Death Comes to London

by Catherine Lloyd

  “No laudanum,” Robert said through his clenched teeth.

  “Are you sure, sir? You are obviously in considerable pain.”

  “I’ll survive. I’ve done it before.”

  Dr. Redmond drew the covers over Robert’s lower body. “I’ll leave the laudanum just in case you change your mind, and I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  Relief washed over him as the doctor turned away to consult with Foley. For one horrible moment, he’d imagined being told his leg would have to come off. At least his current level of pain reassured him that his leg was still attached, and merely complaining.

  He shut his eyes again and tried not to think about Lady Bentley’s white face and the way her hair had unraveled like seaweed in the water and clung to his fingers. But the image refused to leave his mind. Something Bentley had said . . . He was aware of Foley moving around the room and then approaching the bed to wash as much of the mud off Robert as he could reach. He accepted a large glass of brandy in lieu of the laudanum and then lay back down. The pain was receding a little. He let himself fall into it and finally found oblivion.

  “It’s all right, Anna.” Lucy handed her sister the warm whisky and lemon punch Aunt Jane had ordered to be brewed for them. “Drink this.”

  Anna cupped her hands around the glass and breathed in the fumes of ginger and lemon that rose from the punch. She’d changed into her nightgown and had two blankets wrapped around her shoulders. Her long fair hair had been washed and was spread out over her shoulders.

  “It was horrible.” Anna shivered. “And it isn’t all right, Lucy. Lady Bentley is dead.”

  “I know.” Lucy patted Anna’s knee. “Mr. Bentley was beside himself with grief. But perhaps he should’ve thought about the consequences of his actions before he decided to teach Broughton a lesson.” She gave her sister a hard stare. “I find it rather difficult to forgive him myself. You might have ended up dead as well as his mother!”

  “At least I could swim. From what I remember, Lady Bentley sank like a stone. When it was obvious that Bentley was all right, both Broughton and I went after her. Bentley was too hysterical to help us much. Broughton managed to haul her up to the surface and I helped keep her afloat. Thank goodness Major Kurland came to my rescue. I was struggling to keep hold of her while Broughton helped Miss Phillips.”

  Anna swallowed hard. “It was all so confusing. I’d already been trying to persuade Lieutenant Broughton to return to shore. But I suppose that even suggesting to a man that he might be a little too weak to be rowing a boat makes him believe he has to behave like a Greek hero.”

  “It’s a shame he didn’t turn back.”

  Anna took another sip of the boiling hot drink. “When Bentley altered course and seemed to be heading straight for us, Lieutenant Broughton didn’t have the energy left to get out of the way fast enough. And when the Phillips boat came between us . . .” She shuddered. “It was a disaster.”

  “So Mr. Bentley definitely went after your boat?”

  “Yes, I just said so.”

  “I wonder why?”

  “He’s hot tempered and overly fond of his mama.”

  Lucy sat back on the bed. “I wonder if she encouraged him.”

  “She looked as terrified as I’m sure I did as the boats crunched together. We both screamed.”

  “She was very worried when he decided to confront Broughton at the party. She begged me to stop him.”

  “And she was obviously right to be concerned. Poor Mr. Bentley will have to live with the knowledge that he caused his own mother’s death.”

  “Indeed.” Lucy rose from the bed and smoothed out the covers. “You should go to sleep, my dear. I’ll come back and see you in the morning.”

  Anna obediently got into bed and lay down. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep very well after this.” She hesitated. “Will you stay here with me tonight?”

  Lucy put down her pelisse and reticule. “If you can lend me a nightgown and don’t mind sharing your bed, then of course I will.”

  She lay beside her sister and watched the hands of the clock move around the dial as Anna finally managed to fall asleep. Perhaps she was a cynic, but it seemed very convenient that Lady Bentley had died right in the middle of the investigation as to what had happened to her lost rubies. Had Bentley’s decision to ram Broughton’s boat been more calculated than anyone might imagine? Had he wanted his mother to die?

