Death Is the Cure

by Slade, Nicola

  He shook his head in condemnation of such behaviour. ‘It’s my belief the villain heard you coming, mounseer, for I’m bound to say he had no time to steal anything, as far as we can ascertain. Certainly Mr Tibbins’s valuables were still about his person.’

  As the inspector rose, beckoning his sergeant and bowing with evident reluctance over Charlotte’s hand, a commotion arose at the door to the drawing room. The butler entered with an apologetic cough towards his mistress as he announced: ‘Miss Benson and Miss Dunwoody, ma’am.’

  Oh good Lord. Her hand flew to her mouth and Charlotte winced as recollection flooded in. The warring governesses! She had completely forgotten the millstone her brother-in-law Barnard had despatched to hang around her neck. And into this house, at this time. She heaved a despondent sigh and crossed the room to support Mrs Montgomery in her ordeal; though, to be sure, the lady of the house had not, as yet, the slightest notion of her impending trials.

  ‘Yes indeed, Mrs Richmond, we had a most pleasant and efficient journey.’ That was Dora Benson, sister to the Vicar of Finchbourne. Dora was nodding graciously to her hostess and extended that condescension to Charlotte, her clear, bell-like tones clanging round the room leaving none of the guests able to ignore her. ‘Mr Barnard Richmond most kindly insisted upon first class tickets for us and we received every comfort and attention.’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed.’ That failing voice, with an irritating, built-in half sob, was Melicent Dunwoody, that dripping fountain masquerading as a woman. Charlotte groaned inwardly. Melicent did not look happy and when Melicent was unhappy, which was most of the time, she took care to ensure that the whole world knew it.

  ‘Every comfort was indeed offered, but I do feel that it would have been a Christian kindness in Miss Dora if she had only allowed me to travel all the way facing forwards. I am so sadly prone to moments of faintness and unease when my back is to the engine. And Miss Dora is in possession of so many facts and figures about the railways, especially about the most dreadful accidents, and she insisted on imparting them all to me and our fellow travellers, that I declare my head is spinning.’

  ‘What utter nonsense—’ began Dora Benson in brisk tones, but Charlotte interrupted her.

  ‘I’m sure you will wish to be conducted to your bedchamber, in that case, Miss Dunwoody,’ she suggested. ‘And you too, Miss Benson.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Mrs Montgomery broke off her discreet appraisal of her two most newly arrived guests and beckoned the hovering butler from the hall. Evidently emboldened by Charlotte’s determined expression, Mrs Montgomery swept the two ladies out of the room and up the stairs. Inspector Nicholson had regarded the scene with a lively curiosity but had evidently decided on a discreet withdrawal.

  Charlotte closed her eyes for a brief moment then slipped away to her own room.

  ‘I simply couldn’t bring myself to be present when the two of them learned firstly that they were expected to share a bed and, even more distressing, that a corpse had been lately discovered on our own doorstep, so to speak,’ she later confessed to Elaine, as they lingered over a glass of sherry in Elaine’s sitting room in the hour before dinner was announced. ‘I could see that the journey had been a nightmare, what with Dora in full flow of information and Melicent at her most dreary and irksome. Just listen to what Barnard writes:

  They are driving me to despair, Char, with their never-ending vapours and scenes. It was bad enough when Miss Dora began to instruct Agnes in the behaviour expected of a clergyman’s wife, but when Miss Melicent started in on the house and complained that the new curtains were deliberately chosen to give her a fainting turn every time she entered the morning-room, you can picture Lily’s reaction. I am sorry to pass them over to you, Char, but I could think of no other way of saving my sanity.

  ‘Poor Barnard.’ Charlotte’s eyes sparkled as she looked up from this missive, with its agitated penmanship and liberal scattering of blots. ‘Desperation has given him inspiration. I’ve never known him write, or indeed even speak, with such fluency.’

  ‘Their arrival is certainly inopportune,’ Elaine responded with a smile. ‘Now tell me, dearest Char, are you quite certain that you are suffering no ill-effects? I’ve listened to your account and still find it almost impossible to credit such a thing. What a very disagreeable experience it must have been, to discover that poor, unfortunate gentleman. So distressing for you, my dear girl.’

