Murder at the Ice Ball

by Leighann Dobbs

  He almost sounded as though he was in love, as preposterous as it sounded.

  Raising his head, he met her gaze resolutely. “I didn’t kill her. I’m as shocked and devastated as anyone, though I’m the only person not permitted to show it.”

  Katherine turned the ring over in her hand, thinking. “And this?”

  “I’ve never seen it before. That’s the truth.”

  For now, Katherine could not think of any further questions. “Thank you for your time, Lord Conyers. Good day.”

  As she turned on her heel, Pru looked after her, mouth agape. “But Katherine—”

  Katherine sensed that the young lord wasn’t about to give them any other answer. She braced herself for the cold and opened the door. “Come, Emma. Outside.”

  Head held high, the pug happily followed her out the door. Her companions followed, Pru first among them.

  Fortunately, Lord Annandale restrained her the moment they shut the door behind them. “I thought ye meant to let me have a go at him.”

  “You took too long, and I found the ring.”

  Katherine led the way back to her waiting carriage, the men on her heels and Pru on Annandale’s arm.

  “Och, ye could have waited a moment longer. I almost had it out of him.”

  Wayland laughed but didn’t contradict him.

  “Katherine, please don’t say you believe in his innocence. We found the ring in his house!”

  Turning, Katherine found herself nearly bowled over by Pru in her enthusiasm. She had released her fiancé’s arm, much to his apparent chagrin. Katherine stepped to the side just in time to avoid being trampled. Emma yelped as she did the same.

  Pru winced. “Sorry, Emma. I didn’t see you there.”

  Katherine took advantage of the moment to put the ring in her bag. “First of all, we have no one to confirm that this was Lady Rochford’s ring. If we can find someone to confirm it, we might be able to coerce a confession from him then.”

  “But you didn’t find it inside his house, did you?” Wayland asked.

  He knew the truth, of course, but Katherine nodded. “You’re right. It was outside. Anyone could have had access.”

  “Not without being seen by Mrs. Ramsey. We should ask her,” Pru insisted.

  Katherine again glanced toward the neighbor’s house. “She doesn’t appear to be at home.”

  “Och now, did she nae mention seeing the Rochford carriage after the lady was dead? I’d say we ought to speak with Lord Rochford again.”

  “You’re right. What if Conyers is telling the truth? Someone put that ring there, and if the carriage was seen here, it might have been Lord Rochford,” Pru said.

  Wayland raised his eyebrows, unabashedly curious. “I wonder if he knows his late wife was having an affair.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As the carriage trundled through the wintery scene of Mayfair, Katherine found herself pressed from shoulder to hip against Wayland. Although she had originally tried to sit next to Pru, Emma had been far too frantic to show herself Wayland’s biggest admirer. As a result, Katherine had had to sit backward, facing Pru and her fiancé. They both seemed pleased with the arrangement and held hands throughout the journey and subsequent conversation.

  “I don’t know that we can go in,” Katherine admitted ruefully.

  Pru’s expression darkened, but before she could get a word in edgewise, Katherine carried on.

  “We’ve already used my stepmother’s condolences as an excuse once. It won’t be accepted again.”

  “Aye, but I have nae offered condolences of my own. If Lord Rockford is three sheets tae the wind like ye say, then he will nae notice two bonny lasses so long as ye keep mum.”

  Wayland leaned forward, adjusting his hold on the pug. Emma squirmed, demanding his attention, to no avail. “After your performance with Conyers, why don’t you let me steer the conversation?”

  Lord Annandale bristled. “Och, now. Just because ye have more experience with interrogations does nae mean I cannae do as good a job.”

  Actually, Katherine was fairly certain that it did.

  With a gleam in his eye easily discernible in the thin light peeking between the shutters of the carriage, the marquess added, “Besides, this investigating goes to the head like whiskey. I understand now why my lass is so enamored with it.” He winked at Pru, who blushed, seeming pleased.

  Did that mean he might consider staying in London more often? She hoped so, because that meant Pru would be around more often after they were married.

