A Lady's Guide to Etiquette and Murder

by Dianne Freeman

  “Claire Allen, the actress? Heavens, she’s wonderful.”

  “Indeed. She’s also Irish, or half-Irish, and an outspoken advocate for Irish Nationalism. If word got out she was his half sister, not only would that embarrass his mother, but it would call into question his motives as a proponent for Home Rule.”

  He laughed at my look of utter amazement. “Truly. The opposition could play this up beautifully. Put it around that she and her cronies influenced him. He’d lose all credibility and any hope of another Home Rule bill.”

  “Do you suppose she does influence him?”

  “The fact of her probably does. Because of her, he recognizes Ireland as its own country. One that should rule itself.”

  “As an American, I can hardly argue with that sentiment.”

  We made the rest of the trip in silence, each with our thoughts and each, I believed, with a sense of accomplishment.

  * * *

  The following morning, I realized George took the task of watching over me quite seriously. He arrived at my breakfast table, which in my house, was the dining room table, along with the morning mail. “I wish I’d known you wanted company for breakfast, George. We’d have come to your house.”

  Hetty held a forkful of eggs. “Why? Is there something special about breakfast at your house?”

  I indicated he should take a seat while I answered for him. “The quantity and variety of food is quite impressive. Will you join us, George? Do you take coffee or tea in the morning?”

  “Coffee, please,” he said, seating himself at the end of the table between Hetty and myself. He dropped a document case by his feet.

  I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him, nudging the cream and sugar in his direction. “Did you bring work with you?”

  “I did. I promised not to let you out of my sight until this Thomas fellow is in custody, but unfortunately I have some documents to work through. Perhaps I can use your library for that a little later.”

  “Are you serious? You intend literally to watch over me until we hear from Delaney?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That is exactly what I intend. Someone broke into your home a few days ago, while I was next door, and I had no idea of it.” That he managed to say this without laughing at the irony amazed me. “I won’t take the risk of something like that happening again. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with my company, at least for the day.”

  “Well.” I’ll admit it. I was flattered, and gratified and, of all things, I could feel myself blushing. I hid my face in my coffee cup and wondered just when I had started enjoying George’s company so much.

  “Since you’re both here,” Hetty said, drawing George’s attention away from my embarrassment, “perhaps you can bring me up to date on this whole situation. Just how did this man manage to impersonate a viscount and did he cause all the other trouble? Was he also the thief and did he break into this house?”

  As much as I wanted to share with her the little I’d learned about Thomas Martin last night, I had no way of explaining how I’d come by that information. I offered a little prevarication instead. “I don’t think we’ll know all of that, Hetty, until he’s in custody. However, it does appear he worked for Ainsworthy in South Africa, came here in the guise of the viscount, and probably killed Capshaw because he knew who Thomas really was.”

  “The more I think about it,” George said, leaning back in his chair, “the more I understand why he felt it necessary to resort to theft. He might not have had access to the funds from the estate—death duties would have been levied, debts paid. Even if he knew he could live off credit until the funds were available, he might not have understood how to arrange it.”

  “Yet if he wanted to put up a credible front, he would have to dress the part, and live the part he was playing,” I continued. “And to do that he needed ready money.”

  “But what about breaking into this house?” Hetty asked. “Why take such a risk when he could simply steal something else?”

  “I don’t believe he did break in. He paid a visit to Lily that day and had to wait for her. Do you remember? You and she had gone to the library and were expected back at any moment.”

  I remembered how George had been left alone to wait at Ainsworthy’s home and knew what happened as surely as if I’d been there. “Mrs. Thompson probably asked him in and let him wait in the drawing room. As we were all out of the house, he took his chance. It would only be the work of a moment to slip up to my room and search for my bag. When he found it empty, he became careless, and left the room in complete disarray. If I remember correctly, he was back on the street, with his horses when you returned to the house.”

