Murder at the Ice Ball

by Leighann Dobbs

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure of finding Captain Wayland a wife.”

  Wayland twisted, one eyebrow cocked as if to call her wording into question. Perhaps she ought not to nettle him, or she might find herself teased in return.

  She frowned. “Though, how did you uncover my latest client? When I was hired, it was with the understanding that discretion was needed, lest he balk.”

  At that, Wayland’s eyebrows rose even further. He brimmed with curiosity, though he didn’t speak a word of it.

  “Lady Bath told me, of course,” Lady Dalhousie said, as if she and the elderly dowager were great friends. Given the disdain Grandma Bath held for anyone who showed a lack of sense, Katherine highly doubted that were true. However, they must have had some sense of camaraderie in order for Grandma Bath to inform her of a supposedly clandestine endeavor.

  Lady Dalhousie leaned in and chided, “Tut, tut. I must say, if you’re to match him, choosing a married woman isn’t the right way to be going about it. Even if her husband has one foot in the grave.”

  Katherine’s temples throbbed. “I beg your pardon? I’m not matching Lord Bath with a married woman. That would be an exercise in futility.”

  Not to mention morally indecent.

  “No?” Lady Dalhousie pursed her lips. “Perhaps I was mistaken…”

  From the look on her face, flushed with excitement, she had a tantalizing bit of gossip to divulge.

  Pru, however, had no patience to tease it out of her. Without a trace of her formerly lovesick demeanor, Pru demanded brusquely, “What would lead you to make such a misunderstanding?”

  Lady Dalhousie didn’t need any further gossip. Without bothering to lower her voice further, she confessed, “Why, I saw Lord Bath follow Lady Rochford into the stairwell not ten minutes before her terrible accident!”

  Her chest suddenly burning with unease, Katherine exchanged a look with Pru. She didn’t look any more pleased to hear the news than Katherine felt. In fact, she was rather nauseated.

  If Lady Dalhousie noticed the unease her confession caused, she thrived on it rather than trying to mitigate it. “I had heard one titillating rumor that Lady Rochford’s death was no accident at all. Perhaps you should rethink your choice of client as well.”

  Katherine hastened to say, “The authorities consider it an accidental death.”

  Lady Dalhousie tsked. “And they have never been known to take a bribe?”

  Katherine drew herself up. This vapid woman was tarnishing the good name of men who worked tirelessly to keep people like her from harm. She opened her mouth, a scathing comment about the integrity of the Bow Street Runners despite the derision earned from that name on the tip of her tongue, but Wayland shifted beside her. He laid his hand atop hers. When she tilted her face up to meet his, his expression was of stone, his eyes blazing. He shook his head.

  Civilly, though with a touch of ice that told her he was not as unaffected as he seemed, Wayland answered, “Which is the more likely outcome, madam? That Lady Rochford suffered a terrible accident, or that she was murdered and the breadth of London has conspired to keep it a secret? I haven’t heard a whisper of a murder, myself. Who was the source of that gossip?”

  Lady Dalhousie, never one to enjoy being put in her place, pressed her lips together and fussed with the fit of her gloves. “I suppose I must concede the point. I still think it is highly irregular for a marquess to follow a married lady into a stairwell!”

  A hush quaked through the crowd. Turning, Lady Dalhousie murmured, “Oh dear. The program must be starting. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Katherine muttered a polite goodbye, but the moment the woman’s back was turned, she removed her hand from Wayland’s sleeve. When she turned to her friend, she was relieved to discover that Pru hadn’t fallen back into Lord Annandale’s orbit. She looked just as serious as Katherine felt.

  Of a mind, the two women fell into step as they ascended the staircase to the next row of boxes. Pru leaned close, her gaze accusatory. “Didn’t you tell me that Lord Bath claimed not to know Lady Rochford?”

  Katherine frowned, biting the inside of her cheek. Lord Bath is a good man, she repeated to herself, but the words seemed to have lost some conviction. He’d looked her in the eye and sworn that he had no association with Lady Rochford, that her inquiries into his whereabouts near the time of the baroness’s death were unfounded. “That is precisely what he told me.”