  “Humor me,” Wayland said, his voice dry. “You can observe and put those observations into practice next time.”

  “Och, verra well.” Lord Annandale didn’t sound happy at the prospect, but he was still good-natured.

  The carriage pulled to a stop just in time. With a debonair flourish, Wayland returned Emma to Katherine’s lap. The pug whined softly at the change.

  “Hush, you,” Katherine whispered under her breath. “You’ve never taken issue with me before. So what if Wayland has stronger fingers?”

  Despite her efforts to keep her voice low, as Lord Annandale and Pru stepped out of the carriage, Wayland made a stifled sound of amusement. Katherine turned her face away as it heated, rubbing Emma’s collar.

  Fortunately, Wayland didn’t comment on her conversation with her dog. When he leaned forward, she felt the heat of his body acutely against her shoulder. He whispered, “Annandale has more enthusiasm than sense or experience. What would you say if I took him under my wing and mentored him the way you’re doing with Miss Burwick?”

  Katherine shrugged. “I’d say he’s your friend. What you do with him is entirely your business.”

  “It would be to your benefit if he continues to join his fiancée in your investigations.”

  To that, Katherine didn’t say a word and not only because Wayland was correct. By inviting Lord Annandale, she would essentially be inviting Wayland to help her solve crimes as well. Yet as long as she wanted Pru’s help, it seemed she would have to accept them both.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible with four of them working on cases; they would solve them much faster. But what was Wayland’s angle? Was he trying to horn in so he could take credit? Katherine had been under the impression that Wayland only took on cases for money or the credit in solving them, but the last few cases he’d received no payment. One of the cases Katherine had solved, but she could not take credit lest she be shunned. Wayland could have taken credit, but he had given it to Lyle instead. Could Papa be wrong about Wayland?

  “Think about it,” Wayland suggested as he climbed out of the carriage.

  Katherine slid to the edge of the seat and accepted Lord Annandale’s hand as she disembarked from the carriage. The driver stashed the stairs in the boot and drove off to the livery to await them.

  Shortly after they knocked, the door was opened by a man who said, “May I help you?” in a tone of voice that indicated, to Katherine, that he would rather turn them away.

  “Lord Annandale and Captain Wayland, here to give our condolences to Lord Rochford. We’re hoping to catch him before he makes his way to the club.”

  “One moment. I’ll see if Lord Rochford is in.”

  He’d best be! Katherine stamped her feet, shivering as they were left out in the cold. Pru leaned closer to whisper, “I wonder if the housekeeper was ejected from the house after all. She was far too rude, if you ask me.”

  “Lord Rochford might simply have hired a new butler.”

  Pru made a noise that was midway between dubiousness and agreement.

  The door opened again, and they were quickly ushered inside, where a trim man no older than thirty divested them of their winter clothes. “I’m afraid the dog will have to remain here as well. Lord Rochford isn’t fond of them.”

  Emma whined at the notion of being left behind, but Katherine had little choice. She offered the leash to the butler and told him, “My driver is waiting at the livery. He’l
l be more familiar to her. You might want to watch that she doesn’t find something small to chew on while she’s indoors.”

  Looking alarmed, the butler directed them down the corridor to the same parlor where Katherine and Pru had met with Lord Rochford the last time. The room didn’t smell nearly as ripe now. She took that as a good omen.

  Lord Rochford sat in the same armchair, a touch less disheveled with a glass of port in his hand rather than whiskey. He looked up from a letter as they entered and stuffed it into his waistcoat pocket.

  “Good day, Lord Rochford,” Wayland said, his manner friendly as he shook the man’s hand.

  Lord Rochford scrambled to his feet to greet him and Lord Annandale. As they exchanged pleasantries, Katherine curtsied for good measure and led Pru to the settee with her head down. They both sat, acting demure. Pru fretted with the drape of her skirts, not one to enjoy being left out of the conversation. Neither did Katherine, but the more like sheep they acted, the more Lord Rochford would be wont to ignore them. Perhaps, given his grief-stricken and intoxicated state when they last arrived, he wouldn’t even recall their presence.