  Charlotte brushed this aside and turned the conversation, determined that Elaine should not discover her sadness at this brutal death. ‘But what of you, Elaine? Do you feel you have received any benefit from today’s treatments? I had expected to find you prostrate upon your bed and that I should be required to wave the smelling salts under your nose at regular intervals throughout the entire evening. But you look splendidly well; there is even a faint colour in your cheeks.’

  ‘I feel very much better than I have for some time,’ Elaine admitted but there was a shadow in the wide grey eyes. ‘Don’t run away to telegraph the news to Kit though, I beg of you. I cannot bear his hopes to be raised untimely and I shall write to him myself.’

  ‘But.…’ Charlotte reached out to clasp the delicate hand held out to her.

  ‘No, Char,’ Elaine repeated, her eyes and voice very resolute. ‘I am most grateful for this respite and to know, particularly for Kit’s sake, that the electrical Faradism seems to be helping, but we will wait and see. I know that there is no real …’ She broke off her sentence and squeezed Charlotte’s hand, continuing with a smile, ‘The hot bath was an unusual and interesting experience. You would have found it most entertaining when a very large lady who was in front of me on the steps down from the Pump Room, tripped over the voluminous gown she was wearing and fell down into the water, head first and legs sadly aloft, revealed in all their distressingly naked glory.’

  Without further comment Charlotte accepted the abrupt change of subject and Elaine went on with her story. ‘One or two people were quite incensed that this adventure had awoken them from their peaceful dozing, but on the whole it seems to have added spice to the bathing. For my part, I confess I was relieved that neither you nor Kit happened to be there for I know you both far too well to hope that either of you could have contained your laughter. Or indeed that you would have even tried to do so!’

  Charlotte managed a faint smile though her heart was heavy, then looked up at her friend’s next words.’I shall come to dinner tonight, Char,’ Elaine Knightley announced after a thoughtful look at the sudden shadow cast over the mobile features of her younger friend. ‘No, my mind is made up and I have been neglecting my duties shamefully. After all, I’ve managed to avoid these people until now and it’s time I shared the burden. Besides, I’m intrigued; in fact I’d say that I’m devoured with curiosity about your naughty old Lady Buckwell and I shall be able to exchange medical symptoms with the gallant captain.’

  She heaved a sigh and looked pensive for a moment. ‘I shall also, with some resignation, renew my acquaintance with Mr Chettle, and I shall thank Heaven, silently but on my knees if necessary, that his monstrous mother is no more. Perhaps he will be able to have some kind of existence of his own from now onwards; I heard it on good authority – well, it was Dr Perry, you know how indiscreet he can be when it suits him – that old Mrs Chettle never allowed her son to sleep alone in his own room, even as a grown man, but always insisted that he occupy a truckle bed in her bedchamber. She was apparently afraid he would otherwise be exposed to the wiles of unscrupulous women.’

  The atmosphere in the drawing room was not surprisingly a little subdued when the guests assembled before dinner. Subdued, indeed, as was only appropriate, but Charlotte thought she was able to detect an undercurrent of excitement; yes, excitement and something else. Glancing around the room she fancied the golden draperies and walls seemed less oppressive than they had hitherto, but that, of course, was nonsense. No, there was a lightening of tension; that was what had caused the change. She bi
t her lip on a gasp as she understood. It stemmed from the absence of the detective’s disturbing attentions; in fact, one or two of the occupants of Waterloo House were hard put to disguise their relief.

  Mrs Attwell was engaged in conversation with Lady Buckwell, her burning gaze – as usual – bent upon her son who was chatting to his hostess, with a very slight lessening of his usual tetchy manner. His mother, apart from her constant watch over him, looked almost relaxed as her companion bent her unfeasibly golden head forward, no doubt recounting some scurrilous story of royalty and ancient misdeeds.