  Had Lord Bath played her for a fool?

  Chapter Eleven

  When in London, Lord Annandale lived in an understated townhouse remarkably close to St. James’s Square. Although the area was home to multiple respectable edifices, Katherine would not have allotted any to the use of a marquess. One more way in which Lord Annandale’s tastes continued to shock and scandalize those of polite society.

  Upon consideration, the stucco-sided townhouse likely made the perfect second home to a lord not often in London. It was no secret that Lord Annandale preferred his estates in Scotland. As Katherine craned her neck back to take in the plain five-story townhouse, no different from any of his neighbors in the row, she felt a pang at the thought that Pru might be whisked off to Scotland for the rest of her days. What of their friendship, their investigations?

  “Katherine?”

  Shaken from her reverie, Katherine feigned a smile and turned to her friend. Behind Pru, the driver shut the door on the coach, the Dorchester crest prominent against the glossy black siding. As he returned to the high seat and urged the horses to lumber away, presumably to find the nearest livery to rest out of the unseasonable winter chill, Katherine focused her attention on her friend.

  “Yes, Pru. Are you concerned about calling on Annandale here?”

  Pru gave Katherine a peculiar look. Although it wasn’t polite to call upon a gentleman in his home, Pru had never had qualms about tarnishing her reputation. Besides, she and the gentleman in question were to be married. Katherine was a chaperone. Apparently Katherine must be more rattled than Pru had thought by the notion of losing her friend so soon after building a camaraderie with her.

  “We have business to discuss with him,” Pru pointed out.

  Not that anyone outside of their circle knew that. Upon hearing at the opera the previous evening that Pru had entangled herself with a murder investigation, Lord Annandale had insisted upon learning the particulars. Pru trusted him, and Katherine trusted her friend’s judgment.

  Trying to hide her trepidation, Katherine indicated the neat steps to the plain wooden door. “Let’s not tarry out in the cold, shall we?”

  Pru hesitated. “Do you not think we should share the details with him?”

  At times, her friend had an uncanny ability to guess her thoughts. “If you’re confident in revealing your investigative nature to him, then I have no qualms in sharing what we know. He might have some insight we hadn’t considered.”

  Pru smiled, looking radiant. Katherine would much rather that than worrying her friend over their impending separation.

  Despite the difference in their social statuses, Pru took the lead in mounting the steps and rapped smartly on the door. After a moment, it was opened from within by a large, shaggy man who Katherine recognized.

  McTavish, Lord Annandale’s personal valet, grinned from ear to ear. “Och, lass, you’re a sight fer me poor, deprived eyes. His lordship is some surly without ye near.”

  For a confusing moment, Katherine thought that McTavish might embrace Pru in the middle of the doorway, never mind that she was destined to marry his employer. His blue eyes twinkled with good humor, and his voice was thick with warmth.

  He brushed aside a wayward lock of his ginger mane and beckoned them inside. “Come on in, lass, before you freeze yer peaches off.”

  Katherine decided that she didn’t care to know what part of her anatomy he referred to as her peaches. She found herself greeted with as much warmth as Pru as McTavish shut the door and collected their outerwear.

&nb
sp; “His lordship has near about worn the carpet thin in the drawing room,” McTavish confessed. “Ye’d best join him before he gets it into his mind that I’ll steal away his fine lass.” The valet winked, making Pru blush. He turned his attention to Katherine. “Doona worry, yer lad is beside himself waiting for ye as well.”

  What in heaven could he mean by that?

  If he noticed her confusion, McTavish took it in stride. “Can I offer ye a wee mite to wet yer whistle, milady?”

  “Tea will suffice,” Katherine answered with a polite nod. “Thank you.”

  McTavish ushered them toward the nearby stairs leading to the first floor. As she and Pru reached the bottom step, he craned his neck back and hollered, “Lorna! Bring a wee dram for the ladies.”

  Katherine winced from the strength of his voice.