  “Can I offer you something to drink? I’ll ring for the housekeeper.”

  So she did still have a job. Considering that the baron hadn’t yet imbibed himself into the grave next to his wife, she must have managed somehow to get through to him. That, or it had all been an elaborate act.

  “Thank you, no. I’m afraid I’m not here only for pleasantries,” Wayland admitted on cue. He and Lord Annandale took the remaining seats, with Wayland closest to him.

  Lord Rochford drained his glass and set it on the neat table next to him. The only betrayal that this might not have been his first glass was the stain of a red rim on the wood. “What might this be about, then, Captain?”

  After rummaging in his pocket, Wayland drew out the ring. On the drive over, Katherine had reluctantly relinquished it to him for safekeeping. After all, she wasn’t to draw attention to herself. Still, it rankled.

  “Do you recognize this ring?”

  His hand trembling a bit, Lord Rochford reached over to take it. Sweat beaded along his brow, and the grooves of age deepened in his face. “This is Celia’s,” he whispered, almost too low for Katherine to hear. When he lifted his head, a sheen of tears gave his eyes a glazed cast. “It’s a family ring I gave her for our third anniversary. Where did you get this?”

  “Outside Number 2 Charles Street. Do you think you might have lost it there?”

  “Me? No. I said this was Celia’s ring, my wife’s. I thought she was wearing it the night...” He folded his hand over it and clutched it to his chest. “It was not returned with her belongings, but she didn’t lose it. She would have said as much.”

  “Does she have any business at Number 2 Charles? A friend, perhaps.”

  “I…” Lord Rochford’s jowls trembled as he looked down at his clenched hand. “I’m not familiar with where all of her friends were located. Celia was very gifted at making friends.”

  “I ask,” Wayland added slowly, “because that particular house happens to belong to Lord Conyers. He claims never to have seen the ring, but I have to wonder if he might be lying.”

  Lord Rochford shut his eyes as if in pain. “I can see you’re working your way toward a question, Captain. Ask it and show yourself out.”

  Katherine and Pru exchanged a glance at such a blunt response. Didn’t Lord Rochford care at all that he was entertaining a marquess? Perhaps hoping to intimidate with his looming height, Wayland unfolded himself and stood over Lord Rochford. “Did you suspect your wife was keeping company with Lord Conyers?”

  The old baron deflated, and his hand moved toward his glass as if he wished for a drink. It was empty, of course. After a shuddering exhalation, he admitted, “I didn’t suspect. I knew. Celia confessed the affair to me.”

  “When?” Lord Annandale barked as if he couldn’t hold in the inquiry.

  Lord Rochford gave him a single withering glare then craned his neck back. “Oh, do sit down. I’ll get a crick in my neck.”

  Wayland sat.

  On the other hand, Lord Rochford rose. “I need a drink. Are you certain you won’t have anything?”

  The men declined. Katherine and Pru shook their heads. Unfortunately, Lord Rochford was a good deal soberer now than he had been before. He narrowed his eyes at them. “You were here before.” He made a disgusted sound and stormed over to the mantel and the decanter of brandy that awaited him there. Apparently his housekeeper hadn’t managed to remove it entirely. “You think the same as they all do. That I killed my wife.”

  Katherine sat straighter, suddenly alert. “But my lord, wasn’t your wife’s death deemed an accident?”

  “So I’ve been told, but it doesn’t stop the gossips from chittering in corners over how I orchestrated the entire thing. Drove my wife off the balcony or worse, to suicide. And the intrusive questions from Bow Street seem to indicate they suspect it was no accident.” His shoulders bowed, he shuddered over his glass before he turned back to them. When he did, his eyes glistened. He returned to his chair and stared into his glass but didn’t drink. “I didn’t push her. I was in the ballroom when it… when she…” His voice cracked. In the deafening hush that followed, he cleared his throat. He gulped from the tumbler in his hand before he added, “As to the other… If I drove her to suicide, I don’t know if I could live with myself.”

