The Dead Duke

by Clare Jayne

  “I told my friends the truth and accepted a fair rebuke from Chiverton about being more careful and advice from McDonald about how to fight. I misled anyone else who asked with the tale of an accidental knock received during a friendly boxing match.”

  “How dangerous such sports are,” she said in a mocking manner.

  “Indeed. I recall a duel that nearly finished me.”

  She smiled as she recalled that no actual duelling had occurred on that occasion. The dance began and she wondered if her fear over losing him in that duel was what had caused her to fall in love with him. She thought it had probably begun before then, but was not certain. Perhaps the first embers had come to life when she met him in the courtroom of William Brodie’s trial: a stranger with striking eyes and a kind voice.

  She watched him as they moved through the steps of the dance and, equally often, found his eyes upon her face. Despite everything, he still loved her. She thought now of the life they could have together and there was nothing in it that worried or scared her. They could be happy. She just had to find a way to let him know that her feelings had changed and why.

  His hand was entwined with hers again as the dance ended.

  “How prettily the two of you dance together,” a plump lady of around fifty observed, looking at the two of them with pleasure.

  “Aunt Jemima,” Mr MacPherson said, “I did not know you would be here tonight. This is Miss Campbell and, Miss Campbell, may I present my aunt, Lady Morrelly.”

  Ishbel curtsied. “I am happy to meet you, My Lady.”

  “And I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance, Miss Campbell. My nephew speaks eloquently of you and the crimes you solve together when he deigns to visit me.”

  Mr MacPherson smiled and said, “I apologise for being haphazard in my calls upon you recently, Aunt. I will do better in future.”

  “Very well.” She looked fondly at him and then regarded Ishbel with a kind but speculative gaze. She reached out and took Ishbel’s arm. “You must tell me all about yourself, my dear. You are related to Lady Huntly, I believe.”

  For the next half hour, Ishbel did her best to answer several dozen questions about her family, her childhoods and her interests. Lady Morrelly showed no surprise at the fact that Ishbel attended lectures at the university, so she assumed Mr MacPherson had already mentioned this. His aunt’s attitude remained friendly and welcoming during the conversation, so Ishbel had hopes that she had made a reasonable impression upon her.

  Lady Morrelly then announced that the hour was a late one for her and that she would return home to her cat. As Mr MacPherson took her arm to escort her to her carriage, Lady Morrelly said to Ishbel, “I hope you will call upon me at my house, my dear.”

  “I would be honoured, My Lady.” Ishbel watched them walk away, relieved that the meeting seemed a successful one.

  Mr Chiverton appeared at her side. “So you have been introduced to MacPherson’s closest family. Was that arranged for tonight?”

  “No, we just happened to encounter Lady Morrelly here.”

  “I doubt that,” Chiverton said with an amused smile. “Lady Morrelly takes a strong interest in MacPherson’s marital status.”

  Then she had come to the ball tonight just to meet Ishbel, which was an unnerving thought. “She showed no dislike of me, despite knowing of my crime work and visits to the university. She asked me to call on her, which is a good sign, surely?”

  “I am quite certain she formed a good impression of you but I should warn you that, when you next meet her, she is likely to ask why you and MacPherson are not yet engaged.”

  With a rush of nerves and excitement, Ishbel thought that they might possibly be engaged by the time she saw Lady Morrelly again. “How are the preparations going for your sister’s coming out ball?”

  Mr Chiverton accepted the change of subject, saying, “Very well. She will be happy when she can see more of Edinburgh society and she is sensible, so I believe she will make a good choice of husband when she is ready.”

  There was a pause, then Ishbel said, “May I ask a favour of you?”

  “Anything,” he said readily.

  “Could you find out about the backgrounds of all the actors in the troupe Miss McNeil belongs to?”

  “Of course. Is there anything in particular you want to know?”

  “I fear I am just searching for some new information or another suspect.”

  “MacPherson said that the investigation was only leading back to Miss McNeil. As difficult as it would be for Joe and Alex to accept, she might have actually committed the murder.”

  “We have asked her twice about that and I believe her when she says she is innocent.”

  “You are supposed to,” he pointed out. “She is an actress and a good one. You would not know if she told you a lie.”

  Ishbel thought about Miss McNeil’s confession about her argument with the duke. She had said that it was resolved, but what if it was not? What if she had only told them a partial truth and, in a moment of anger, had stabbed him with her own letter opener? It fit all the facts. She was there in the house that night. She had a motive to commit the crime. She even had a possible weapon lying on a table and had fled from the law. “You might be right.”

  He excused himself to invite a friend of his sister’s to dance and, feeling overly warm, Ishbel walked to the end table to ask the footman stationed there for a glass of lemonade or ratafia. She reached the refreshments tables just as another lady turned away from it and found herself in the unpleasant situation of facing Lady Sarah Halsted.

  “Are you still conducting your unwanted investigation into my father’s murder?” the lady asked at once, although she kept her voice quiet, presumably thinking of the scandalous information they knew about her own life.

  “We are, although you may soon get your wish of seeing Miss McNeil hang for the crime. It may be a hollow victory, though, since she is probably innocent, so it will mean that your father’s real killer will remain free.”

