Death Comes to London

by Catherine Lloyd

  “In what way?”

  “He imagines things, sir, like he’s being watched, or that someone is after him.”

  “Someone in his family?”

  “There’s certainly no love lost between my master and the rest of them.”

  “I had noticed,” Robert said drily. “Do you have any ideas where Mr. Oliver might be?”

  “That’s quite a long list, Major.” Smith scratched his head. “You’d probably be best to start with the brothels, and then the gambling dens and—”

  “I’ll want to go out tonight and look for him. I’d appreciate it if you would accompany me.”

  “Yes, Major.” Smith hesitated. “Mr. Oliver’s not a bad man, sir. He just needs to grow up a bit.”

  Robert nodded. “Well, let’s just hope we can find him and offer him the opportunity to do just that, shall we?”

  Chapter 8

  “Do you notice something odd, Anna?” Lucy whispered to her sister.

  “Are you talking about Miss Lewis’s purple gown?”

  “No, about Miss Chingford.”

  “She looks perfectly well turned out to me.”

  “I’m not talking about her dress. I’m talking about the fact that no one apart from her mother and sisters is speaking to her.”

  They were attending a musical event in a private home with a smaller guest list than usual. To Lucy’s secret relief, it was a welcome respite from all the large balls and entertainments. She found it much easier to converse with other guests in a more intimate setting and felt less on show like a prize turkey at the county fair. Mr. Stanford had escorted her and the Hathaway ladies, and they’d met up with Anna and the Harringtons.

  Miss Chingford sat with her mother at one of the small tables in the dining room. Although all the other tables were full, no one was taking up the empty spaces at Miss Chingford’s table.

  “How peculiar,” Anna whispered. “She doesn’t look very happy either.”

  “She never looks particularly cheerful, though, does she? Perhaps she’s found out what the gossipmongers are saying about her.”

  “I wonder. I should imagine that her mama wouldn’t let her read the scandal sheets.” Anna sounded quite sorry for Miss Chingford. “Do you think we should go and warn her?”

  Lucy cast Anna a horrified glance. “And what do you think will happen if we do that? She already loathes us. She’s hardly going to welcome us telling her she’s suspected of murdering a little old lady.”

  “She hardly murdered her, Lucy. And Lady Bentley was as much at fault as Miss Chingford for upsetting the dowager countess.”

  “But slightly more discreet.”

  “How can you say that when they were both converging on the dowager just before she died?”

  “Lady Bentley is a widow who doesn’t need to catch a husband, and can say whatever she likes and merely be thought of as an eccentric. Miss Chingford is not in that position. You know such a slur on her character could affect her chances of making a good marriage.” Lucy waved a hand in Miss Chingford’s general direction. “Why do you think everyone is giving her such a wide berth?”

  “It’s not fair.” Anna’s expression took on a mulish look that Lucy had learned to dread. “I’m going to speak to her.”

  Before Lucy could say another word, Anna started to make her way across the floor to where Miss Chingford sat in solitary splendor. With an irritated sigh, Lucy followed her.

  “What do you want?” Miss Chingford didn’t exactly look welcoming.

  Anna smiled. “Are you all right?” She glanced around the room at the other guests who continued to ignore the vacancies at the table.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  Lucy stepped up beside Anna. “Because you are being ignored, and we both know how important social success is to you.”

  Miss Chingford scowled at Lucy. “Of course, having spent all of two weeks in London, you would know everything about that, wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s much the same anywhere, Miss Chingford. No one likes being ostracized.”

  “Ostracized?” Miss Chingford raised her eyebrows and tittered. “Me? This silly crisis will resolve itself and the gossips will move on to something else.”

  “I doubt that will happen until this particular matter is properly resolved. I just hope it is in time for you to recover your standing in the eyes of your peers.” Lucy hesitated. “Being accused of provoking an old woman until she died is hardly a laughing matter.”

  “I did no such thing! If anyone is to blame for her death it is your sister!”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows. “And how did you work that out?”