  No less loud, a woman’s Scottish burr echoed from farther in the house. “Stop yer flirting and do it yourself, you overgrown louse. I’ve work to be done!”

  Katherine should have suspected that a man as eccentric as Lord Annandale would keep an unconventional staff. Nevertheless, she couldn’t hide her shock at the open animosity between the two servants.

  When McTavish caught her looking, he winked. “She gets a wee bit jealous when I find a new flower to praise.”

  Baffled, Katherine asked hopefully, “Your wife?”

  McTavish roared with laughter. “A lone wolf like me? I’ve more flowers to pluck yet, lass. Run along up, lasses. I’ll be up before long with yer tea.”

  Katherine sincerely hoped that no dram of spirits would find its way into her cup. With McTavish as its server, she didn’t dare predict the outcome.

  As he loped down the corridor, whistling a jaunty tune, Katherine turned to the staircase once more. Were they expected to peek into every room on the first floor until they came across Lord Annandale?

  Pru giggled. “You’ll get used to him.”

  Katherine wasn’t so sure about that, so she simply said, “Why don’t we find your betrothed?”

  Pru gathered up her skirts and took the steps two at a time.

  At the top of the stairs, a short, undecorated corridor ran the length of the townhouse, punctuated by open doors. Pru paused for only a moment before she started down the corridor in search of the drawing room. “Love?” she called, blushing as she glanced over her shoulder toward Katherine.

  Katherine smirked but didn’t comment.

  “In here,” Lord Annandale boomed, his voice only slightly muffled by the walls and distance.

  Pru followed the sound to the room facing the street, a smile spreading over her face. She crossed the threshold without hesitation. Katherine followed, only to stop short in the doorway.

  The drawing room, as expected, was a cozy affair with several overstuffed armchairs punctuated with tables, a plush carpet underfoot, and an unwelcome man at the window. Katherine gritted her teeth. Now McTavish’s quip made sense. Wayland stood gazing out the window at the street below.

  What in tarnation was he doing here?

  Despite the accusatory glare Katherine leveled at Pru’s back, her friend didn’t appear to notice her displeasure. Instead, she and Lord Annandale gravitated toward one another, shutting the rest of the world away as they greeted each other. Never mind that they had parted mere hours before, after midnight. Frankly, Katherine was surprised to see both men out of bed at such an early hour. Emma might not be inclined to let Katherine sleep in the mornings, but given their late night, for both men to be so fresh at ten of the morning was nothing short of a miracle.

  As Lord Annandale bestowed a kiss on Pru’s knuckles and asked after the quality of her sleep, Katherine gave them a moment’s privacy by vacating the doorway and choosing the chair farthest from them. Unfortunately, it was also the chair closest to the window, where Wayland stood. Despite his curiosity the evening before, this morning he acknowledged her only with a reserved nod before turning to look out the window again.

  Should she be insulted? Katherine rearranged her skirts. She’d worn green, though certainly not because she thought he would be in attendance.

  “I hadn’t known you were invited,” she said softly, knowing he would hear. She didn’t turn to look at him.

  The rustle of his movement was overly loud in her ears. Once again, Wayland had found a way to insert himself into one of her investigations, and this time, she didn’t even have the luxury of hiding information from him. Her only solace was that, with everyone believing this was an accident rather than a murder, there would be no reward. Since, as far as she knew, Wayland only solved murders so he could gain the reward money, he had no incentive to take the information she’d gathered and use it to solve the murder himself. She wouldn’t have to suffer his company for long.

  “If it makes you feel better, pretend I’m not here. I have business with Annandale after this is concluded.”

  Katherine turned, frowning. Wayland’s expression as he continued to peer out the window was every bit as aloof as his voice. What was he waiting to see happen on the street below? Were they due to be interrupted by someone else?

  Katherine opened her mouth to ask, but at that moment, McTavish arrived bearing a silver tea tray. “Here we are,” he said, not out of sorts at all for the fact that he had had to fetch it himself. Serving tea to guests was not typically the job of a valet.

