The Earl's Mortal Enemy

by Issy Brooke

  Theodore rushed up to Adelia and then stopped a few feet away, flapping his hands and looking nervous.

  Harriet stepped in. “I cannot abide great long silences, silly misunderstandings, drawn-out explanations or any of this nonsense,” she said. “The pair of you are idiots and the pair of you were drunk. Now, get over all of that and put it aside. It’s done. We’re here for some nice food – and to plan our attack.”

  “Attack?” Theodore said, frowning.

  Adelia was grateful for her friend’s intervention. She made the move and stepped closer to Theodore, taking his arm and walking alongside him towards the waiting room. “I have some dreadful things to tell you about Mr Froude,” she said quietly. “I need to speak to you now, and lay it all out, and I need you to listen without comment until the very end. It will not be comfortable or easy for you to hear. But I know that you will do your very best.”

  “Of course,” he said, and she felt butterflies in her stomach, because he had no idea the extent of what she was going to reveal to him, and she could only hope that he would keep his cool this time.

  SHE SPOKE TO THEODORE privately, and he took it all rather better than she had hoped he might. They huddled in a corner of the chamber while everyone else clustered by the fire. Adelia knew that Harriet was passing on her own version and interpretation of events to Gregory, but she owed it to Theodore to tell him absolutely everything. Perhaps it was the presence of others in the room that prevented him from having an outburst, or perhaps he had simply decided to receive the information with calm rationality.

  “I want to knock the man’s head off,” Theodore said at the end, showing rather more emotion than rationality at that point. “It is a good thing he is not here right now.”

  “I know,” she said. “I feel nauseous at the extent to which I have been duped and used.”

  “Not just you – all of us. I am convinced, my dear, by your suspicions. Everything fits and I find it a more compelling explanation than anything we have tried to pin upon Montgomery.”

  “Really?” she said.

  He took hold of her hands. “Yes. I believe you. I believe you utterly.”

  Her head spun. “I do not deserve it.”

  “Because you lied for so long about your brother?”

  She opened her mouth to protest about the use of the word “lie” but then closed it again before she spoke. Theodore was right. Her silence on the matter was an untruth as deceitful as any spoken aloud, and she had to accept that.

  “We have more important things to get angry about at the moment,” he went on. “Let us argue about this matter at some point in the future, when we have more time to consider our respective arguments.”

  She burst out laughing though she saw that he was totally serious. “I don’t deserve you,” she said.

  “I agree. I am a special catch. Ah – dinner is announced. And now we all need to plan how we are going to amass enough evidence against Froude to present to Inspector Prendergast on his return from London, but we must also do so secretly and without alerting Froude to our intentions.” He stood up and grinned.

  “You are relishing the task, aren’t you?” she said as she took his outstretched hand and got to her feet.

  “Naturally.” He slid her a sideways glance. “And so are you.”

  THEODORE COULD BARELY contain his relief that Adelia had turned up at Ivery Manor. His long conversations with Gregory had been reassuring but he could not get past the fact that Gregory was many years his junior and wedded to his youngest daughter; that fact put certain unspoken barriers in between them, however open one wanted to be.

  He told himself that he would have gone back to Thringley House but he knew that he was avoiding the issue. Now that Adelia had arrived, and with a reason to speak to him about the important matter of the murder, it was as if they could put the other things behind them, at least temporarily. He was grateful that she was not the sort of woman to hold a grudge or nurse a grievance. He wished that character trait had shown itself in Edith, too, although he had to admit that she seemed happier and livelier at dinner. She did not complain about anything. In fact, she seemed to be caught up in talking at great length to Gregory about timetables, of all things. It was rather baffling but he was glad that she was happy.

  Adelia was curiously quiet and so was Harriet. Theodore looked at them and said, “What ails the pair of you?”

  Adelia smiled weakly. Harriet snorted. “She won’t accept that it now all rests on her.”

  “I do accept it. But...” She winced. “Theodore, what do you think?”

  “How do you mean that it rests on you?” Then he thought about it a little longer. The idea that Froude had done everything in his power to get close to his own wife, on some distasteful mission to rekindle whatever relationship they had had in the past, made his blood boil every time that he considered it. But if everything had been done for Adelia, then yes, it made sense; Adelia could be the one to expose him. Froude would trust her. Froude would want to let her get close to him.

  But it was dangerous.

  And not only for her.

  “I say, but has anyone considered – and I don’t wish to sound weak or alarmed in any way – but have any of you not realised that if Froude really does want to take my wife away from me, by whatever means – then I am an obstacle to that aim? That I am, in fact, more at risk than Montgomery ever was?”

  “Is that a problem?” Harriet snapped at him.

  He was reminded that he didn’t like her very much. He attempted to smile. “No, of course it’s not. Not at all.”

  The meal continued, the conversation ebbing and flowing, with Theodore mostly sunk into his own thoughts, oscillating between gloomy introspection and the occasional burst of a thrill of excitement that he had a role to play at last.

