A MURDERED EARL
BY
MARINA OLIVER
Luke Peters, French aristocrat, has escaped from the guillotine to England, and needs to protect his sister from vicious revolutionaries while searching for the family jewels.
Hoping the Earl of Redditch can help, he becomes the Earl's valet, then disaster strikes and he might be accused of murder.
A Murdered Earl
by Marina Oliver
Copyright © 2016 Marina Oliver
Smashwords Edition
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover Design by Debbie Oliver
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Previously published as From Knife to Noose
See details of other books by Marina Oliver at
http:/www.marina-oliver.net
Author Note
By default Luke Peters becomes a detective. Unlike many displaced French aristocrats who taught French or dancing in London, he takes on a menial task in pursuit of information, hoping to regain his family jewels. This is an ongoing quest.
Chapter 1
Luke held his breath and the knob. He dared not risk dismissal until he'd discovered whether the Earl had the information he sought. Slowly, and with a mere whisper, the catch slid home, and he exhaled in relief. Yesterday he'd permitted the merest click, and the old curmudgeon had thrown the water jug and then blamed him when it broke. At least he now had the felt overshoes which Jenny, one of the maids, had fashioned for him after half an hour of kissing and cuddling, and promise of more intimacies. They would prevent the noise of footsteps from reaching his lordship's very selective ears. He yawned. He'd been late abed, and it had been an unsatisfactory coupling. Hay wasn't his favourite mattress, and Jenny had reeked of a pungent perfume which had, he suspected, been purloined from the Countess.
He glanced at the fire as he crossed to the window. It was crackling merrily, and cautiously he added a couple of lumps of coal. A loud snore came from the curtained bed. As he waited, ready to fling the curtains wide when the nearby church clock struck nine, he pondered on the perversity of rich men. Why could the Earl sleep undisturbed by the rattle of horses and coach wheels, the ringing of church bells, the cries of street vendors in the Square, even the striking clock of the second closest church, and wake instantly if some small unexpected noise occurred?
The Earl was fortunate to be able to enjoy untroubled sleep, unlike the French nobility. Luke felt his anger grow as he thought of the many thousands who had perished, guillotined by the extremists who had ruled France for the past few years. He must persuade the Earl to reveal what he knew. At the same time the pernicious Gustave Bossard must be thrown off the scent, if he was encountered in London.
Why had Bossard been so far from London? Luke shivered. It could not have been pure chance. England was too big for such coincidences. Was he the quarry? Or, God forbid, had the wretch discovered Sylvie? Ought he to have left her?
The sound he awaited came, and he was jolted out of worrying reflections into a flurry of activity. Drag open the curtains, fling back the shutters, move smartly to the door side of the bed and loop back those curtains, raise his noble lordship's long, portly body tenderly from the mountain of pillows, and support him onto the close stool, taking care to raise his night shirt only at the last critical moment. Yesterday he'd been sworn at, with a variety of inventive curses new to him, for premature revelation of his lordship's nether regions.
Was the chance of questioning the Earl worth this particular job, he wondered, as he awaited the critical moment. It was a pity he could not have done as much as a mere footman. He'd left his previous post for Sylvie's sake, when the letter had arrived from his cousin Madeleine, and it had seemed fortuitous that there was an opening in the Earl's household. The letter gave him news he had to follow up, an unexpected opportunity to recover what was rightly theirs. Besides, if Bossard travelled the Cheltenham road frequently, even on a matter unconnected with himself, he would sooner or later have been recognised. And if his enemy saw him he would suspect that Sylvie was nearby. At all costs Luke had to protect her from the malice and revenge of Bossard and his cronies.
'Damn you, Peters! Do you want me to piss on my nightgown?' The Earl's peevish tones brought Luke'a attention back to him. 'And see if that pesky wench has brought my chocolate yet, before it's cold.'
