by C. J. Chase
Julian sought a chair for Miss Godwin and positioned it near the dowager. Fleming’s grandmother wilted on her seat, her face as devoid of color as the dying man’s sheets. Julian patted her locked hands, as concerned for her as for Fleming. “Let me ring for some tea for you, my lady.”
Miss Godwin had poured her employer a second cup by the time Hawkesworth escorted Dr. Grant into the room.
The doctor offered the assembled family members a curt nod as he strode to his patient. He checked Fleming’s pulse and eyes, then glanced at the bedside table.
“Fleming!” Grant shook him. “Fleming!”
Fleming’s head lolled to one side, but his eyes remained closed to the world.
Nausea stormed through Julian’s gut. He bolted to the bed and joined the doctor, but Fleming failed to revive.
After several moments Grant stepped back and shook his head. He trudged over to the dowager. “I’m so sorry, my lady. He is gone.”
The dowager clutched a hand to her chest and swayed, face pale. Miss Godwin jumped from her chair and wrapped an arm of support around the elderly woman. “There, my lady. At least he passed peacefully in his sleep.”
“Perhaps you would like a few minutes with him, my lady.” The doctor caught Julian’s gaze and jerked his head toward the door. “My lord, a word if I might?”
“Of course.” Julian followed him to the corridor and pulled the door shut firmly behind him as Elizabeth approached.
“I told Mrs. Anderson to prepare—” She stopped as she studied their faces. “Reggie? He’s not...?”
“Unfortunately so, my lady.” The doctor glanced grimly between Julian and his sister. “I’m afraid you’ll have to send for the magistrate.”
“The magistrate again?”
Julian stepped forward and touched Elizabeth’s arm. “Mr. Fleming succumbed to his injuries. The men who attacked him are now guilty of murder.”
“Not exactly, my lord.” The doctor folded his arms across his chest. “Mr. Fleming died from an excessive consumption of laudanum.”
* * *
Julian stared at Fleming’s forever-silenced form. Only one day after a brutal assault, the man now lay dead. Coincidence—or had the miscreants Julian and the grooms thwarted yesterday found another means to their end?
His father had been killed in an accident that might have been no accident. And now Fleming had succumbed to a second murder attempt in as many days. His father had essayed to alleviate the people’s suffering. Fleming had never exhibited any altruistic inclinations. If Fleming thought of others at all, it was only to ascertain how he might best use them for his own purposes and pleasures. And yet, Julian sensed an elusive link between the two murders. What was the relationship—other than the connection each had to him?
“Mr. Mason, my lord,” Hawkesworth announced from the doorway.
“How good of you to come so quickly.” Julian gestured to a chair near the leaded-glass window. “Doctor Grant is attending the Dowager Countess Sotherton at present, but he will be with us presently to advise us of his suspicions about Fleming’s death.”
“Poor woman.” The magistrate lowered his substantial girth onto the seat’s green upholstery. The delicate furniture creaked ominously. “To see her grandson laid low, and under such appalling circumstances. Losing a child is the worst blow of all.”
“Have you children?”
“Two boys. We had a daughter, but she succumbed to the fever three winters ago.” Mason’s gruff voice cracked.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Julian stared at his hands, thoughts caught up in recollections of Maman’s pain at Gregory’s death. She had lost Elizabeth to rancor years earlier, but perhaps now that he’d found the fissure in his sister’s bitterness, Elizabeth would yet reconcile with her family.
Footsteps tapped against the parquet, and a shadow passed across the doorway as the doctor joined them.
“Ah, Doctor. How is her ladyship?” Mason ripped his stare from the body on the bed.
“Understandably distressed, of course. I administered a sedative, and Miss Godwin is with her now.”
“Lord Chambelston reports you find Fleming’s demise suspicious.”
“Absolutely.” The doctor retrieved a small brown bottle from the desk and passed it to the magistrate. “I left a full container of laudanum last night, in case Mr. Fleming experienced pain from yesterday’s trauma. And yet today I find the bottle nearly empty.”
“So you believe an excessive dose of laudanum killed Fleming rather than the beating he sustained?”
“When I arrived this afternoon, Fleming demonstrated all the signs of acute opiate poisoning. His pupils were mere pinpricks, and his respiration only a fraction of its normal rate.”
“Could the poisoning have been accidental? Perhaps the footman administered a bit too much. Or perhaps another member of the staff gave Fleming a second dosage right after he’d already consumed a measure of the medicine.”