  “So he broke the window to make it look like the work of a housebreaker. Why, that little sneak.” Hetty looked even more outraged than when we thought someone had broken in.

  George provided the voice of reason. “A good possibility, but we won’t know the whole of it until he’s caught.”

  “Which I hope will be today. Since you don’t want anything to eat, George, may I show you to the library?”

  With a nod to Hetty, George picked up his document case, I picked up my letters, and we moved to the library. “Have you returned Haverhill’s letters?”

  “This morning,” he said.

  “Good. Now I must tell you what else I found last night.” We walked into the warm, paneled room. “Business letters, pertaining to Ainsworthy’s mine in South Africa.”

  George raised an eyebrow as we seated ourselves in the arm chairs opposite the desk. “Diamonds or gold?”

  “I don’t know. I could only tell it wasn’t profitable, and Ainsworthy was going into debt, but that’s not the interesting part.”

  “Go on.”

  “The letters were filed by date, and the last two were copies of letters Ainsworthy supposedly sent out.”

  “Supposedly?”

  I brought the letters to mind, wondering how to explain my suspicions. “They were different in tone, almost frantic, and the signature, though it was Ainsworthy’s name, was definitely not his writing.”

  “So someone else signed the man’s name. What do you surmise from this?”

  “That Ainsworthy was dying, or perhaps already dead, and Thomas—oh, he has a surname by the way. It’s Martin.”

  George gave me a nod, and what I suspected was a condescending smile, but I was still pleased I’d learned this bit of information.

  “Anyway, I believe Mr. Martin was trying desperately to keep the mine going. After all, if their creditors found out Ainsworthy was dead, Martin would be out of a job, possibly out of money, and stranded in a strange country.”

  George shook his head. “I assume his plan didn’t work?”

  “Sadly, no. The next letter stated the creditors would be seizing the assets of the company. But there was one more letter from a different source.”

  “Ah, the one notifying Ainsworthy of his inheritance.”

  “Exactly.” I leaned back in my chair and gazed at George. “I must say, if it were only the thefts, if he hadn’t murdered Mr. Capshaw, I’d feel some sympathy for Thomas. He was in rather desperate straits.”

  This time George’s smile wasn’t condescending. It was rather sad. “Others have been in desperate circumstances and not turned to crime.”

  “I know that, and I don’t mean to say I condone what he did, just that I understand.”

  “Even though he ransacked your bedchamber?”

  “Clearly he needed to learn the finer points of breaking and entering.” I rose from my seat. George followed suit and caught my arms before I could move. “You have a beautiful heart, Frances. This experience might have hardened it. I’m glad to see that hasn’t happened.”

  Heat rose to my cheeks. “Well, you had best get on with your business, George. Go ahead and take the desk. I’ll just sit over here by the window and read my letters.”

  He smiled and released my arms. Moving behind the desk, he began pulling papers fro
m his document case. I settled into the window seat and opened the first letter, an invitation. “Ah, Florence Carrington is having a party to celebrate her husband’s birthday next week.”

  George grunted something in reply.

  “Her parties are quite something. I do hope Lily is back in time to attend. Do you think you’ll go, George?”

  When he didn’t reply I glanced up to see him scowling at me over the rims of a pair of spectacles. “Why, I didn’t know you wore spectacles!”

  The scowl deepened. “Are you going to read all of your correspondence to me?”

  I smothered a laugh. “Apologies. You’ll not hear another word from me. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

  With that I turned back to my post. Oh, the next was a letter from Lily. I managed not to say this aloud, and tore open the seal, wondering how Lily had been spending her time. By the time I read the second paragraph, I was in a panic. “Oh, my heavens!”

  “That doesn’t sound like a mouse, Frances. It sounds more like you saw a mouse.”

  “George, this is terrible. This letter is from Lily and she tells me Ainsworthy is at Harleigh.”

  One look at his face told me he was as horrified as I. He rounded the desk and was beside me in an instant. “When did she write that? Is he actually staying at Harleigh?”