  Then again, nothing about the man seemed typical.

  Pru turned away from her betrothed, wearing a bright smile. “Now that we’re all here, perhaps you’d like to hear of the investigation thus far?”

  Reflexively, Katherine checked Wayland’s reaction. Not a hint of curiosity penetrated his impassive expression. They might have been discussing the weather, for all the interest he showed.

  She turned back to find both Scotsmen peering at her intently. Lord Annandale rested his hands on Pru’s shoulders as he stood behind her. McTavish paid more mind to Katherine than he did to the tea service he was sloppily pouring out.

  “Yes, lass, I’d be some interested to learn what ye’ve gotten yourself into.”

  Her cheeks flushing with color, Pru looked up over her shoulder and into Annandale’s open expression. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” She flexed her fists, as if readying for a fight. Katherine did not envy Annandale if he thought to curb Pru’s investigative activities.

  “Katherine, would you care to do the honors of explaining?”

  As McTavish offered her a dainty little cup filled to the brim with what looked to be too-weak tea, Katherine frowned. “Perhaps we ought to wait until McTavish has returned to his duties. This information is of a sensitive nature.”

  The man puffed out his chest as he divvied up the rest of the cups and beckoned his employer to sit. Lord Annandale chose the seat next to Pru, to no one’s surprise. His valet took up position at his elbow before he announced, “I’m nae loose of tongue, milady. Ye can trust me.”

  Pru added, “If McTavish would like to be included, I trust him. You share information with Harriet all the time.”

  Harriet was often vital to Katherine’s investigations. She didn’t know McTavish beyond the two times she’d interacted with him. Nevertheless, she could see that no one in the room would be budged on the subject. Even Wayland, who, after conducting investigations of his own, must know the value of discretion, didn’t leap to her defense. In fact, from his bored expression, he was still monitoring the street.

  “Very well,” Katherine said reluctantly. She inclined her head to her friend. “Pru, feel free to interrupt if you think I’ve left out anything vital. I’ll be as succinct as I can in the matter.”

  She sipped her tea—little better than flavored water. She set the cup down and dusted her hands on her knees before she began.

  “On this past Tuesday, November the fifth, Lady Rochford was pushed from a balcony during Lady Dalhousie’s ice ball. Although it is widely believed that her fall was an accident, my friend Lyle Murphy—you may recall him from Bath, where his inv
ention helped with our search for the jewel thief—has mathematically proven that she was pushed. This is based off positioning of the body, distance from the balcony where she fell, and so on.”

  Katherine paused, looking at each person in turn. Pru appeared more interested in watching her fiancé’s expression than in contributing to the conversation herself. McTavish looked intent, and Lord Annandale appeared worried but attentive. Clearly, he waited to hear more.

  To ease his mind, Katherine added, “We are investigating under the assumption that someone targeted Lady Rochford intentionally, not that there is a madman on the loose, pushing women from balconies and decrying the results to be accidents.”

  Lord Annandale reached out to hold Pru’s hand, resting on her knee, but otherwise didn’t respond.

  Katherine carried on. “The servants at Lady Dalhousie’s manor informed us of several rumors. As best we can piece together, a cloaked woman fled the scene by exiting the side door and then running around back.”

  “A cloaked woman? Can ye not find anything as to her identity?”

  “No,” Katherine admitted, “as we haven’t found the cloak. It is a dark shade and might have ermine fur around the hood.”

  “Might?” Lord Annandale added, drawing out the word.

  For a man who claimed to want to know the particulars, he seemed intent on interrupting her. Katherine stifled a sigh and tried to gentle her tone as she added, “If you have any experience in questioning gossips, you’ll know that the story evolves from person to person. We must take the information at its core. There was certainly a woman, and she was certainly seen at the side exit and passing the kitchen door, but we have conflicting stories as to what she wore and the timing, so it may not be relevant to the murder.”

  “But using the side door is highly irregular,” Pru added. “If she meant to walk around back, why not choose a door closer to the back where she could access the street quickly?”