetty’s suspicion of either Kendrick or Graham being responsible for the attack on my life. At some point, as I related my adventure, George had seated himself on the edge of the chair on my other side, and taken hold of my hand. I looked down at our clasped hands and marveled again how glad I was to have him nearby. I’d forgotten—well, actually I’m not sure I ever knew, how nice it was to have someone hold your hand in times of trouble, and tell you everything would be all right. As I looked into George’s eyes, I felt sure that’s what he was about to say.

  “It wasn’t Graham,” he said.

  Hmm, no warm feelings from that statement.

  “How can you be so sure?” Hetty’s tone was stubborn.

  “Because while I was checking on Ainsworthy’s alibi, I ran into Graham at Boodle’s less than an hour ago. He couldn’t be in two places at once.”

  Hetty dismissed that pronouncement with a wave of her hand. “Frances already said she didn’t see Graham in the crowd, and when you arrived, I was just explaining that he didn’t have to be there to be responsible.”

  “That’s true, I suppose, but Kendrick was on hand. Why not him?”

  “Because he saved her. Graham is much more likely.”

  George scowled. “Graham may be angry with her now, for turning off the flow of funds, but he gains nothing by killing her. Fighting her in cou
rt is his best hope.”

  I was growing a little tired of this back-and-forth, in which I had no part. Not to mention a little disconcerted at hearing the man who was supposed to be my support, defending my brother-in-law. “While I’m not as quick to dismiss Graham as you may be, for the sake of moving forward, who else do you suppose might want to do me in?”

  George sat back, releasing my hand, and ran his own through his hair. “Unfortunately I can’t put a name to him. Grayson’s alibi for the time of Capshaw’s murder is good, but while Ainsworthy did go to Boodle’s that day, I haven’t been able to determine how long he was there. So he’s still a suspect, as well as Kendrick, and there’s always the possibility of someone we haven’t even considered. But whoever it is, I think you must be getting close to the murderer. He knows you’re looking for him and wants you to stop.”

  I glanced at Hetty, who seemed to be considering George’s words, then back at him. “But I told you, Mrs. Rockingham was unable to help me.” I raised my hands palms up. “All my leads have gone nowhere. I’m not close to naming the murderer at all.”

  He wagged his index finger at me. “You only think that because you don’t know who you’re looking for.”

  “Yes, that’s what I just said.”

  “I’m beginning to understand.” Hetty’s voice held a note of triumph. “You are unknowingly getting closer to discovering who the murderer is. It doesn’t matter that you have no new evidence. He believes you do.”

  “Oh, heavens. I see what you mean. The murderer knows Capshaw was coming to see me. Perhaps he also knows I went to visit Mrs. Rockingham, but he isn’t aware I received no information from either of them.”

  “Well, he knows you didn’t get anything from Capshaw,” Hetty pointed out. “He saw to that. But the fact that you visited the Rockinghams seems to have made him nervous.”

  “So Mrs. Rockingham must have some information. I just didn’t ask her the right questions.”

  We all fell silent, wondering what the right questions might be. George was the first to break the silence. “Or you didn’t ask about the right man. Perhaps we’re focusing on the wrong suspects.”

  “But we all agreed Capshaw was coming to tell me something about one of Lily’s suitors.”

  George shrugged. “That was a theory, but in truth, we have no idea what the man was coming to tell you. Just because we can’t think of another reason for him to meet with you, doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Kendrick and Ainsworthy are still suspects, but Ainsworthy couldn’t have pushed you into the street. And if Kendrick had, he wouldn’t have bothered to save you. You said those three men were part of a larger list. What list, and who else was on it?”

  “Goodness, I kept meaning to tell you, but I was always distracted. It was a list of suspects who may have stolen Alicia’s bracelet. I know your name was on it, and Fiona and the three young men, but now I can’t remember the others.”

  This garnered me a look of outraged amazement. “I was on the list?”

  I patted his hand in a conciliatory manner. “Only because we spoke with each other during specific hours of that evening. And the list is Delaney’s, not mine, so don’t hold it against me.” George gave me an ironic smile. “But now that you mention it,” I added, “Delaney would have all the other names.”

  “That’s good, because we should put all this in Delaney’s hands now.”

  “What? You just admitted I was getting close to exposing the murderer.”

  “And he came after you. Frances, you’re placing yourself in a dangerous position. You’re no longer looking for a thief. The man’s a murderer. Let Delaney talk to the Rockinghams and draw the man’s attention away from you.”

  After a pause, Hetty spoke up. “I have to agree with Mr. Hazelton, Franny. This has become far too dangerous.”

  I glared at my traitorous aunt. “But you were the one who urged me to do something.”

  “That was before your life was threatened. That changes everything. If you keep pursuing this murderer, you may end up leaving Rose without a mother.”

  While I thought it terribly unfair to bring Rose into this business, I had to agree it was wrong to take such a risk, so I backed down, and sent a message with the kitchen boy to Delaney’s division in Chelsea. He arrived a few hours later, and between the three of us, we brought him up to date. He said he’d make arrangements to interview Mr. Kendrick but agreed the culprit might not be one of the three suitors.

