by Clare Jayne
“How tedious,” Harriette said. “Do you know Miss Campbell, my cousin?”
The duchess had never bothered to speak to Ishbel before and regarded her doubtfully through an eyeglass, before saying, “What a lovely child. It must be pleasant to belong to such an attractive family. I wish my son had considered such things when he chose his wife but no, he had to marry the Sinmore chit.”
Ishbel wondered, with slight amusement, if the duchess’s daughter-in-law viewed her in an equally unfavourable light.
“Miss Campbell.”
She turned and, out of habit, curtsied, but went cold as she looked into the unpleasantly familiar features of Lord Moray. Why would he approach her like this? She glanced round, but Harriette seemed to be lost in conversation with her friend and Lord Huntly had left to fetch them refreshments.
Lord Moray seemed to have trouble meeting her eyes as he said, “Miss Campbell, would you allow me to offer my deepest apologies for any misunderstanding of my words that led to Mr Hinnam’s disgraceful manners towards you. His behaviour was unpardonable. His parents have removed him from Edinburgh to the country.”
Ishbel wondered, with admiration, how Harriette had achieved this. “I accept your apology, sir, but our acquaintanceship is at an end.”
“As you wish.” He walked stiffly away just as Lord Huntly returned, handing Ishbel and Harriette a glass of ratafia. She thanked him and sipped her drink, feeling slightly more confident about being here, as she looked about for Mr MacPherson.
She caught sight of Mr Chiverton on the other side of the room conversing with a dozen or more people and, assuming Mr MacPherson was with the group, began to walk towards him. She paused at the sight of Lady Sarah Halsted nearby, talking with a short brunette lady, but she was no longer a suspect, so any further secrets she had were her own matter.
“...Scandalous!”
Ishbel looked sharply behind her and caught several women having a whispered conversation behind their fans. One of them looked directly at Ishbel and then hastily looked away.
“Miss Campbell.” It was Lady Sarah’s voice this time.
Ishbel turned to face the woman.
“I am astonished that you have the affrontery to appear here with decent people,” Lady Sarah sneered in a voice loud enough to be overheard by a good many people. “Do you deny that you attempted to bribe my maid to tell you about me?”
Abruptly, Ishbel found that she was angry rather than embarrassed. She had put up with too much from people who had no right to judge her. “It is true,” she said, meeting the lady’s gaze. “We thought you might be involved in your father’s death and could not have been more wrong. We know you did not leave your father’s house that night for some nefarious purpose.”
She saw the realisation in the woman’s eyes of where she had spent that night and the fact that Ishbel clearly knew about it.
“I am sure, however,” Ishbel went on, “that you want your father’s murder solved more than anyone and ask you to forgive me and my partner for acting inappropriately.”
“I...” Lady Sarah glanced over at Lord Moray – who nodded and then looked quickly away – then back at Ishbel. “Yes, I, er, I do forgive you.”
“That is kind of you. I am sure the mercy you have shown tonight will be returned to you one day.” Ishbel saw the look of chagrined relief on her face, then turned away and walked through the puzzled onlookers to her cousin’s side.
“How did you get her to publicly change her opinion?” Harriette asked in an undertone.
Ishbel smiled and whispered, “Blackmail.”
“Well done!”
Mr MacPherson hurried to her side, appearance changed by his white wig, and she assumed he had seen what had been said to her and was concerned. Instead he said, “Miss Campbell, I have been looking for you. Mrs Ainsley has just arrived.”
“Excuse me, please,” she said to Harriette and her acquaintances. “We have a murder to solve.”
Behind her, someone said, “What an odd young lady.”
“That is my cousin,” Harriette replied, pride in her voice.
“Forgive me for missing your arrival,” Mr MacPherson said, as they walked.
“There is no need. I am quite well. In fact, I am beginning to enjoy the evening.” She smiled to prove to him that she was sincere and he returned the smile, handsome face warming.
“There!” he said, nodding in the direction of a few people. “That is she.”
Ishbel followed his gaze and saw the woman they had been looking for. Mrs Ainsley was a tall, willowy lady of around thirty with dark hair and a haughty expression. Ironically, Ishbel could see a resemblance between her and Mrs McNeil, although the latter had had a far more gracious countenance, even in gaol.
Mr MacPherson reached out to take Ishbel’s arm, then hesitated, and she recalled her reaction the last time he had touched her. She deliberately placed her hand on the warm red silk of his arm, the touch making her hand tingle in a not unpleasant way. They exchanged glances and then approached their latest murder suspect.
Chapter Thirty
“I DON’T mind at all,” Rabbie said, when Ewan suggested that he speak to Mrs Ainsley’s servants. “I think I’m getting quite good at this investigation business.”
“Your help has been invaluable,” Ewan told him, buttoning up his striped waistcoat. “I truly hope she is our killer or at least hired someone to kill the duke.”
“What if she didn’t?”
“Then I can think of no one left but Miss McNeil and I do not want to believe her capable of such a crime. I liked her.”
“Then you should trust that instinct. What did you think of Mrs Ainsley?”