  Softly, she confessed, “Your wife did not jump. If she had, she would have landed in a different place.”

  He lifted his head, eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?” His voice was thick with emotion.

  “Science.” Since that wasn’t answer enough, she added, “I have a friend adept at this sort of thing. He’s certain on the matter.”

  Lord Rochford peered at Wayland and Lord Annandale, as if wondering if one of them were responsible for this conclusion. Katherine didn’t elaborate.

  Tentatively, Pru asked, “You were going to tell us of your wife’s affair?”

  His face crumpled with anguish, and he gulped from the glass once more. Only a shimmer of amber liquid remained in the bottom. His grief appeared genuine, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t the killer. He could truly be grieving the fact that he had killed her in a fit of anger. But what about the ring?

  Katherine’s gaze drifted to the table where Lord Rochford had placed it. Was it possible the murder was premeditated? That he took the ring as an insurance policy to frame Conyers later on should the police start to ask questions? Framing Conyers would be sweet revenge. Conyers had said Celia never wore her rings with him, but Lord Rochford might not know that. Katherine cautioned herself against jumping to conclusions. Conyers was also a known liar and cheat.

  Lord Rochford paused as if trying to find the right words. No one interrupted him.

  After he swallowed the last mouthful of brandy and set the tumbler on the table, he continued. He looked past them all, as if he spoke to himself more than to his audience. “I put so much pressure on her to conceive. After she couldn’t, month after month, she began to wonder if I might be too old to sire an heir. Not that we had complications, but…” He rubbed his forehead. “She was afraid that I would be angry with her for being unable to conceive, think less of her. I… For a time, I made her life unbearable. I have no excuse.”

  Yes, but what of the affair? Katherine bit her lip to keep from speaking the impatient thought. She clasped her hands tight on her lap. Next to her, Pru picked at her skirts again as she waited.

  “She told me that she’d hoped to conceive with someone else, someone younger. As long as she was pregnant, no one had to know the true father. So she took up with Conyers.” Lord Rochford spat the name, disgusted. Though given the empty way he stared into the air, Katherine couldn’t be certain if he was more disgusted with Lord Conyers or with himself. “But months passed, and she still couldn’t conceive. When I found her at the chamber pot in tears, she confessed to me that she was certain the
problem lay not in me but in herself. She thought she was barren.”

  Barren. The word echoed through the silence as everyone collected their thoughts. Pru stopped her fidgeting, but from the way she clasped her hand in her skirts, she was not as unaffected as she would like to seem. Finding oneself barren was the fear of every new wife.

  After all, the marriage mart for lords and ladies existed for the sole purpose of finding a woman of good standing and breeding to bear a man an heir, although Katherine would like to think that Lord Annandale was more sensible than to lay the responsibility for conceiving or not at Pru’s feet.

  Well, she doubted that Lady Rochford had thought she would become the object of her husband’s enmity when she married. She had been young, after all, perhaps even younger than Pru—there had been no reason for her to think that she might not be able to conceive.

  “I gave up all hopes of an heir then and there. I hadn’t realized how miserable I had made her, nor how I’d driven her into another man’s arms simply to avoid disappointing me in other ways. I told Celia that we would no longer try so hard to conceive. If it happened, I would of course be happy, but I wouldn’t expect it of her.”

  Katherine nodded slowly. “And then she conceived.”

  Lord Rochford released a shuddering breath. “She did. She told me that without needing to bear an heir, she had cut all association with Conyers. I believe her. We intended to start anew. New baby, new life. We had hope.” His shoulders bowed inward, shaking with repressed grief. “She had no reason to wish herself dead, not now. We had the entire world in front of us. It didn’t even matter if she carried the baby to term. I’d already started making other arrangements.”

  “Other arrangements?” Wayland asked, shifting his position. “What do you mean?”

  “For the inheritance of my title if I do not produce a male heir,” Lord Rochford explained, lifting his head. “I’ve petitioned the Crown to leave my estate and title to my grandson, should my daughter bear one, with she and her husband to act as regents in the interim. So everything might stay in the family.”