'Yes, my lord.' As he crossed to the door Luke reminded himself of his main reason for seeking employment in Redditch House, and welcoming the promotion to valet. The Earl often visited his estates near Oxford, and he'd thought that as a footman he'd have a chance of accompanying him without arousing suspicion. He was convinced the answer to his questions was connected with Redditch Court, not London. He'd soon discovered, however, that only his Lordship's valet was so honoured. It hadn't taken much persuasion to make the previous incumbent relinquish his position.
He opened the door. Jenny was waiting outside, and as he reached for the tray she drew it back slightly, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief, and a blonde curl artlessly escaping from beneath her cap to lie tantalisingly on her cheek. In leaning further his felt-clad feet slipped on the polished boards, and he only saved himself from falling flat on his face by grabbing at the door and the frame.
Jenny giggled. 'Fallin' fer me?' she asked softly. 'I'll be th' envy of all the gals, wi' a big handsome feller like you goin' down on bended knees an' askin' fer me favours!'
He bit back his angry retort, and stiffened as the Earl gave peevish tongue.
'Peters, damn you! What are you doing? I've never had to endure such a damned clumsy fellow as you. Where's my chocolate? Can't you even open the door without making a noise fit to wake the dead?'
Jenny's hands twitched and some of the chocolate in the overfilled cup slopped into the saucer. She gasped, held the tray one-handed and tried to lift the cup, just as Luke stretched out for it. Their hands collided, and the cup tilted, spilling more of the chocolate.
'Hold the tray!' Luke hissed, and as she did so, trembling slightly, he poured the chocolate back from the saucer into the cup. He looked round for a cloth, but there was nothing within reach. Grinning, he snatched off her dainty mob cap and used it to wipe the saucer and the tray clean.
' 'Ere, I'll get clobbered fer that!' she protested loudly, then clapped one hand over her mouth. Luke seized the tray, and just saved the chocolate from further excursions.
'Go away!' he mouthed at her, softening the severity by winking. Inwardly he sighed. He was bored with Jenny, her eagerness, her attempts at asserting her claims on him.
'Peters!' the Earl roared. 'Come and help me back into bed! If all you can do is create that noise and flirt with damned chits of housemaids I might as well get my coachman to valet me!'
Luke carried the tray inside carefully, shut the door on Jenny's retreating form, and silently went to help his master.
How long must he endure this before he had the answer he sought? Any position in the employment of the Earl of Redditch, he'd discovered, was fraught with aggravation. Perhaps it was the same in any noble household, with serva
nts roundly abused for the slightest fault, at the mercy of their masters. It was not a situation he felt able to tolerate for long. But for Bossard he'd have been able to continue working in the posting house in Oxfordshire, where at least he could do as he wished in his free time. It had been within reach of Redditch Court, and besides seeing Sylvie often, he could have made the approach to the Earl in a different manner. He was beginning to wonder whether the Earl would even listen to him.
There was no time for further reflections as he ministered to his employer. The Earl, he'd discovered, always breakfasted copiously in his room, unfit to be seen until he had completed his elaborate toilet. This was a long task of endurance for his valet. First came the difficult problem of forcing him into stiffly boned corsets. Then the Earl was ready to select which of his many coats he would wear. Three hours later Luke had seen a dozen or more cravats and several waistcoats tossed to the floor. His lordship, at almost sixty years, still aspired to dandyism, and prided himself on his skill at twisting cravats into ever more intricate folds. Luke had been abused for incompetence, shouted at when he could not immediately find the fob required, and had a silver-backed hairbrush thrown at him. At length he solicitously escorted the sartorially satisfied product of his labours downstairs and handed over his burden to Joseph, the sturdy footman waiting to heave the noble Earl, corsets creaking ominously, into the waiting carriage. Luke collapsed wearily into the porter's chair.
'Best not let Drummond see yer,' Joseph recommended as he returned and closed the front door. He stared morosely at Luke.
Luke grinned unrepentantly. 'What's the longest time he's kept a valet?' he asked.
'Beecham stayed three years. Mind, he died at the end of 'em, and he were only forty.'
'I doubt if I'll last three days. It'll be me or him. Now I know why you and Sam turned down the chance of bettering yourselves.'