Ewan and Miss Campbell had managed to get an introduction to her from a slight acquaintance of his last night. They had talked mostly of music but had also expressed their shock over the manner of Duke Raden’s death. She had looked troubled, but had spoken very little on the subject. “I formed no proper opinion. She kept her feelings hidden and her conversation light.”
“That’s not surprising, though, is it, sir?” Rabbie said, expertly tying Ewan’s neckcloth. “She could hardly say that she’d been expecting a proposal from him any day and been driven to a murderous rage when he took up with an actress instead.”
Ewan laughed. “It would have been helpful if she had said that, but, no, it was unlikely. Had she shown a marked liking for any other man at the ball, it would have suggested that she lost interest in the duke when he stopped seeing her. The fact she treated every man with polite indifference might be one small sign of her guilt.” He put on a long redingote and paused to let Rabbie pull it slightly to the left over one shoulder, then straighten his neckcloth again, a frown of concentration on his face.
Rabbie stood back to check over his work and then gave a nod of satisfaction, communicating the fact that Ewan’s appearance was acceptable. “Hopefully her staff will have some interesting things to tell me tonight and you can get the actress out of gaol. From the state your clothes were in when you visited that place, I wouldna want to see anyone I know locked up there.”
“Nor I,” Ewan agreed, hoping the bribe he had given to the guard would at least make the conditions bearable for Miss McNeil. He opened his money pouch and gave two shiny guineas to Rabbie. “This is for you to buy drinks for the servants tonight.”
“That’s far too much.”
“Then buy something for yourself too. You have earned it with all the extra work you have done for me lately.”
“Spending time at taverns aint much like work.” He pocketed the money. “Thank you, sir. This will give my family a very cheerful Christmastide.”
“I suppose it is not too long now.”
“Just over a month.”
And less than three weeks until Miss McNeil’s trial began. This time last year he had been at his estate – he had been neglecting his responsibilities there recently but could not imagine leaving Miss Campbell for months. Perhaps, if he p
ut a party together for the trip, she and her family would accompany him there.
“Are you all right, sir?”
He blinked and looked at Rabbie. “Wool-gathering, I fear. I think I will walk to my wigmaker’s shop as the fresh air might have a positive effect on my mind.”
Rabbie peered out of the bedroom window. “Well, it’s no raining at least.”
“Quite.”
Ewan was less confident in his decision when he stepped outside and an icy blast of wind nearly knocked him over and made him shiver. It was only a short walk, he told himself, and set forth at a swift pace.
His brain returned to the subject of Miss Campbell, as it so often did these days. She had seemed recovered from her recent mistreatment by the end of the ball. He understood how much strength of will she had needed to face another society gathering and was proud to love someone so brave. He had hoped that taking this case would help him understand why she felt unable to marry him, but he was as much in the dark as he had been when she turned down his proposal. He was sure she was fond of him and she had, after all, said that she could imagine marrying no one else.
He felt sure her present independence played some part in the decision. He should find some way to let her know he would never dream of asking her to change her life for him if they married, but he could not do so without repeating his proposal, and he did not want to do that while there was a strong chance she would reject him a second time.
Another gale made him stagger back a couple of steps and the forbidding weather seemed like a metaphor for the lack of progress in every part of his life at present. In answer to that, he lifted a booted foot and pushed forwards.
After a successful meeting with his wigmaker, he ran into McDonald, who had been visiting his tailor. They exchanged greetings and strolled together along the High Street.
“Chiverton says Alex is worried that the stress of this whole murder business is affecting Joe Fillinister,” McDonald said. “Apparently Fillinister is being shouted at by their manager or director for not doing a good job rehearsing some play.”
“It is hardly surprising. Miss McNeil is in an appalling place and our chance to help her is rapidly vanishing.”
“I suppose they think of themselves as a family. The actors, that is. A lot of them do not seem to have anyone else.”
“It must be a strange life.” They paused in front of a barber’s shop. “I fear I am beginning to doubt Miss McNeil’s innocence. It seems unlikely that a widow would murder Duke Raden simply for not proposing to her.”
“Women take these subjects to heart. Their reputations are affected.”
That was true enough. He had been strongly affected by Miss Campbell’s rejection.
As if he had said this aloud, McDonald said, “I would have expected you to have asked Miss Campbell to marry you by now. I hope my doubts on the matter did not put you off.”
Ewan smiled at him. “They did not. I made the offer...”
“Oh!” McDonald pulled a face. “Forgive my blunder. I had begun to think the two of you very well suited.”
“I am not giving up,” Ewan said. “Not at all.”
Chapter Thirty-One
IT WAS another day until Ishbel saw Mr MacPherson again. She had been attending lectures all day yesterday, but today she had an appointment with him to hear what his valet had managed to find out about Mrs Ainslie and later he would be attending the formal dinner party Harriette was hosting.
He was announced shortly after breakfast and they exchanged bow and curtsy, then smiled in greeting. He was looking particularly handsome in a velvet waistcoat and breeches, the shade of which brought out the vibrant green of his eyes.
“We should retreat to the library,” she told him, leading the way. “Harriette is shouting at all the servants for not setting up everything the way she wishes for her dinner party.”