  “She’s the one who stole Broughton from me, and forced me to act to resolve the situation. The dowager countess was agitated because her grandson was consorting with a nobody.”

  Lucy put a restraining hand on Anna’s arm. “She isn’t worth arguing with, Anna, and she’s just trying to provoke you.” Lucy met Miss Chingford’s defiant gaze. “Despite everything, we will still try and make sure that you are exonerated of all blame for this appalling situation. But you might seek to examine your conscience, Miss Chingford, and perhaps accept some responsibility for your part in this matter. Good afternoon.”

  She linked her arm with Anna’s and walked her back to their table.

  “There’s no point trying to engage her further. She’ll just make matters worse.”

  Her sister sat down with a decided thump. “And now she’ll be going around telling everyone it’s my fault. Why did I ever feel sorry for her in the first place?”

  “I’m not sure.” Lucy patted her hand. “We tried to be charitable, and Christian, and forgiving of her appalling nature. That’s what counts. Father would be proud of us.”

  Anna didn’t look convinced. Luckily, at that moment, Julia and Sophia returned to their table and she was soon chatting happily to them. Lucy continued to stare at Miss Chingford, who had somehow managed to insert herself into a group of people. From the way her mouth was moving and the angry glances she sent in their direction, Lucy could only assume that Anna’s reputation was being shredded. When Miss Chingford caught her eye, Lucy smiled graciously.

  For once, she had no intention of trying to defend her sister. Didn’t Miss Chingford understand that her ill will toward others made her appear most unattractive, particularly to men of marriageable age? None of them would want to bring a bride into their family who abused their elders. Miss Chingford was in a lot more trouble than she realized. Lucy only hoped it wouldn’t drive her back to Major Kurland.

  The major had sent her a note earlier inviting the Harringtons and the Hathaways to visit Broughton House. Anna was more than willing to go, and Sophia and her mother had agreed to come, too. Lucy was quite eager to visit the house herself and learn what Major Kurland had discovered. She was convinced that the dowager’s death and Broughton’s suspected poisoning were linked in some way. But how to proceed if they were? She was not at home in Kurland St. Mary, where she knew everyone and could wander into their houses at will. It was extremely frustrating. Here she would have to rely on Major Kurland to take the lead. He was ideally situated in the Broughtons’ home. She almost wished she were there, too....

  “Miss Harrington? I understand we are to call on the Broughtons on the way home. Is that correct?”

  She turned to find Mr. Stanford smiling at her. He wore a dark olive coat that brought out the green in his eyes and black top boots that gleamed. He always looked presentable and, unlike many men, he always treated her as an intelligent being, entitled to have an opinion about serious matters such as politics and warfare. She suspected he might make her a good husband, but she wasn’t convinced he realized it yet.

  “If it doesn’t inconvenience you, sir.”

  “Not at all, Miss Harrington.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go and find your aunt and assure her that we will return Miss Anna to her in time for dinner?”

  The ride to the Broughtons’ house was fai
rly short, which was just as well with them all crammed together in one carriage to avoid the rain. Mr. Stanford gallantly took the center seat with Lucy and Anna on either side of him, while Sophia, and her more rotund mother, sat opposite. It was strange to feel the warmth of a male body all along her side. When Sophia winked at her, it simply made matters worse.

  Mr. Stanford got out first and helped all the ladies down the steps and into the cavernous hall of Broughton House. The knocker on the front door was tied with black crape and the curtains had all been drawn. A footman took them through to the drawing room where the countess sat sewing in a chair by the fire. Major Kurland sat with her. He immediately stood and bowed.

  Mrs. Hathaway went straight across to the countess and held her hand.

  “We won’t stay above a minute. May I express our condolences and inquire about the invalid?”

  “Thank you.” The countess patted Mrs. Hathaway’s hand and gestured for her to join her on the couch. “Please sit down. Broughton is feeling much better. I believe he intends to join us for tea.”