  As it was getting late, Delaney thought it best to call on the elderly couple in the morning, but he’d make sure a constable patrolled that area all night. I felt a twinge of guilt that I hadn’t even considered the safety of Mr. and Mrs. Rockingham. If someone was willing to murder me because of information I supposedly gained from the Rockinghams, why would he hesitate to murder them?

  So with no criminal to pursue, my sister and daughter off in the country, and my social engagements canceled at the insistence of Inspector Delaney, for my own safety of course, I found myself with nothing to do this morning. I slept late, ate a leisurely breakfast, spent an excessive amount of time with Bridget, dressing my hair, and myself, and here I was at noon, wandering through the house like some forlorn ghost, looking for any task I could take on. Unfortunately I was too agitated to settle on anything.

  I finally decided to retire to the library where I could try to focus my mind on reading the morning mail, or perhaps the newspaper might distract me. I sat down behind my desk where my eyes landed on Lily’s sketchbook. She hadn’t been in my house above ten days, yet I felt her absence strongly. I smiled as I paged through her drawings. She’d sketched each of her suitors—very good likenesses, too.

  I studied the face of each man. They were young and handsome. It was clear Lily had caught them unawares. These were no posed portraits. Her swift hand had captured each man’s essence. One, rather serious and thoughtful, another mischievous, and the third simply seemed contented just to be in her presence, which made me wonder what they’d been doing before she picked up her pencil.

  Of course my mind was drawn back to the case. I hoped I was wrong, and none of these men were guilty. Not a one of them looked capable of murdering a man, but a handsome face could hide a multitude of sins. And I still struggled to understand why Capshaw had chosen to give me some information—not Alicia, not Delaney. Somehow these three men were significant. One of them was the link from Capshaw to me.

  I picked up the sketchbook and made my way out the back of the house. As I crossed George’s garden, I spotted him through his library window, and knocked on the glass. He jerked around in surprise, but recovered quickly. He motioned me over to the drawing room and met me at the French doors.

  “I would admonish you for sneaking around like a felon, but under the circumstances, that’s probably the best choice. What brings you here?”

  We’d walked back to his library, and I placed Lily’s sketchbook on his desk, then turned to face him. “I still think Capshaw planned to tell me something about one of Lily’s suitors.” I held up a hand before he could protest. “It may not follow that any of them murdered Capshaw, but he had some damning information about one of them, and so does Mrs. Rockingham.”

  George listened with a furrowed brow. “Do you believe Mrs. Rockingham lied to you when she said she didn’t know them?”

  I shook my head. “Not necessarily. She may not realize she knows one of them.” I flipped the sketchbook open. “But if she saw his face, she might.”

  I watched as he stared at the page, considering my suggestion. “An alias?”

  “Perhaps, but it’s also possible that while she may not recognize the name, she might well remember the face. We should show her these sketches.”

  He gave me a warning look. “Delaney should show her these sketches. I’ll place a call to his division and leave a message.”

  I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Oh, George, don’t be so tiresome. It could take hours to get a message to Delaney, and even longer
before he can come here and pick up the book. He planned to call on the Rockinghams this morning. If we hurry, we might meet him there.”

  “You promised to stay home and out of trouble today.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” I stepped over to the bell pull and rang for a servant. “But if you’re with me, and we’re meeting up with Delaney, how could I be safer?”

  A maid came to the door before he could answer, clearly surprised to see me there. “Mr. Hazelton will need his carriage as soon as possible.” She turned from me to George, and when he gave her a short nod, I knew I had won.

  * * *

  Fortunately Delaney was still at the Rockingham home. Unfortunately, he looked more than a little irritated upon seeing me there.

  The Rockinghams were seated together on a divan, Delaney in a hard-backed chair opposite them, his notebook and pencil in hand. Mrs. Rockingham brushed away my apology for intruding on them. “Nonsense, my dear. You said you were working with the police, so I’m sure the inspector doesn’t mind.” This earned me another glare from Delaney, and I felt my cheeks burn. To make amends, I addressed him directly.

  “Inspector, I have some sketches the Rockinghams ought to see.” I showed him the pages in question, watching his expression change, as he considered the possibilities. I knew he wouldn’t require an explanation.

  George and I seated ourselves on a second divan between the Rockinghams and Delaney. I found George’s hand and squeezed it, as Delaney handed the sketchbook to Mr. Rockingham. “Would you be so kind as to look at the sketches on those three pages and tell me if you recognize any of those men?”

  Mrs. Rockingham slipped on a pair of reading glasses, and the couple perused the pages with moderate interest, but no apparent recognition—until they turned to the third page.

  “Oh! This one I know. Yes. He looks older, but of course it’s been several years since I’ve seen him.” She pulled off her glasses and turned toward her husband. “How long would you say, Trevor, since he worked for us?”