  Around ten o’clock that night, the carriage rumbled back to Thringley House. This time it contained Theodore, Adelia and Harriet. Edith had remained back in her own place and Theodore was glad to see it. He gazed up at the house as they came to a stop at the front door.

  “Isn’t it strange to think that it contains a murderer?” he said absently.

  “Theodore!” Adelia said sharply. “That’s hardly what I want to be thinking as I go to bed tonight.”

  Harriet tutted.

  They stepped down from the carriage and there seemed to be a reluctance among all three of them to actually enter the house, in spite of the freezing air. “What have we actually agreed to do?” Adelia said in a low voice. “It’s all very well saying let’s gather some evidence and use me as the bait but what does that actually mean?”

  “I think we need to bring Montgomery into our confidence,” Theodore said.

  “I agree,” Harriet said, startling him. He always expected her to oppose him though he could not have said exactly why that was.

  “Very well,” Adelia said. “Tomorrow, then, we shall speak to him and see if he has anything to offer.”

  “Are you feeling confident about this, my love?” Theodore asked as they began to head to the house. The double doors were swung open as they approached.

  “No,” she said. “I confess that I am full of doubt and uneasiness.”

  “That’s probably just because we don’t have a clear plan yet,” he said to reassure her.

  “Hmm. I am also worried about the nature this plan will take. Short of setting the most base kind of trap, involving me being set upon in a private area by that man and seduced, I cannot see how else we will do this.”

  He could tell from the tone of her voice that such a plan would not go down well with her.

  Which was a shame, because at the moment, that was all he could think of to do.

  Twenty-three

  Adelia was bone-weary and she expected to sleep well that night, now that Theodore was back at Thringley House. But she could not quite shake off her lingering anxieties and uncertainties about the fissures in their relationship that her unwitting dishonesty had cr
eated. Still, she was relieved that Theodore was apparently happy to let the matter drop until the murder had been solved.

  And to her mind, the murder case had been solved. Froude was the killer, for whatever complicated reason. Knowing him of old, and knowing his driving passions, she could well believe he had been motivated by love, and the subsequent loss of that love, mixed up with spite and bitterness. He would have been far more motivated by all that than anything to do with money and business.

  She tossed and turned all night, churning events over in her head. Yes, they knew now who the killer was – but he remained in the house and they had no real evidence. And Inspector Prendergast had shown he would not act without solid evidence, even if it meant he would be standing up at the charity dinner in a week’s time to tell everyone that he knew nothing. Adelia stifled a groan.

  The next morning, after a hasty breakfast, Theodore managed to tap Montgomery on the elbow as they were leaving the breakfast room. He drew him back, allowing Froude to go on ahead. Adelia fell into step alongside Froude, asking if he had enjoyed his meal that morning. She made sure to remain in the passageway, slowing down to stay in sight of the bustling servants. Usually they would do their best to melt away but she had warned them all early that morning, through Smith and the housekeeper, that if Mr Froude was ever seen near her, they were to watch carefully. Therefore as she dallied, forcing Froude to slow down, one maid was on her hands and knees brushing a skirting board behind them, and up ahead, a manservant was inexplicably shaking the curtains violently.

  “And what are your plans for today?” she went on, politely.

  He grimaced. “In truth, I have reached the limits of my patience.”

  “You are thinking of leaving?”

  “I have had enough of this farce.”

  He could not be allowed to go. She said, “Why not stay until the charity dinner next week?”

  He snorted with laughter. “What, to watch our incompetent Inspector Prendergast give a speech where he will stutter and ramble his way through a list of excuses as to why he has failed in his duty, in the simplest matter possible, in fact? All he had to do was identify the killer of a man, from a very small pool of suspects.” He dropped his voice. “And of course, the most obvious one being a proven liar and cheat, too.”

  “As to that,” she replied mildly, “I could not possibly say. But Samuel,” she went on, deliberately using his name. “I think we were starting to come to a new understanding before we were interrupted yesterday and I want to tell you that I do appreciate your honesty and your steadfastness. You must appreciate how unutterably difficult things are for me here, and I should very much like your company at the dinner.”

  “Calaway not intending to go, is he?”

  “I am not sure. He feels obliged to, on account of his patronage of Prendergast, but he usually avoids such dinners, and under the circumstances I think he feels he might not be welcome. If, as you say, Prendergast continues to fail in his duty, then Theodore feels somewhat tainted by association, unfortunately.” None of that was a lie. “And everyone knows that Mrs Ingram is out to make me feel small and uncomfortable. I feel that I need some kind of ... well, comforting protection.”

  And it seemed to convince Froude, at least in part. He nodded and assured her that he would think on it. He shifted his weight from foot to foot but she did not move. In the end, he had to make an awkward farewell and dash off up the stairs. He still hadn’t told her what his plans were for the day, but at least she knew that he wasn’t about to leave the house completely.

  She ran back to the breakfast room where Theodore was still talking with Montgomery.

  Well, Theodore had been talking; Mr Montgomery was striding around, punching one clenched fist into his other palm, trying to suppress his angry words through gritted teeth. He looked startled as Adelia came in, and momentarily paused, before resuming his animal-like roaming of the room.