'I haven't got a sewing maid willing to alter his cast-offs to fit,' Joseph said with a reluctant grin.
Luke grimaced. 'If I had, and if the old skinflint gave me any, she could make me two coats for each of his. You just like wearing white stockings and a wig.'
Footsteps on the long sweep of stairs brought Luke to his feet, and he lowered his head submissively, hiding a grin, as a tall young man, thin to the point of emaciation, dressed in even more outrageously fashionable clothes than the Earl, swept past them and minced out of the door. His waistcoat had horizontal stripes of red and yellow, his blue redingote sported lapels which were a foot wider than his shoulders, and his hat, a good six inches taller than most, and wide at the top, rested on hair cut so short that his head appeared shaved. His shoes had buckles laden with paste jewels, and he wore a profusion of fobs and chains and watches, and carried an ornately embellished quizzing glass.
The effect was spoiled when the young dandy, as the door was about to close on him, swung back. 'Did my father say when he'd be back?' he asked in a high-pitched, quavering voice.
'No, my lord,' Joseph said reassuringly. 'He did say as 'ow he'd be dinin' out, though.'
The young man nodded quickly, smiled, nodded again and went on his way.
'And will no doubt spend half the night gaming, so I'll not get to bed until dawn again,' Luke groaned.
Joseph sneered. 'Yer might think yerself better'n the rest of us, but yer 'as ter put up wi' 'is tantrums more.'
Luke didn't reply. Joseph had been unwelcoming ever since he'd arrived, and Luke did his best to ignore his ill-natured jibes. He went through the door to the kitchen regions. He'd best make his peace with Jenny, offer to buy her a new mob cap, and then collect all the discarded clothes. The cravats would need washing and starching and ironing again, the other clothes brushing, and the boots he'd polished yesterday had to be done again since his first efforts had been greeted with scorn. He'd expected them to be thrown at him too. Fortune had intervened in the guise of the Countess, full of complaints about the cook, and demands to know why, with London full of refugees from across the channel, escaping from those ruffians who now ruled France, she was not permitted to engage a French chef.
At least he hadn't been forced to claim culinary skills amongst his accomplishments.
Jenny met him in the passageway outside the kitchen. 'Well, Mr Peters, and what 'ave yer to say? Stealin' a poor girl's best cap without so much as a by yer leave!'
'Would you have preferred I used your kerchief?' he asked, grinning, and hooked his finger under it at her waist, tugging so that the ends, tucked into her apron, came loose.
She gave a faint scream and clutched at his hand, pressing it to her pert bosom. 'Yer wouldn't!' she gasped.
'I had to do something fast,' he said, grinning down at her while allowing his hand to stray tantalisingly into the neck of her bodice. 'But I came to offer you a new one. How much do they cost?'
She pursed her lips. 'Oh no, Mr Peters, yer don't get away with it as easy as that!'
'Then what can I do? Go down on bended knee? I can't afford to buy you a silk gown.'
She giggled. 'Yer can take me ter buy a new cap,' she said, glancing up at him and wriggling against his hand. 'I've got this afternoon off, and yer can sneak off fer an hour or two. Old sour guts won't know an' no one else'll care.'
Luke pushed her away. Jenny had been making eyes at him ever since he'd entered the Earl's employment, and while he would take what was so freely offered, he was wary, too. Jenny, he suspected, had a more permanent connection in mind than mere flirtation, and that was no part of his plan.
'I have a lot to do, so it'll have to be quick,' he said briskly.
She glanced up at him, then stretched her face towards his, her lips invitingly pouting. He blessed his height. He was tall and she was too short to reach him, despite the extra pressure on his hand. She needed to be shown that she had no particular hold on him. He'd have to pay attention to Betty or Maggie soon. After a moment she frowned, and suddenly let go as the kitchen door behind her swung open. 'See yer in an 'our,' she said, and giggling, ran away along the passage.
