Death at Dawn

by Caro Peacock

  ‘As a governess?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, a governess in rose brocade and opals. Borrowed plumes, I fear. Lock’s not even my real name. I’m called Liberty Lane. ’

  I expected some change in his expression, but detected none. I went on with my account, but did not name Mrs Martley or tell him she was actually under Mandeville’s roof. When I finished speaking he stood staring down for a while, lower lip thrust out, fingering the gold seal round his neck.

  ‘This woman, this alleged witness you’re not naming, you say the old lady took her away from Kilkeel.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘Mrs Beedle sent her somewhere safe.’

  ‘And you’re not going to tell me where?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you not trust me?’

  ‘I hardly know you, but I think I trust you on my own account. I can’t speak for her, though.’

  ‘Do you believe her story?’

  He asked the question as if my opinion had some value.

  ‘Yes. Do you believe me?’

  He didn’t answer at once. Then, ‘Yes, Miss Lane. I think I do. It explains something that has been puzzling me since last night.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Why Kilkeel and Mandeville didn’t produce their trump card. I think most of us had an impression that something was intended to happen last night. The stage was set, yet the trumpets never sounded, the clouds never parted and Jupiter never appeared. We were all left looking at each other and the unprepossessing Mr Brighton, wondering why we’d been invited.’

  ‘What will happen now, do you think?’

  ‘I rather suspect that, unless Mandeville manages to produce something tonight, they’ve missed the tide. Mandeville will lick his wounds and so-called Brighton will be packed back to whatever Continental spa town or lodging house they brought him out of.’

  ‘And Kilkeel?’

  ‘Oh, there’s always some new villainy for the likes of Kilkeel.’

  ‘They’ve killed two people at least. They’ve committed treason, haven’t they?’

  He looked down at the mignonette and quoted: ‘Treason doth never prosper, what’s the reason?’

  ‘For if it prosper, none dare call it treason.’ I finished the quote for him and added, ‘But it is treason. Surely somebody could do something?’

  ‘Bring them to trial? You need witnesses for that, not hearsay. As for treason, has Mandeville yet said publicly that he believes Brighton to be the rightful King of England?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘I’m quite sure he hasn’t. Kilkeel’s far too cunning for that.’

  ‘Surely if the government were to ask questions, they’d find evidence,’ I said.

  ‘Quite possibly. Then that evidence would have to be tried in court, the whole story would be made public and, however unfounded it proved to be, whatever the verdict was, you may be sure that there’d be the usual assortment of mischief-makers and malcontents who would take to the streets for the rights of poor disinherited King Harold. If you were in government, is that what you’d want?’

  ‘So you can’t do anything? Nothing will happen to them?’

  He said slowly, ‘If I put some of the story around in the right way in the right places, I believe I can get them laughed at.’

  ‘Laughed at!’

  ‘Never under-estimate ridicule, Miss Lane. To an ambitious man, it can be more dangerous than bullets.’

  ‘It won’t get justice for my father or Mrs Beedle.’

  ‘Justice is a different matter. Believe me, Miss Lane, if I could supply that for you, I’d do it very willingly.’

  ‘Try, at least. Please try.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘You have a right to ask. What I can do, I shall.’

  Up to that point, he’d spoken like a man very conscious of the effect of his words, but that promise was made simply and quietly. I thanked him and turned to go. There was no sign of Betty and the children, and the garden and terrace were filling up with guests out for an afternoon stroll.

  ‘Where shall I find you in future?’ he said.

  I hesitated, not wanting to tell him I had neither future nor home.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be staying as governess to the Mandevilles, will you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where then?’

  He sounded impatient.

  ‘You might write to me care of Mr Daniel Suter, addressed to any musical theatre in London. It should find me sooner or later.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It might be simpler for you to write to me, at the House of Commons.’

  I could tell he enjoyed saying it.