  Captain Penbury obviously felt himself to be the hero of the hour as he held forth about the shocking discovery of Mr Tibbins’s body. Mr Chettle wore a slightly pained frown as if he, as the undoubted expert on death, had had his nose put out of joint, but soon he and the captain were absorbed in conversation with the newly arrived governesses, who hung on the gentlemen’s every word with gratifying attention, even Dora, who was at first only too ready to offer her own opinion but then seemed to think better of it. Could Dora be competing with Melicent in the employment of some feminine wiles, Charlotte wondered? Heaven help the gentlemen if that were the case.

  The two Breton counts hovered beside Elaine, and Charlotte was touched to see that Count Armel kept a protective eye on his father. The older count, however, appeared to have recovered his spirits completely and was at this moment discussing music with Mrs Knightley. The little girl, Marianne, had, as usual, taken an early supper and been despatched to bed; Charlotte had slipped into the child’s room for the second evening running and had read her a bedtime story. Since yesterday afternoon at the Pump Room they had taken to spending snatched half hours together and were fast becoming good friends as Marianne unbent sufficiently to let Charlotte into her world, or rather her world before the shattering death of her mother and brother. Charlotte had walked for so long with loneliness that there was a great sympathy between the two and she found the child a delightful companion.

  There could be only one topic of conversation at Waterloo House tonight, though good manners dictated that it should really be avoided. Good manners were cast summarily aside on this occasion although everyone at the dinner table made strenuous efforts to maintain a level of decorum.

  ‘How are you recovering from your shocking ordeal, Mrs Richmond? Hey?’ That was Captain Penbury amply filling the William IV mahogany dining-chair beside her, his broad shoulders edging into her own space. ‘Shocking thing, hey? Shocking.’ He lowered his voice to a subdued version of his quarter-deck bellow and confided, ‘Can’t say I took to the fellow, mind you. A sly, sneaking kind of man, always hinting and nodding, always with a smirk on his face. No, he would have made a poor shipmate, I can tell you, ma’am.’ He harrumphed, looking a trifle embarrassed. ‘But there, that’s no reason to be glad the fellow is dead, hey?’

  ‘No indeed.’ Charlotte was somewhat startled at such a frank avowal, but she smiled and ventured to ask a question or two. ‘I am quite recovered, thank you, Captain but I must confess I was most relieved to hear you call out to me as you entered the mews. M. de Kersac and I found ourselves very much shaken and it was a great consolation to know we had one of Her Majesty’s gallant naval men to come to our rescue.’

  The captain’s weatherbeaten face increased in colour from sunrise to sunset under her compliments and he went so far as to pat her hand in his gratification. ‘Why, my dear young lady,’ he said, nodding in some confusion, ‘I take that very kindly indeed. Mark you, I was only too glad to be of service to you and the poor old French gentleman.’ He glanced across the table then nodded. ‘He has a better colour on him now, I declare.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Charlotte was at her most demure and for a fleeting moment she too glanced across at the old count. He caught her eye and inclined his head very slightly, a slight warmth in the depths of his pale blue eyes. Elaine Knightley, the old man’s neighbour, was looking at Charlotte with amusement and Char knew it was her own primly ladylike attitude that had sparked that quirk to the corner of her friend’s expressive mouth.

  She lowered her gaze modestly to her folded hands again then glanced under her lashes round the table as she tried to view her fellow diners afresh, as Elaine herself would be observing them for the first time.

  She had described the naval man beside her, Captain Penbury, briefly after the first evening when she told Elaine about the other guests and now she took another look at him. A tall, heavily built man, certainly in his late fifties, perhaps even a year or so more. A fine crop of silver hair curled vigorously around a tonsure tanned to a dark mahogany; blue eyes narrowed against a lifetime of tropical suns and intemperate weather and a voice to awaken the dead from their eternal rest with its confident boom.

  There was also, of course, the matter of the musket ball lodged so inconveniently somewhere in the captain’s anatomy. Thank the lord, she thought, I have so far managed to avoid hearing exactly where that sharp-eyed and sharp-shooting American sailor shot him. I suspect it can only be some kind of delicate feeling that restrains him. She sighed; probably I am too young and too recently widowed to have such interesting details related to me.