  “Have you told Mr Montgomery everything?” she asked, going to her husband’s side.

  Theodore was standing behind a chair, leaning his hands on it. “Yes. Um...”

  Montgomery heard what she had said. He snarled, “Did I not tell you that I was being set up? That man! Froude! By heavens, that man is dangerous. He killed Halifax and he was happy to frame Pegsworth for it till he was proven innocent through his guilt of another sort – oh how ironic! So now it falls to me to take the blame because of mistakes that I have made in my past. Meanwhile the inspector isn’t even here. So it comes to you two, two bumbling amateurs, to somehow make this right? Forgive me,” he added with a bitter laugh. “But under the circumstances, politeness be damned.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Have you both come to a plan of what to do?” She asked in nervousness, suspecting that the execution of any plan must invariably involve her. She was the connection that they needed to Froude.

  “Perhaps,” said Theodore, at the same time that Montgomery said, “No.”

  She looked from one to other, waiting.

  Montgomery paced. Theodore gripped the chair back. Neither of them spoke.

  “Will you tell me what the plan is?” she asked in the end.

  “We are still not in agreement,” Theodore said.

  “The man is going to run as soon as he can if he cannot pin this on me,” Montgomery said. “I ought to take a pistol and threaten him. Shoot him if I must! Why, if I am to hang for murder, I may as well commit one anyway, don’t you think?”

  “Please, Mr Montgomery, don’t do that. We should never get the stains out of the furnishings. And anyway, local gossip is already circling us with great glee so let us not add grist to their mill.”

  “Prendergast,” muttered Montgomery. “So where is he?”

  Theodore just shook his head helplessly.

  Montgomery punched his palm again. No one seemed willing to speak any longer. Suppressing a heavy sigh, Adelia stalked out of the room.

  SHE WAS OUT OF SORTS, on edge and uneasy about everything. She felt watched as she moved around the house, and of course she was being observed all the time; had she not explicitly instructed the staff to do just that? It didn’t mean she liked it, though. She went through the motions of being a capable mistress, although all she had to do was listen to her housekeeper and her cook and simply agree to everything that they said. She attended to her correspondence after the second post had been delivered, sitting up in her sunny day room, trying to appreciate the unseasonable warmth. There were some letters from her daughters which cheered her up for a short time. Felicia’s letter had been sent from somewhere west of the Ural Mountains, which was a far cry from Cairo, but it was dated four weeks previously. Sometimes the letters arrived out of order and had to be sorted and re-read. Another letter was from Mary who had made a purchase of a new stallion from a “stunning bloodline and an absolute bargain”. She was now receiving visits at her stables from influential people connected with some of the highest families in the land.

  There was also, surprisingly, a quickly-scrawled note from Charlotte. “So sorry about my rudeness to you at the gallery,” it read. “It really was unavoidable. I am sure we will meet you again soon – do forgive me – I can explain all, I promise. Feels so long since we last met. Miss you all. Send my love to papa too. Hope Edith’s leg not too nasty. Have told her she’s a silly thing. I’ll get that information she needs as soon as I can. Saw Bamfylde lately. He seems well. All my love, Lottie.”

  Every other sentence in the note stunned and alarmed Adelia more and more. Who had she had to speak to? What was there to explain? What information did Edith “need”?

  And the mention of Theodore’s son by his first marriage, the feckless and dissolute Bamfylde, horrified Adelia most of all.

  She folded the note and was going to tuck it into her journal but stopped herself. She flattened it out again. She was not going to keep anything from Theodore again. She would present this note to him without comment or interpretation, and let him make of it what he wou
ld.

  There was another note. It was anonymous. She knew what it would be about before she even opened it. She stood up and read it by the window, as if being on her feet would make her more able to withstand what vitriol it might contain. She knew the letter writer had been goaded into action by Mrs Ingram, if indeed it was not from Mrs Ingram’s pen herself.

  “We are concerned only for your own good name and well-being and write as well-wishers speaking uncomfortable truths to power,” went the serpent’s words. “It would be dreadfully unpleasant for you to endure a public dinner when you must know that the eyes of society are currently turned upon you. Though you could not have caused the events at your house, yet you must know that those events now cling to you and are the cause of much rumour and speculation. We ourselves of course do our best to quell all such rumours as all right-thinking people do; please know that you are loved and supported. However while such rumours fly around, it is best for your own sake that you stay removed from society at this time.”

  It was as good as telling her she would not be welcome at the dinner.

  If she went, she would be shunned.

  She balled it up and set fire to it.

  This was one note she would not show to Theodore.

  And she stayed by the fireplace, watching the paper curl and blacken in the otherwise empty grate, fading out in a last little flush of glowing sparks. She wondered what Theodore and Montgomery would plan to do. If Montgomery could not curb his evident frustration, Froude would realise he was about to be challenged, and he would surely strike first. She hoped that he would merely flee.

  She suspected, however, the arrogant man would be roused to action which could be much worse than the act of fleeing.