  I went slowly upstairs, not sorry that I’d taken the decision to trust him, but disappointed it had brought me so little. I checked my room and found Mrs Martley sleeping again, with the shawl wrapped tightly round her. Downstairs, Betty had given the children their slates and pencils to keep them occupied and was making tea.

  ‘There, didn’t I tell you,’ she said, nudging me with her elbow.

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘That you’d make a conquest. I saw you and the young gentleman with your heads together.’

  ‘I assure you, it’s not in the least like that.’

  She didn’t believe me, of course.

  I sat with the children for a while then went up to wake Mrs Martley, taking her a glass of water and some bread and butter I’d saved from the children’s dinner. She was awake already and nervous.

  ‘I couldn’t eat it. Not a crumb. The thought of being in the same room as that fat devil turns my stomach over.’

  ‘You won’t have to be in the same room as him. All you need do is look at him through a crack in the door and confirm that he’s the same person.’

  I managed to calm her and get her down the back stairs. The house was humming with preparations for the ball, all the servants so busy that nobody gave us a second glance. Daniel met us at the back door, in his performance clothes of black breeches, silver-grey stock, black frock coat, blue-and-silver brocade waistcoat. I think his impressive appearance helped calm Mrs Martley’s nerves. He offered her his arm and she clung to it on the cobwebby journey along some seldom-used passageways, dimly lit by an occasional narrow window. Now and then our indirect progress took us round the back of the great hall and we heard the buzz of social conversation, the occasional muted laugh, a Haydn string quartet.

  Daniel winced, ‘They always get the timing wrong without me.’

  We turned into the last short passageway leading to the door behind the orange tree. The music and conversation were almost as loud as if we were in the same room. I signed to Daniel to wait with Mrs Martley, then went on ahead and opened the door a few inches. There were more people there than the evening before and it was some time before I saw Kilkeel. I looked first towards the big fireplace. Sir Herbert was there, sipping his wine and frowning, with Mr Brighton beside him, glowing like a comet in stripes of purple and gold. There was no sign of Lady Mandeville – presumably grief, drink or both had confined her to her room – but Celia was standing by her stepfather in her silver-and-white dress, hair glinting with diamonds, face blank. Kilkeel wasn’t with them.

  I’d begun to think that he had decided not to come down to dinner and our work had been wasted when I caught the smell of him. In a room banked with flowers and delicately scented people, it was a waft of something foul and brought a vivid and unwanted memory of being close to him in his carriage. My eyes followed the smell and found him just on the other side of the orange tree, in profile to me and so close that I could almost have reached out an arm and touched him. Two men were with him, one with his back to me. The other one, facing me, was Celia’s brother. From his strained look, Stephen was doing his social duty as best he could, talking to Kilkeel and the other man. Kilkeel was listening with a bored droop of the eyelid and Stephen may have sensed the boredom, because his voice
had the loud over-animation of a man trying to hold a reluctant audience.

  ‘… so I said to him, fifty guineas he loses by ten lengths at least …’

  I closed the door quickly. This was far too close for comfort. I’d hoped Mrs Martley would have to do no more than look at Kilkeel across a crowded room. Still, we were too far gone to draw back now and would have to trust to her nerve. I went back to them.

  ‘He’s quite near. It will only take one glance.’

  She clung to Daniel’s arm as we went quietly along the passage. We stopped by the door. Even with it closed, Stephen’s voice came faintly through.

  ‘… asked me how I knew. Well, it was obvious to anybody who could tell a horse from a jackass, only …’

  Mrs Martley was trembling like seaweed in a strong current, leaning on Daniel. Now or never. I beckoned them forward, opened the door a few inches. Kilkeel was three-quarter face to us now, unmissable. I hadn’t the slightest doubt that she’d identify him. It was no more than a necessary formality. Still, I wasn’t prepared for what happened. She hardly even seemed to glance, then she said loudly, ‘It’s the same man.’ It was almost a scream. If it hadn’t been for the noise of the party, it might have drawn attention to us. I put a hand on her shoulder to warn her to be quiet, but she was already falling backwards, fainting into Daniel’s arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  He staggered under the weight of her. I pushed the door shut and ran to help him. Over her head, his anxious eyes met mine. We joined our hands behind her back and half-dragged, half-carried her along the passage, sideways on because there wasn’t room for three abreast. After a minute or so she began to recover consciousness.