  “You really suspected me of such a crime?” Lady Sarah sounded bewildered at the idea and Ishbel felt an unexpected moment of sympathy for her. Whatever arguments she had had with the duke, he had still been her father and this situation must be an exceedingly difficult one for her.

  “We thought you might have hired someone to kill him. I am sorry.”

  Lady Sarah scrutinised her before saying, “If my father had any more secrets, then his valet would know them. If you want to speak to him, I will tell him to answer your questions frankly.”

  Ishbel tried to conceal her shock at this unexpected reaction. “Thank you. We would be glad to speak to him.” She saw that Mr MacPherson had returned to the ballroom and rejoined him, describing the conversation he had missed. “It seems as if Lady Sarah is willing to overlook our past suspicions about her in order to find out for certain who killed her father. This might be what we need to finally discover the truth.”

  The sounds of shrill voices raised in anger reached them and Ishbel looked round, but could not see or hear what was going on. A few minutes later Harriette appeared from the direction of the disturbance and answered her inquiry about it: “Sir Abbott made a remark to the effect that, if a civil war did break out in France, then the French aristocrats only had themselves to blame for it for treating the working classes so badly. You would have applauded him.”

  Ishbel did not deny it. “Did someone object to his comment?”

  “A French lady objected most strenuously to it. There, you see, someone other than you can cause a public scene.”

  Harriette walked away as Ishbel began to laugh.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  CHIVERTON WAS more than happy for an excuse to spend the night with Alex instead of returning to his family’s home and Miss Campbell’s request gave him just that.

  He had a key to the house where Alex rented a room, which was good since the large building was in darkness when he arrived. He let himself in and crep
t up the stairs, feeling his way in the blackness and wincing when his step on a particular board caused a loud creak. When he safely reached Alex’s room without discovery, he breathed more easily.

  He stood in the doorway, peering inside, and a sleepy voice said, “Who’s that?”

  “Me.” Chiverton took a step towards the voice and promptly walked into a storage trunk, stubbing his foot. “Oww!”

  “Here,” Alex said, sounding more awake, “I’ll light a candle.”

  Chiverton listened to the noise of rustling and then the repeated strike of flint against steel before a tiny glint of light appeared, which was transferred from tinder to candle wick. The light flared and Alex was illuminated, propped up in bed in his linen bed shirt. Alex grinned at him and held out his arms: “There – you may now make your grand entrance.”

  Chiverton smiled and hurried to do so, closing the door behind him and crossing the room to the bed. He sat down to embrace and kiss Alex.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” Alex said as Chiverton stripped off his jacket and, with difficulty, removed his boots.

  “Ah, I nearly forgot: I have an errand.” Chiverton paused in his disrobing. “Miss Campbell asked me to find out from you information about the past of all the actors in your troupe.”

  Alex frowned. “She thinks an actor killed the Duke?”

  “I do not think she knows who to suspect. Kenina’s trial is fast approaching and they have disproved others of the crime.” He turned and touched his beloved’s arm, running his hand up and down it and feeling the curve of light muscle. “You might have to brace yourself for a difficult end to this matter. It does not sound as if there is much hope left for Kenina.”

  “No, the jury can’t convict an innocent person.” Alex’s brow furrowed and he looked sick at the idea.

  “Are you utterly sure she did not kill him?”

  The frown was turned upon him. “Your instinctive reaction when you first heard of the murder was to say she could not have done it. Why would you think differently now?”

  “MacPherson and Miss Campbell have proven that there was no burglar who could have killed him, the servants had no reason to harm him and, in my mind, that really only leaves Kenina.” He stood up to remove his breeches.

  “The Duke must have invited someone in himself.”

  “In the middle of the night? Who?”

  Alex rubbed a finger over his lower lip as he sat considering this. “He had any number of acquaintances and he was not the kind of person to turn away someone in need of help. I suppose it could have been one of the more recently hired actors, although it gives me goosebumps to think that I might have been working alongside a murderer. An actor might show up at Kenina’s house in the middle of the night if they had a good enough reason.”

  Chiverton got into the bed just as Alex left it. “Where are you going?” he complained.

  Alex patted his chest. “I want to write down a response to Miss Campbell’s request.” He gave Chiverton a teasing look as he got up. “You will have to exercise patience.”

  Chiverton smiled and folded his arms behind his head to wait.

  Chapter Forty

  ISHBEL WAS re-reading the letters sent to Miss McNeil by her acting friend while Harriette made derisive comments about the contents of one of Edinburgh’s broadsheets, when Mr Chiverton was announced.

  He joined them in the drawing room and bowed gracefully before offering a charming smile. It occurred to Ishbel that it must be difficult for the perfectly respectable-looking Mr McDonald to have two such handsome friends. Mr Chiverton was even more striking in his plainer daywear than his grand ball clothes and with his own blond hair instead of a wig. The personalities of the men were very different too, although Mr MacPherson and Mr Chiverton both seemed more outgoing than their friend, and she wondered how they had met.