  It was another three days before Lucy was able to visit the Broughton family and finish up her inventory of the dowager countess’s possessions. Anna had caught a chill from her encounter with the lake and couldn’t accompany her. When she arrived, the countess told her that both Lieutenant Broughton and Major Kurland had been ordered to stay in bed by Dr. Redmond.

  “Oh dear. You have a houseful of invalids.” Lucy sipped at her tea. The countess was stretched out on the chaise longue opposite her with a shawl covering her shoulders and a blanket over her black skirts. “I do hope all of them recover soon.”

  “Broughton and Major Kurland are both recovering nicely, my dear, and hope to be downstairs today at some point.”

  “And how is Oliver?”

  “He still seems very weak.” The countess frowned. “Dr. Redmond is watching him very closely but has been unable to come up with a reason for his slow recovery when Broughton is doing so well.”

  “It must be very trying for you.” Lucy set down her cup. She noticed the countess hadn’t mentioned the death of Lady Bentley at all. Perhaps she hoped that it meant an end to the matter of the disputed jewelry. If that was the case, Lucy almost couldn’t blame her.

  “I wonder if I might visit the dowager’s stillroom and see if she has anything that might help my sister Anna’s cough? I’m worried that it might settle on her lungs.”

  “You are more than welcome to look, my dear, although you might wish to check with Hester, her maid, or even with Broughton when he comes down, to make sure that the potion is safe.”

  “Are the dowager’s recipes generally unsafe, then?”

  “Oh no, it’s just that occasionally as she got older she made mistakes.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to check with Lieutenant Broughton.” Lucy rose and placed her cup beside the teapot. “Is the key in the usual place above the door?”

  “I believe so.” The countess smiled warmly at her. “You have been such a great help and solace to me, Miss Harrington.”

  “It’s been a pleasure, my lady.” She curtsied. “I’ll finish writing up the inventory of the dowager’s possessions and then I’ll visit the stillroom.”

  Eventually, Lucy made her way out into the garden and down to the stillroom. Standing on tiptoe, she used her hand to locate the key and brought it to the lock. The smell of dried herbs and the tang of spices reminded her of her skirts brushing past the hedgerows in Kurland St. Mary. Perhaps it was time to admit it. She missed her home very badly. London had its share of amusements, but she suspected that at heart, she would prefer to live in the countryside and visit the capital occasionally. She couldn’t imagine having to live there all year and engage in the exhausting social round. Truth be told, she also missed being her own mistress. Having to depend on the good-natured Mrs. Hathaway or her aunt as a chaperone was remarkably constricting.

  The only man she’d met who seemed to appreciate her intelligence and enjoy her conversation was Mr. Stanford. He had made no effort to engage her interest more deeply, content to escort her and Sophia wherever they wanted to go and share his smiles equally between them. Perhaps spinsterhood and running the Kurland St. Mary rectory really were her lot in life....

  Shaking off this unpleasant conclusion, she studied the shelves of potions. Where was the cough mixture that the dowager had given to Oliver? She found a bottle labeled rose hip and honey, and set it on the worktable. Uncorking it, she cautiously smelled the contents and then sealed it up again. It seemed fine to her, but she would take the countess’s
advice and consult with the lieutenant before she gave any to her sister.

  She spied the dowager’s herbal and drew it toward her. Would anyone mind if she borrowed it? She suspected it might be missed if Hester, the dowager’s maid, was still using it to make potions for the household. She remembered Broughton saying that the dowager’s favorite recipes were marked with ribbon. Lucy flicked through the pages, noticing when comments had been added to the page and comparing them to the handwriting on the label of the bottle. It seemed that the dowager had a lot to say about her forbear’s recipes and none of it was complimentary. There was also another hand that had recently added comments. Perhaps it was Hester’s. . . .