  ‘It was him.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that now,’ Daniel said. ‘We’ll see you safe.’

  By the time we reached the stairs she was capable of walking, slowly and shakily. With me leading the way and Daniel murmuring encouragement from behind we managed to get her back to my room. I brought water for her, got her to lie down on the bed and loosened her stays, while Daniel waited on the landing outside. When she seemed calmer, I covered her over with the blanket and went outside to him.

  ‘I blame myself,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t know it would be such a shock.’

  ‘Daniel …’

  ‘I should have made more allowances for her weakness. The poor woman’s been drugged, probably for days on end, and half starved. Simply identifying Kilkeel was too much for her.’

  ‘Daniel, that wasn’t her trouble.’

  ‘Of course it was. She simply took one look at the brute and fainted dead away.’

  ‘Just seeing Kilkeel again wouldn’t have affected her so strongly. After all, she knew he was here. He was the one who brought her here, remember.’

  ‘Well, what was the trouble then? Libby, why are you looking like that?’

  ‘Because it wasn’t Kilkeel she meant,’ I said.

  ‘Libby, I simply don’t understand you.’

  In honesty, I scarcely understood myself. In a few minutes the world had turned upside down again. My mind was moving so fast that I didn’t know where it was leading me next.

  ‘I will explain, but later. One of us must stay with her all the time. Could you come back, do you think, after you’ve played the first set of dances?’

  ‘Why? What will you be doing?’

  ‘Celia Mandeville’s eloping. I’ve promised to help her.’

  Until then, I’d kept her secret. Now I needed Daniel’s help so much I couldn’t hide it from him. He groaned.

  ‘Leave them to their own problems.’

  ‘She’s been kind to me. I owe her this at least.’

  It was more than that, but I couldn’t tell Daniel or he’d try to stop me. I did my best to reassure him, telling him my part in the proceedings would be over as soon as I’d escorted Celia down the back road. He wanted to come with us, but I refused.

  ‘You must stay here with Mrs Martley. Then we have to find some means of getting her away safely.’

  ‘Didn’t you mention a horse?’

  ‘I don’t think she’s capable of riding. We need a vehicle. Perhaps Amos Legge will think of something.’

  We settled it that Daniel should rejoin his musicians and play through dinner. After dinner they’d give the first and, he hoped, only performance of Welcome Home. He’d direct the orchestra for the first set of dances, then leave them to his deputy again.

  ‘I shall owe that man a year of favours. Still, what must be done must be done. You’re terribly pale, child. I wish you’d let me …’

  ‘I’ll be well enough. Go now.’

  Mrs Martley was asleep when I went back inside. Now and then she muttered, ‘No, no,’ in her sleep and turned her face sideways into the pillow. I sat by the bed looking down at her tired and lined face, with the clamour of the kitchens drifting faintly from below us. Once she opened her eyes and focused on me.

  ‘It was him. His voice.’

  ‘You’re sure of it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She slept again. After the stable clock had struck nine and the small rectangle of sky through the window was turning to dusk, Daniel came back. We spoke on the landing.

  ‘I’ve found a way of moving her,’ he said. ‘The tenor insists on going back to Windsor tonight. He says another night in the pavilion on a camp bed will ruin his voice. He’s a fool, but I said he owed it to the world of music not to take the risk. So he’s bribing somebody from the stables to have a vehicle of sorts ready. She’ll manage to walk as far as the stableyard, won’t she?’

  ‘Yes. By then, I hope Amos Legge will be here with Rancie. We can all go together.’

  Daniel put his hands to his head and groaned again.