  “I’m very glad to hear he is on the mend,” Mrs. Hathaway said. “I’m sure Major Kurland has been of great comfort, but there is nothing like having your family around you at such a terrible time as this.”

  The countess looked across at the major. “He has indeed been very kind. I only wish my dear husband could be with me, too. I have sent a letter to him in India, but it will be months before he receives the news.”

  The butler returned with the tea tray and Lucy rose to help the countess. She took her own cup and brought another over to Major Kurland.

  “Thank you, Miss Harrington.”

  “You are most welcome, Major.” She took the seat beside him. “Have you heard back from your aunt Rose? Will she be able to join you at your investiture?”

  “I haven’t heard yet, Miss Harrington, but I’m fairly certain she will do her best to be there. An opportunity to meet the Prince Regent can hardly be ignored.”

  “How nice for her.” Lucy looked back at the door. “Is Lieutenant Broughton really well enough to leave his bed?”

  “He is determined to do so.” Major Kurland hesitated and then lowered his voice. “He is also determined to find out who poisoned him.”

  “Ah, he doesn’t mean to let it lie, then, like his mother wishes. I wonder why? Does he suspect anyone in particular?”

  “At the moment, he’s convinced it has something to do with Oliver. I spent last night looking for the young rapscallion at all his usual haunts, but he was nowhere to be found.”

  “That does make things more problematical.”

  “It is highly likely that Oliver was involved. According to Broughton, he has a history of malicious pranks against his family.”

  “Surely this goes beyond the malicious and into the murderous?”

  “I quite agree, Miss Harrington. If he were my brother, I’d—” Major Kurland broke off. “Broughton’s here.”

  Lucy watched as the poor man came into the drawing room and quickly sat down by the fire. His skin looked as clammy as a death mask, his eyes were black holes, and he was sweating profusely. Anna immediately rose and went to sit by his side, her expression concerned. After a while he appeared to rally and even attempted to smile at his solicitous companion.

  Seeing that Broughton was engaged with her sister, Lucy leaned closer to the major and lowered her voice. “Has the physician examined the dowager’s body yet?”

  “I believe he was doing that today. He’ll probably come to the house this evening to let us know his findings.”

  “But Broughton believes they were both poisoned and blames his brother?”

  “Yes, Miss Harrington.”

  “And do you agree?”

  “It sounds likely. Why, do you have a different opinion?”

  “Not really. I know from living in Kurland St. Mary that the most likely suspect in a suspicious death is a husband, a wife, or a close family member.”

  “So I believe. It is very different from the experience of warfare where one mostly kills complete strangers.”

  There was nothing Lucy could say to dispel the bleak look on her companion’s face. Anna beckoned to her and with a word of excuse, she crossed over to her sister’s side.

  “Lucy, the lieutenant would like to take a short stroll into the garden. I wondered whether you and Sophia would accompany us?”

  Lucy glanced at Broughton’s gaunt face. “Are you certain that you feel well enough to venture outside, Lieutenant? It is rather cold.”

  “I’ve been inside for several days now, Miss Harrington, and would appreciate a breath of fresh air.”

  “If you are sure, sir, I’d be happy to accompany you and Anna.” She glanced over at Major Kurland, who raised a quizzical eyebrow, and increased the volume of her voice. “Major Kurland was just expressing a similar desire to escape the confines of the house.”

  Sophia and Mr. Stanford joined them and the party went out of the long windows that opened into the expansive gardens behind the house. Major Kurland took Lucy’s arm.

  “I never said I wished to escape.”

  “Major, you always look as if you wish to flee. You said London does not agree with you.”

  “That’s true.” He took a deep breath of the frigid air. “I asked Broughton if he remembered what he drank at Almack’s. He thought he’d sipped at some weak orgeat.”

  “There was a tray of orgeat on the table. I remember one of the footmen bringing it over to us. That’s what I gave the dowager.”

  “Didn’t you drink some?”