  “Miss Campbell, regarding your request at the ball,” he said, accepting a drink of chocolate and taking a seat with the ladies, “this is a letter from Mr Aldridge that should answer all your questions about the actors.”

  She accepted the letter he held out, wondering who Mr Aldridge was and how she was supposed to know of him.

  “He included as much information as he knows and hopes it will assist you, although he naturally hopes none of the troupe are involved in the duke’s death.”

  Realisation struck her at the casual way he spoke of the man: Mr Aldridge was his close friend, whom she had heard mentioned as Alex. She wondered when he had seen him between the ball and this morning in order to get the letter, then had an idea of the answer and decided, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, that she had better not consider the matter further.

  “I am grateful to you for bringing it to me so quickly,” she said.

  “I am happy to help.”

  Harriette asked him about his family and, while he was replying, Ishbel broke the seal on the letter and opened it, skimming the two-sided list of facts about the actors. It was just what she had wanted, giving the information she needed to send a further letter of inquiry to the relevant office in England.

  “That is kind of you, Lady Huntly,” Mr Chiverton was saying and these struck Ishbel as unlikely words for anyone to utter to Harriette, so she wondered what she had missed.

  He stood up to take his leave of them and Ishbel said, “Would you thank Mr Aldridge for his letter. The information is most useful.”

  “Good. I will pass that on.”

  He left and Ishbel asked Harriette, “What was Mr Chiverton thanking you for a minute ago?”

  “Had you been listening to your own guest, as politeness would expect you to, then you would know the answer to that,” Harriette told her and went downstairs to order the servants about.

  Ishbel walked into the library and sat down at the mahogany writing desk. She carefully read through Mr Aldridge’s letter again, then got out several sheets of paper, quill, ink and pot of sand and wrote three short letters. She had just sprinkled sand on the last letter, to dry the ink, when Mr MacPherson was announced. She shook the sand off, folded the letters, poured wax onto them and sealed them with the family crest.

  Mr MacPherson came in as she handed the letters to the butler for sending out and she said, “Mr Chiverton was here just before you.”

  She gave him Mr Aldridge’s letter and he looked it over. “Is there an actor you suspect of the murder?”

  “Not really, but I wondered if there might be something relevant in the relationships between the actors. It was just an idea and might be nothing, but we should have further information to consider in a few days.”

  “In the meantime, shall we call upon Lady Sarah before she changes her mind about allowing us to interview Duke Raden’s valet?”

  “Gladly. While it is unlikely that he knows the actual name of the murderer, I am hopeful that our talk with him will help us solve the crime.”

  They took Mr MacPherson’s carriage to Lady Sarah Halsted’s house and were admitted to a small room. As they waited for the valet Ishbel wandered over to the window. The sun had melted most of the frost and it was a bright, pleasant day. She saw two figures on the path of the formal garden and recognised them as Lady Sarah and Lord Moray.

  “Perhaps they will marry now,” she commented and Mr MacPherson joined her at the window.

  “I hope so,” he answered, “but I doubt the duke would have objected to the courtship if he had thought marriage would be the result.”

  “Then Lord Moray has probably been deceiving Lady Sarah with the same kinds of lies the duke told Miss McNeil: that he wants to always be with her and can imagine no life without her. What would have happened to Miss McNeil if the duke had ended the relationship? Her life would have changed drastically. Where would she live? How would she survive?”

  “You forget that she received a wage for her acting work,” Mr MacPherson reminded her. “She must have lived on that before meeting the duke and his previous mistress did say that he left her with a generous sum of m
oney.”

  “But how would that compare to the idea he waved in front of her that she could be a duchess?”

  “Badly.”

  An unexpected thought made her smile at him. “Can you believe that not many months ago, neither of us had any connection with murders, corpses, duels or physical altercations?”

  “I do recall that my life was rather a dull one before I met you.”

  “And mine was a lonely one,” she confessed, smile fading, “haunted by memories from my childhood of my parents’ unhappy marriage. I dwelt too much on it. When you proposed to me...”

  The door opened and, with the worst timing imaginable, a man came into the room and apologised for keeping them waiting. The valet – former valet, as he told them he was now working as a footman here until he could find a new position – was a smart, thin faced man with a lilting Highlands accent.

  “I worked as Duke Raden’s valet for more than ten years,” he told them, “and the master trusted me to be discreet, so I knew more than most about his life.”

  “You knew that Miss McNeil had become his mistress?” Mr MacPherson asked.

  The valet glanced uncomfortably at Ishbel, then said, “Aye, sir. I assisted the duke in finding a house for the, er, lady involved and I would deliver and receive the letters that passed between them.”

  “Did the duke say anything to you that might help us find his killer?” Ishbel asked.

  “I have thought about the matter, Miss, and find it difficult to believe that Miss McNeil coulda done such a thing. She was always civil to me and her servants spoke well of her, saying she was kind and considerate. Some women in, er, that situation were more interested in the money than the duke, but she seemed to genuinely love him and he treated her well.”

  “Did you know that they argued before he died?” she asked.

  “Aye.” He would not meet her eyes, clearly awkward at discussing such matters as a pregnancy out of wedlock with an unmarried lady.