  ‘I know, but I’ve got to provide for her somehow. I don’t suppose Mr Blackstone will be paying livery bills any more.’

  I left Daniel on guard over Mrs Martley, picked up my mantle and ran down the stairs to the bedroom corridor. It was deserted, all the guests gone to the ball. I knocked softly on Celia’s door.

  ‘Come in.’ Then, as soon as I took a step inside, ‘Where have you been? I thought you weren’t coming.’

  She was half in and half out of her white-and-silver dress, hair coming down and cheeks streaked with tears. There were little white globes scattered on the carpet that I thought were pearls, but they turned out to be silk covered buttons.

  ‘I can’t get out of it,’ she said. ‘It won’t let me go.’

  She put her arms behind her, wrenching at the long row of buttons at the back of the bodice. More little globes popped to the carpet. She wasn’t accustomed to undressing without the help of a maid. I started on what remained of the buttons.

  ‘Do stand still.’

  But she was almost past reason, tearing at the waistband. Silk ripped apart with a noise like a knife being sharpened and a cloud of white and silver fell round her feet. She kicked her way out of the stiff muslin petticoat and white kid shoes.

  ‘I think my stepfather suspects something. He kept looking at me.’

  The grey dress and a plain petticoat were ready on a chair and I managed to get them on her, having to deal with most of the hooks and buttons myself because her hands were shaking. She slid her silk-stockinged feet into the shoes we’d chosen, took a few steps and stumbled.

  ‘I can’t do it, Elizabeth. I can’t do it.’

  ‘Liberty. Do you mean walking or eloping?’

  ‘Both.’

  I put my hand on her shoulder and turned her round to make her look at me.

  ‘Celia, I promise you that if you don’t go now while you have the chance, you’ll be unhappy for the rest of your life.’

  The near-brutality in my hand and voice surprised even me.

  ‘But you were the cautious one,’ she said. ‘You wanted me to talk to my mother or Stephen. I’ve been thinking, perhaps you were right and I should …’

  I must have gripped her shoulder hard because she cried
out.

  ‘It’s past all that now,’ I said. ‘You’re lucky that there’s somebody who loves you waiting for you out there. You must forget everything else and only think of that.’

  She blinked, stared into my eyes and saw something that seemed to convince her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m ready now. My cloak and bags are in the wardrobe.’

  She’d packed two of them, small but quite heavy. I kept hold of one of them and gave her the other. I had my other hand on the doorknob when she said, ‘Wait.’ She was looking at her canary in his cage.

  ‘I don’t suppose we could take him …’

  ‘No. Now hurry.’

  I opened the door and looked out. The corridor was still deserted. I led the way at a fast walk to the servants’ door and held it open for her. She gave a last glance over her shoulder at the candlelit corridor, the soft green carpet, the cream-and-gold scrolled woodwork and followed me into the near dark.

  ‘Keep close to me,’ I said.

  I heard the occasional gasp and the bumping of her bag on the stairs as she followed me, but she managed bravely enough. I took my usual route, down the narrow staircase to the chamber pots and out into the back courtyard. There were people there: a boy emptying scraps into the pig barrel, a man and a kitchen maid leaning against the wall talking. She put the hood of her cloak up and they took no notice of us. I led her across the courtyard and out through the archway. By the time we came to where the carriageway divided for the back road, she was breathing heavily.

  ‘Let me rest, just a little.’

  ‘A minute, no more.’

  There was still just enough light for anybody to see us. I’d feel happier once we were on the back road with banks and hedges on either side. She put down her bag and drew a long, shuddering breath. The jaunty rhythm of a mazurka came from the house. Lights from the downstairs windows flooded the terrace, so that the marble gods and goddesses seemed to paddle in a sea of gold.

  ‘Ready?’

  We walked on, past the old oak where Mrs Beedle had waited for me, its branches black against a darkening sky. At last there were hedges right and left and beaten earth rather than gravel under our feet.