  “No, if you recall, someone jogged my elbow and the whole lot ended up all over my favorite gown.” She shuddered. “Which I’m heartily glad of now.”

  “Did anyone else touch the orgeat?”

  “I don’t think so.” Lucy frowned. “It is rather too sweet and syrupy for most people’s tastes.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “To be honest, I’m surprised to hear of Broughton drinking it, but at the time I believe he was rather too agitated with his grandmother’s behavior to care what he was consuming.”

  “I can understand that. She really was an appalling woman.”

  Lucy glanced up at him. “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

  “Why not? It’s not as if she can hear me.” The major avoided the trailing root of a tree, steering Lucy around it. “From what I can tell, everyone in the Broughton family will breathe a little easier without that particular dragon on their backs. I wonder where Broughton is heading? He didn’t look well enough for a long trek.”

  His abrupt change of subject had Lucy returning her thoughts to where they were going rather than considering the issues the major had raised. His refusal to conform to the conventions of mourning the dead didn’t really surprise her. In her opinion, anyone who had survived the battlefields of Europe was entitled to their own view on that matter. Such carnage would challenge any man’s faith.

  Broughton appeared to be heading for the building on the left. They waited as he found a key above the door and unlocked the heavy door. The sweet smell of herbs and dried hops flowed out into the frigid air, reminding Lucy of home. A sharp pang of longing for her garden at the rectory made her catch her breath.

  “Are you all right, Miss Harrington?”

  “Yes.” She forced a smile. “I was just thinking of the rectory stillroom where Anna brews up the most effective potions for our various ills.”

  The major brushed aside a bunch of drying herbs that hung from a rack coming down from the ceiling. “If you gave me any of her concoctions I can certainly vouch for their efficiency.”

  Broughton’s weak voice carried back to them. “Unfortunately, my grandmother’s potions generally did more harm than good. Her eyesight was failing, and as she refused to let anyone help her read the ingredients for her mixtures she sometimes got them wrong.”

  “Which is why you replaced her with Dr. Redmond,” Major Kurland said. He
walked over to where Broughton leaned up against a large pine worktable and pulled out a chair. “Perhaps you should sit down. You look rather tired.”

  Sophia, Anna, and Mr. Stanford began investigating the dowager’s stillroom and commenting on what they found as they walked through the space. Lucy followed the major over to the worktable where he stood looking down at a large leather-bound book. While Broughton sat and conversed with the major, she quietly opened the book. It was an herbal of great age with recipes and receipts written in several different hands. Some of the original script was faded, but it looked as if generations of women had added their thoughts and substitutions in the margins of the pages.

  “Has this herbal been in your family for long, Lieutenant Broughton?” Lucy asked.

  He nodded. “At least two hundred years. My grandmother set great store by it.”

  “And you?”

  “I prefer to place my trust in the new science, Miss Harrington. Methods derived from the more rigorous and scientific approach of men.”

  “You don’t think that this store of knowledge, knowledge that has been lovingly passed down for centuries by the women of your own family, has any value to it?”

  “I’m sure some of it will be scientifically proven to be accurate, Miss Harrington, but until then, I’d rather not place my trust in the scribblings of women.” He smiled at her as though trying to lessen the insult. “Please feel free to look through it while you are here. I believe my grandmother marked her favorites.”

  He turned to speak to Major Kurland as Anna came back to the table and Lucy began to leaf through the book. His assumption that the accumulated wisdom of generations of women was untrustworthy was slightly annoying, but not uncommon in this age of new science. Apparently, in order to be considered worthy, everything had to be proved anew. It seemed ridiculous to her. If willow bark cured a headache, and had done so for centuries, then why would one suddenly doubt it? It was typical of men to rewrite something just for the sake of it.

  She turned another page, which was marked with a red ribbon, and read the title, Convallaria majalis (Lily of the Valley), which was followed by a small drawing of the tiny, waxen white flowers and the long, straggling, slightly shiny leaves that reminded her of a bluebell.