  I looked back at the letter in my hand. “No, he’s staying in Guildford, at the White Horse. She writes, ‘He has some business in Guildford and stopped in to pay his respects. I know you didn’t wish me to see him, but Delia asked him to return for dinner tonight.’ The letter is dated yesterday.”

  My heart pounded as I looked up at George. “Could he really have had business in Guildford?”

  “I suspect his business is seeking your sister’s hand in marriage. He still has no idea we know of his subterfuge, and may believe that with her fortune, he can continue to live as the viscount.”

  “What can we do?”

  “I’ll go to my house and call the police right now and find out where Delaney is. If he’s already left for Kent, perhaps they can contact the Guildford police, and have Thomas arrested.”

  I followed him to the door, then turned back as Hetty called to me from the dining room. I explained the circumstances to her, and we both sat in anxious silence until George returned. When he did, my spirits sank even lower at the sight of his grim expression.

  “What did they say? What can they do?”

  He sighed. “Delaney left on an early train this morning for Kent, to Ainsworthy’s estate near Maidstone. They can send a message to that constabulary, but by now Delaney would have already checked in with them, and would be off searching for Thomas. Now they have to search for Delaney. It could take some time to find him, then get him on a train to Guildford. Meanwhile, they’ll contact the Guildford constabulary, and alert them that there’s a warrant for the arrest of a Thomas Martin, posing as Viscount Ainsworthy, in the hopes that they’ll detain the man until Delaney arrives.”

  “In the hopes? Wouldn’t they be rather in a hurry to arrest a murderer?”

  George shook his head. “They’ll have only a verbal description of the man. They may well wait for Delaney to identify him, rather than arrest the wrong aristocrat.”

  This was ridiculous. “We can identify him. For goodness’ sake, we can go to Guildford.”

  “I suggested that.”

  “And?”

  “They may still choose to wait for Delaney and the warrant.”

  My frustration was beyond words. “And how hard will the other constables look for Delaney? Will they simply wait until he reports back to their offices?”

  He put up a hand to stop me. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll go to Kent and find Delaney myself. I consulted a train schedule after speaking to the police. The next train leaves in an hour. With luck I can find him and bring him to Guildford by tomorrow morning.”

  “Then Hetty and I will go to Guildford now.”

  George’s expression turned thunderous. “You’ll do no such thing. He’s a murderer.”

  “And Lily, and Delia, and my daughter don’t know that. He’s called at Harleigh. He’s dined at Harleigh. Who knows what he might be doing to turn Lily’s head. I must go.”

  George ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Then I’ll go with you and leave it to the police to contact Delaney.”

  “No.”

  The single syllable startled us as if it had been a shot. We both turned to Hetty. I’d completely forgotten she was even in the room.

  “If there’s a chance the Guildford police will insist on waiting for Inspector Delaney, there’s no time to lose in bringing him there. You must find him. Frances and I will go directly to Guildford and try to convince them to act immediately. If they won’t, then Frances is right. Someone has to alert the ladies at Harleigh to the danger they may be in.”

  I took hold of George’s arm. “If we can’t convince the police to take action, then I’ll insist on one of them accompanying us to Harleigh, where we can lock the doors, and wait in safety for you and Delaney to arrive. I promise you we will not court danger.”

  In this manner Hetty and I worked on George until he finally agreed. Then he was off to catch his train. His carriage would return for Hetty and me in three quarters of an hour to take us to the station. We both rushed to pack a small bag each.

  * * *

  “I thought travel by train was supposed to be swift,” Hetty grumbled, as we finally stepped onto the platform at the Guildford station.

  “That’s true only if you refer to the time the train is actually in motion.” I skipped out of the way of a porter, pushing a cart piled high with trunks and bags. The trip had been absurdly long considering we were now only thirty miles from home. But missing the first train, then waiting for another, which was delayed for who knew what reason, took a toll on our patience, and a significant amount of our time. It was now nearly four o’clock, and we still had to look for transport to the constabulary.