  “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington.” Lucy twirled around to find Lieutenant Broughton smiling at her from the doorway. “My mother said I might find you here. Is it true that your sister is unwell?” He heaved a sigh. “If that is the case, I can only apologize for being the cause. I can assure you, Miss Harrington, I never planned for us both to end up in the lake.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Lieutenant. Anna has a slight chill, but I see no signs of any fever, so I think she’ll recover fairly soon.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it. Are you intending to take her some cough mixture?”

  “Yes, if that is all right. The countess suggested you check to see if the recipe was correct.”

  He came to stand beside her and picked up the bottle to read the label. “There’s no need in this case. I’ve already made sure that this potion is safe. Hester and I made up a new batch together.” He pulled the herbal toward him and leafed through the pages. “Here’s the original recipe and my grandmother’s additions.” He smiled and traced a finger along another line of text. “And here is one of the improvements I made. I added less sugar and more honey. Of course, my grandmother hated me suggesting anything, and despite my superior knowledge she usually ignored my suggestions.”

  “Then I will accept this bottle with pleasure and will ensure that Anna take some this very evening.”

  Lucy watched as he closed the herbal, and followed him reluctantly to the door. She wouldn’t get a chance to look around the stillroom with him there, but she did know where the key was for a return visit.

  He held the door for her and locked it before turning around.

  “You seem rather interested in my grandmother’s stillroom, Miss Harrington.”

  “I’m a countrywoman at heart, sir, and have spent many happy hours comparing household remedies with others in my village. In fact, I noticed that your grandmother made her own version of rat poison. I have great trouble finding anything that keeps the rats away from the pantry at the rectory. Do you know what she recommended?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to use old-fashioned remedies for rats, Miss Harrington. There are far better and quicker solutions than that.” He started off across the grass toward his laboratory. “If you have time, I can show you what I mean.”

  She followed him as he continued to talk.

  “Of course, most natural poisons take a long time to work and, if you are like most of the women of my acquaintance, Miss Harrington, the thought of any creature suffering upsets you.”

  “It certainly isn’t pleasant, sir, but—”

  “It’s much better to use, say, a concentrated, more industrial form of the product—a powder, for example, instead of a liquid. By boiling off the excess liquid, one improves the strength of the poison and, especially when dealing with vermin, makes it easier to use. And, if one prefers to use a liquid, a prepared powder can be dissolved into anything and at the strength you require, making it far more likely that you will have a successful outcome.”

  He gestured at the cages that lined the back wall of the room. “I’ve tested this theory quite extensively with the rat population of Broughton House. Using variable doses and strengths of poisons derived from both natural plant recipes and the more sophisticated mineral powdered form, I’ve taken notes about how long the rodent takes to die and how painful it appears to be for the creature. I’m considering writing an article and submitting it to one of the scientific journals.”

  “How fascinating,” Lucy said weakly as she studied the caged rat in front of her. For the first time in her life, she actually felt sorry for a rodent. “I assume the dowager countess disagreed with your findings?”

  “Naturally, but she was an old lady and somewhat behind the times. Her opinion and her validation of my work were not necessary. The scientific method will always trump the old wives’ tale.” He offered Lucy his arm. “Are you coming in for tea? I believe my mother is expecting you.”

  After Broughton left to go to his club, Lucy sat and talked to the countess for a while longer until her hostess fell into a discreet doze. Rising from her seat, Lucy tiptoed out of the room and made her way up the stairs. She encountered a maid on the landing and asked if she might speak to Mr. Foley.

  In less than a minute, she was accompanying Foley to Major Kurland’s bedchamber while he told her how his master was doing and warned her about his uncertain temper. It was just like old times.... Promising to guard the door against intruders, Foley discreetly ushered her inside. Major Kurland was sitting up in bed in his nightshirt, the daily newspapers spread out around him.

  “Miss Harrington!”