  ‘Where had you come from, Captain Penbury,’ she asked suddenly, ‘when you arrived so opportunely on the scene? I had only just walked up Milsom Street and along in front of Edgar Buildings and did not see you anywhere. We might have continued our journey together and I would have been spared.…’

  She allowed an artistic falter to colour her voice and waited to see how he would react. My word, Pa – she hoped her bent head would conceal her involuntary grin – I think you were right about me. ‘Sometimes, Char,’ Will had told her once, ruffling her hair with a playful, loving hand, ‘sometimes I think you could be an actress, with those innocent greenish-hazel eyes of yours and a better tongue for lying than many I came across at Botany Bay. Your saving grace is that you’re just too honest, my girl.’ He had heaved a mock sigh and told her that she would never make a true villain; but he had made sure that Charlotte’s mother was not within earshot. Molly’s hopes and dreams for her daughter’s future had definitely not included either the stage or a life of crime.

  Wrenching herself back to the present, Charlotte listened to the naval gentleman protesting, ‘Why, ma’am,’ he spluttered. ‘I was just … I was behind you coming along George Street. Yes, that’s right. Did you not hear me call out to you as you turned up the hill?’

  Hmm, she cast her mind back. I did hear you shout, but as I recollect it seemed to me that you sounded a little breathless. Could you have been hurrying after me? Is that all it was? Or was it that you had recently run down the hill, dodged into the parallel street and been delighted to spot a possible alibi in me? To disguise the fact that you had just murdered a man?

  CHAPTER 6

  Such nonsense! Charlotte gave herself a mental shake and a severe scolding. Certainly Captain Penbury would seem to possess both the strength and the skill, as well as the experience of past battles, to stab a man, but why should he have done so? Merely because he had been in the vicinity? But M. de Kersac would surely have seen him, had that been the case. She risked another upward glance at the elderly Breton gentleman, recalling their encounter in the mews. He had looked frighteningly frail as he leaned, in an attitude of near collapse, against the wall. He was also, surely, in his eighties at least, and that meant that his eyesight might well be failing. How much time had elapsed between the actual stabbing and the count discovering the body of the American guest? Long enough for an active naval man to mingle unnoticed with the passers-by – one of whom would have been an old man lending all his concentration to climbing a steep street – and to zigzag down the hill by way of the small lanes until he reached the broad thoroughfare of George Street? And there to espy salvation, or protective colouring, in the guise of Charlotte Richmond?

  No, it was of no use. Merely by repeating her hypothesis Charlotte could not make it true. Enough of this silly speculation, she conclud
ed, but even as the rebuke formed in her mind, she found herself casting a surreptitious glance down the table towards Mr Simeon Chettle. Like Captain Penbury, Charlotte’s neighbour from Hampshire had been increasingly uneasy whenever Mr Tibbins had hailed him; uneasy, too, when the American had insisted on engaging him unwillingly in one of those brief, intimate huddles of private conversation that had marked out the late guest’s behaviour.

  Where had Mr Chettle been earlier today, she wondered? His attentions over the brief period of her stay at Waterloo House had become quite marked, as indeed had those of Captain Penbury. Elaine might tease Charlotte about her admirers but she knew very well that Charlotte had no desire for a second husband, that it was indeed quite the last thing on her mind. No, the thought was instant and definite; one husband was quite enough for me and I’m in no hurry to burden myself with another. But … her glance strayed idly towards the younger Frenchman who raised his head and shot her an eager smile. Armel de Kersac was fulfilling Elaine’s prophecy and taking a marked interest in Charlotte and, at private moments during the previous twenty-four hours, she had let herself speculate about what life might be like as chatelaine of an ancient manor house in a far away corner of France.

  During the half-hour or so before dinner when it was Mrs Montgomery’s pleasant custom to dispense sherry and conversation amongst her guests, Charlotte had ascertained that nearly all the residents of Waterloo House had been in the house, or in the square opposite. All of them, in fact, had been near enough to hear the shouts of consternation from the stable yard and to hasten thence to see what was afoot. Charlotte had seen every one of them milling around as she and M. de Kersac had taken refuge in the house. Mr Chettle said he had just stepped outside to take a breath of fresh air when he heard the commotion.