“How unpleasant for them.”
“Indeed and it is likely that she will find a reason to shout at us if she sees us.”
“Then we should certainly stay out of sight,” he said cheerfully, as they sat down near to the marble fireplace. “Rabbie spoke to a couple of Mrs Ainslie’s servants, who said she had been increasingly irritable in recent months due – they assumed – to the Duke Raden’s absence. He had been attentive to her for more than a six-month then, with everyone waiting for news of their engagement, stopped calling to see her. The servants did not think she knew about Mrs McNeil as when she was told about his death, and where he was found, they saw her reaction and she seemed appalled, caught between grief and fury.”
“Then she did not kill him,” Ishbel concluded, disappointed.
“I am not so certain. Someone described as a rough-looking man visited her home about a week before the duke’s death and she spoke to him privately.”
“But why would she have wanted him dead if she did not know she had been replaced in his affections?”
“I cannot answer that but perhaps the man she spoke to can. I have asked the caddy, Jed, to try to find him. The man had a distinctive scar – a burn mark – on the back of his hand, so it should hopefully be possible to trace him.”
“I hope he will be willing to talk.”
“If he is a criminal then the offer of payment from us should loosen his tongue.”
“Good.”
Their conversation was interrupted when Harriette strode into the room and said in an accusing tone, “Have either of you seen the oriental vase that was in the dining room?”
“Did you not have it moved upstairs last year when you put Lord Huntly’s gift of the porcelain figurines in its place?” Ishbel asked.
“Yes.” Harriette had clearly forgotten this, but covered the fact with a confident manner. “That is correct.” She marched out again, a footman trailing behind her.
“I hope, for everyone’s sake, that this dinner party goes smoothly,” Ishbel said.
“Are you nervous about it?”
“No, surprisingly I am not. Perhaps I have moved past the point where I care what most of them think. So many people have secrets, whether innocent or dangerous ones, that I begin to think I cannot possibly be any worse a person than them.”
She saw his startled reaction to these words. “Why should you possibly imagine that you ever had any cause to be compared unfavourably with...?”
Harriette walked back in again and sighed heavily. “Are the two of you still here? I have work to do!”
“Perhaps I can assist you.” Ishbel got to her feet and Mr MacPherson did the same.
“Oh, very well,” she agreed grudgingly, then gestured towards Mr MacPherson with her fan, “but you can leave here and not return until tonight. You are of no use at all.”
He threw Ishbel a bright-eyed look of amusement and bowed to the women. “Then I will see you again this evening.”
“What are you smiling about?” Harriette demanded of Ishbel.
“I am looking forward to your dinner party.”
“Hmm.”
* * *
Ishbel was happy to greet Ewan as one of the first guests that evening. She was so lost in conversation with him that it took her a while to notice that the room was considerably less full than usual. Harriette’s events were normally exclusive and highly sought after. Surely her presence here was not ruining the situation for her cousin again? She looked more carefully around the drawing room and caught a number of glances in her direction from people engaged in hushed conversations. Worse, when one lady caught her eye, she frowned and looked away in a deliberate snub. The reactions themselves bothered her little but she hated to think that in her determination to make her own decisions about her life, Harriette was the one who would suffer.
“Monsieur MacPherson!”
Ishbel turned and saw the young French lady who had insisted upon dancing with Mr MacPherson at the ball last week and had shown such a liking for him. What was she doing here?
He bowed to her. “It is a pleasure to see you again,
Mademoiselle Moreau. Is the Comtesse Moreau with you?”
“She is convas-conversing with Madame Linbarr.”
“And have you been introduced to Miss Campbell?”
The two of them curtsied to each other and Ishbel thought she saw an assessing look on the younger woman’s face, but it was gone before she could be sure.
“Miss Campbell is cousin to Lady Huntly, your hostess. She lives here.”
“How charming for you,” Mademoiselle Moreau said, smiling at Ishbel and looking utterly innocent. Perhaps she was simply trying to fit in here and in her new country. “This is such a beau – a lovely house and very elegant.”
“Thank you. I believe my cousin made a lot of changes when she married Lord Huntly, to make it more fashionable.”
“And your gown is very pretty.”
“That is kind. Yours is too.”
“It is new,” she said, turning to include Mr MacPherson in her smile.
“It is lovely,” he told her politely, with an awkward side glance at Ishbel.
A gentleman every bit as young as the Mademoiselle appeared with a glass of lemonade for her and she thanked him with a smile, then expertly ignored him.
“Is there to be dancing soon?” she asked Mr MacPherson. “You know how much I enjoy to dance.”
“No, not tonight.”
“Then you will dance with me on another occasion?”
The lady was determined and Ishbel could not fault her taste, but her flirtatious attitude towards Mr MacPherson was highly irritating. Ishbel tried to engage the lady’s admirer in conversation but he spoke awkwardly to her and kept stealing glances at Mademoiselle Moreau. When the butler announced dinner, she could not have been more relieved. Mr MacPherson came before her in precedence for the procession into the dining room and had to escort an older titled lady, but as long as it was not Mademoiselle Moreau, Ishbel did not care who he spent the time with.