He collected the cravats and took them to the wash house, full of steam and the screeching laughter of the two maids who did all the laundry, then went about his other tasks. Could he endure this, or would he be better off trying a different way? If he was unable to visit Oxfordshire with the Earl he might as well seek a more congenial post to maintain himself while seeking the answer to his problem. But if he left the Earl now would that make the man unwilling to help him?
***
Jenny was snatching a few minutes to add a length of lace to her new cap when Joseph hurried into the kitchen.
'That dratted kitchen cat's got into the dining room!' he said. 'Someone's ter go an' catch it.'
'Now? Durin' dinner?' Jenny asked, her mouth dropping open in surprise.
'Why can’t you?' the cook asked Joseph, taking a pan of sizzling pork chops out of the oven.
'Because 'er ladyship's in a fret an' sent fer one of the maids. Don't want the pesky beast ter tear me livery, if yer asks me,' he added with a sneer.
'You go, Jenny, yer not doin' anything useful,' the cook ordered, and Jenny sighed deeply, put away her sewing, and followed Joseph from the kitchen.
'There's mice in the library,' she said as they went through the door into the hall. 'Not surprisin', Drummond's always takin' pasties an' cakes in there fer 'is lordship, greedy pig. They oughta let the cat in there. Good mouser, she is.'
'Yer know t'old woman can't abear the sight o' pesky old thing,' Joseph said. 'She piddled on 'er bed last month, an' when Lady Muck squealed fit ter wake the dead an' tried ter catch 'er, poor cat climbed up the new curtains, an' that was it. Gotta be kept in kitchen.'
Jenny followed him into the dining room where the Countess was sitting at one end of the long table, the Viscount lounging at the side. The Countess was short, but much fatter than her husband, though her face was already wrinkled and her cheeks hollow due to lack of teeth. She glared at Jenny.
'Get that animal out o
f here,' she ordered, and looked eagerly at the dishes Joseph was proffering. 'A couple of chops, and the breast of a chicken. And I'll have a slice of that pie, too.'
The cat was stalking round the far end of the table, and as Jenny pounced it darted out of reach amongst the unoccupied chairs. As she followed, wondering how she might get at it without creating a disturbance, the Viscount spoke through a mouthful of food.
'He's your pet, he'd get whatever he wanted if you had your way,' he said peevishly.
'Don't be ridiculous, Augustus! He's not getting a sugar-cane estate in Barbados!' his mother replied. 'Even if I could persuade your father, I wouldn't want to. When Percy's got this ridiculous notion of being a soldier out of his head he's coming home. He'll be busy enough managing the estates my father left me.'
'Why can't I do that? Aahh! What's that under the table? Something brushed my leg!'
'Sorry, me lord, the cat won't come out,' Jenny gasped, sitting back on her heels beside a chair a couple of places further along the table.
'I'm surrounded by incompetents! Here, grab it!' the Countess said and tossed one of the chop bones to the floor, narrowly missing Jenny's nose.
Jenny grabbed the cat, and cried out as the animal, struggling to escape, clawed at her hands. Swiftly she bundled it up in her apron, struggled to her feet, and escaped, her cheeks on fire. The Countess's voice drifted after her complaining about the idiocy of people who allowed kitchen cats to escape into the rest of the house, and then couldn't control them.
'I'll wring the damned critter's neck!' Jenny vowed as she carried the wriggling, spitting bundle back into the kitchen and threw it, none too gently, to the floor. The cat, tail high, shook itself, strolled across to a corner beside the range, curled up, and began to nibble delicately at the chop bone it had carried out from the dining room.
***
On the following morning Luke almost walked out on the Earl, who had returned an hour before dawn in the vilest of tempers, complaining that his sheets were cold, the fire too low, and the brandy he demanded of inferior quality. Luke bit back the retort that he wasn't in charge of either the housemaids or the cellar. Then, after having given orders that he was not to be woken before noon, the Earl rang his bell at ten and complained long and bitterly, finding fault with everything and blaming his valet. He'd ruined a dozen or more cravats, and when he'd found a minute gravy stain on one of them had crumpled up the others, thrown them on the floor, and stamped on them.
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