  I took Hetty’s arm, guiding her through the station, and out to the street where omnibuses and cabs lingered. Since I had no idea where the police were headquartered, I asked a porter to fetch a cab for a ride so short, we could have walked it faster.

  Finally we were talking to a young constable who, upon hearing the name Viscount Ainsworthy, had us wait while he spoke to his superintendent. I wondered if these were the same men who, only days ago, were investigating me as a murder suspect. I didn’t have long to dwell on that thought as the constable returned momentarily, with another man in his mid-forties, sporting a trim mustache, and wearing a plain dark suit, rather than a uniform. He introduced himself as Superintendent Jessop and asked us to come back to his office. Once we were all seated, he gave us the bad news.

  “I’m afraid your man has fled,” he said.

  The blunt words pounded at my brain, but did not penetrate. I stared at him stupidly. “Fled? Are you certain? Have you looked at the White Horse? Checked with the proprietor?”

  Jessop nodded at each question. “Paid his bill, packed his bags, and left several hours ago. The ticket master at the station didn’t recall seeing him, but the description we have of the man is rather vague. It’s possible he purchased his return ticket when he arrived a few days ago, so by now, he could be on his way to just about anywhere.” He gave me a hard look. “We contacted the Chelsea Division with this information. What’s your connection to this man?”

  “I’m Frances Wynn, my late husband was the Earl of Harleigh. My sister-in-law, the countess, is in residence at Harleigh, along with my young sister and daughter.” I told him about the letter I’d received from Lily. “They have no idea he’s a criminal, and if he’s not at his rooms at the White Horse, he may be at Harleigh at this very moment.”

  Jessop’s brows rose at this. “Would the countess have invited him to stop there? Is there some connection?”

  His calm demeanor only made me more frantic. Did he not see the urgency? I took a breath to
steady my voice. “Under the guise of Viscount Ainsworthy he was courting my sister, while they were both in London. I can think of no other reason for his coming to Guildford, and to Harleigh, other than to continue advancing his suit. They don’t know who he is, and would have no reason to turn him away. Simple courtesy alone might induce the countess to invite him to give up his rooms and stay at Harleigh. Please, you must send someone there.”

  My voice broke on a sob with these last words. Jessop excused himself, and I used that time to regain my composure, while Hetty patted my shoulder. He returned after several minutes, with two other men dressed in drab suits and overcoats. Jessop introduced them as Inspectors Collins and Redding. “They’re ready to accompany you to Harleigh. If our man is in residence, then he still has no idea we’re looking for him. He’ll consider himself in no danger, and should be easy to arrest.”

  Eager to be off, Hetty and I stepped toward the door. Jessop raised a hand to stop us. “Your rank can hold no weight in this matter, my lady. While you’re with the inspectors, please follow any instructions they give you. Do you understand?”

  We assured him we did, and swiftly followed Collins and Redding out to the street where a hired hack waited to take us to the manor. Once we were moving, my thoughts were all of the residents of Harleigh. I vaguely heard Aunt Hetty explaining our history with Thomas Martin while I tried to assure myself everything would be fine once we arrived. There was no reason for Thomas to depart from his gentlemanly persona. No reason for him to become violent. No reason for him to hurt anyone. Still, I could not ease my mind.

  I have no idea how long it took to reach the manor house. It felt like hours, yet I’m sure it was less than half an hour. Twilight was just settling in. I barely waited for the carriage to stop at the top of the drive before thrusting open the door. One of the inspectors, I believe it was Redding, held my arm, forcing me to wait while Collins lowered the steps, then assisted me to the ground. As he turned to assist Hetty, I glanced up at the manor and saw the shadows of scaffolding along one side. Would they never be finished working on this behemoth? When we were all four collected, we made our way up the wide front stairs, while Inspector Collins gave me instructions.