  Lucy curtsied. “Major Kurland, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine. You shouldn’t be in here.” He frowned as he whipped off his spectacles. “Did Foley make you come?”

  “No, I wanted to talk to you myself, so I found him. He’s outside making sure no one will see me in your bedchamber.”

  “Thank God for that. Where are all the Broughtons?”

  “The lieutenant has gone out, the countess is dozing in her chair, and I assume Oliver is still in bed.” She drew up a chair next to his bedside. “Don’t you find it odd that Lady Bentley died at this point in time?”

  “I do, but I’m not sure what to make of it.” He pushed the newspapers to one side.

  “I suspect Bentley killed his mother.”

  “Why on earth do you think that?”

  “She was worried about him confronting Lieutenant Broughton. She begged me to intervene.”

  “Because she knew he had a bad temper and that if he pursued Broughton he might do something he’d regret. And she was correct.”

  “Perhaps she might have feared that if he spoke to Broughton, he’d realize that she hadn’t been telling the truth. Maybe the story of the rubies was false, and she was alarmed that he intended to take it too far?”

  “So she chose to drown herself in a fit of remorse? This makes no sense, Miss Harrington.”

  “But what if she told him when they were on the lake? Perhaps when the boats collided he decided not to save her so that he could extricate himself from a potentially damaging situation that would affect his career if he pursued her lies?”

  “But, by all accounts, he loved her dearly.”

  “Maybe he loved her too much.”

  Major Kurland rubbed a hand over his jaw in an impatient gesture. “This whole scenario is based on nothing but your vivid imagination, Miss Harrington.”

  “Then why did Lady Bentley die? I searched through all the dowager’s possessions. There was no sign of those rubies.”

  “I don’t know why she died; perhaps both of the old ladies killed themselves and there is nothing more to say about the matter.”

  “Now that is a ridiculous suggestion, sir. Perhaps the question we should be asking ourselves is who would want both ladies dead?”

  “Apart from all of the Broughton family and half of society who have grown tired of dealing with the squabbling pair?”

  “Well, at least we can’t blame Oliver for this one.” Lucy sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

  A banging on the door made her jump to her feet with a gasp, but it was only Foley. She was just about to ask him what was the matter when he fixed his gaze on the major.

  “Major Kurland! There�
�s a commotion coming from Master Oliver’s room!”

  Lucy could hear something now, and gathered her skirts. “I’ll go.”

  Major Kurland threw back the bedcovers and she hastily averted her gaze. “I’m coming, too.”

  She didn’t wait for him, but ran out into the hallway and down to the open door where one of the maids stood screaming.

  “What’s wrong, Mairi?”

  “Master Oliver! I just brought up his dinner. He’s—”

  Lucy brushed past her and then came to an abrupt stop. Oliver’s bed was empty, and the nurse who tended him lay sprawled on the floor, either dead or unconscious. A gust of wind blew in her face and, stepping over the fallen figure, Lucy advanced toward the wide-open window where the curtains were open and flapping wildly.

  “Miss Harrington, stay there.”

  Lucy looked over her shoulder to see Major Kurland, resplendent in his blue banyan, coming in through the doorway.

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue with me.” He held up his hand. “Let me approach the window first.”

  She managed to stay still as he went slowly ahead of her, his cane tapping on the wooden floorboards. He paused and then leaned slowly forward until he could see out of the window.

  “Good Lord,” he murmured. “He’s out on the ledge.”

  “Oliver is?”

  “Yes.” Major Kurland turned to her. “And we’re three stories up with the flagstone square below us. Find Foley and tell him to gather some of the male servants and get them to bring a large blanket out to the front of the house below this window.”

  “In . . . in case Oliver jumps?”

  “I doubt he’s sitting out there to appreciate the sunset, Miss Harrington.”

  “And what are you going to do while I’m organizing Foley?”

  “I’m going to try and talk to him.”

  “You are?”

  The doubt on her face almost made him smile. “Yes.”