“No. For one thing, a twofold amount might be dangerous, but most likely not deadly—particularly if discovered in time. But for another, it wouldn’t account for the substantial amount of laudanum missing from the bottle.”
Mr. Mason deposited the bottle on a table beside the bed and wiped his hands against his coat. “We need a list of everyone who entered this room today.”
A floorboard squeaked as Julian crossed the room to pull the cord. “The footman William spent most of the day with Fleming and administered laudanum on at least one occasion this morning. Doctor, how would Fleming ingest such an exceedingly large amount?”
“An excellent line of inquiry, my lord.” The doctor nodded. “Possibly in a meal, most likely in a drink.”
“Then we should also question the cook to see what food and drinks she prepared for Fleming today.” Of course Fleming had never seemed particularly abstemious on the occasions when Julian had had dealings with him. An easy task, perhaps, convincing him to swallow a bit of brandy? “Doctor, can you estimate when Fleming consumed the excess laudanum?”
“Recently. Probably within an hour of his death. That much laudanum would have killed him very quickly.”
Only moments before Julian’s return from his meeting with Harrison.
Hawkesworth marched into the room. “My lord?”
“Would you please send up William? And tell Cook we would like to speak to her in the drawing room presently.”
“Of course, my lord.” The butler backed away and pulled the door shut again.
Julian folded his arms over his chest and stared at Fleming’s lifeless body. “Wouldn’t Fleming question the taste?”
“Perhaps not if he had ingested a small amount shortly before the poisoning. He might have been confused enough not to notice the change.”
Or perhaps his fondness for drink overpowered his palate.
“My lord?” The footman shuffled into the room, his gaze darting from one man to the next.
“William.” Julian gestured to the portly man beside him. “Have you met the local magistrate, Mr. Mason?”
“I never had need of a magistrate, my lord.”
“Of course we wouldn’t expect anyone in Lord Sotherton’s employ to be guilty of criminal behavior.” Mason tucked a hand into his coat. Julian stifled a snort at the irony. If the magistrate only knew. “We have a few simple questions for you about Mr. Fleming.”
“I’ll do my best to answer them, sir.”
“I know you will. Now then, tell us about this afternoon. I am given to understand you tended Fleming?”
“Yes, sir. The maid Molly stayed with him through the night. Then Lady Sotherton sent her to rest and tasked me with caring for her nephew.”
“And did you at any time dispense laudanum to your patient?”
“Yes, whenever Mr. Fleming complained of terrible pain.”
“How many times?”
The footman wiped his palms against his breeches. “Well, Molly showed me how much to give him, so I offered him so
me more right before you and Lord Chambelston came to talk to him. If I’d known you were coming—”
“I understand.”
“Thank you, sir. And then I gave him a bit more tonight. Did I do something wrong?”
The doctor patted the young man’s arm. “No, a few drops two or three times today should have been fine. When did you last administer the laudanum?”
“Perhaps half an hour before I discovered him...found him...”
“Insensible?”
“Yes. Mr. Fleming said he felt pain from his wounds. I gave him the medicine and waited for him to calm. Then I left to prepare for dinner. Hawkesworth is most particular about our appearance during mealtimes, especially when we have distinguished guests here.” William’s eyes flickered toward Julian before reverting to the doctor.
“And how did you come to discover Mr. Fleming tonight?”
“I returned to check on him one last time before attending to my other duties.” William’s voice rose in pitch. He swallowed once, twice and continued. “I—I found him near death.”
Julian dropped his voice to a low, soothing volume. “Tell me, William. Where did you keep the laudanum bottle?”
“On the table next to the bed, of course.”
“Thank you, William. We appreciate all your assistance. You may return to those other duties.”
“Yes, my lord.” William bobbed his head and backed out of the room.
“If we are to believe young William, anyone could have entered here and dispensed a lethal dose of laudanum.”
“If that is indeed how Fleming died.” The magistrate leaned closer to Fleming’s lifeless body. “When I saw Fleming this morning, he was weak and confused. He had ingested laudanum, so we know he would have shown signs of it being in his system—and he suffered grievous injuries only yesterday that we feared might kill him. Doctor, you are absolutely certain excess laudanum caused his death and not his injuries?”
The doctor pulled back the covers and opened Fleming’s shirt. “Do you see these bruises?”
Julian edged closer.
A snap split the silence as his shoe landed on...something. He retrieved the broken item and studied it in the light.
“My lord?” Mason peered at the pieces in his hand.
“I believe it fell from the bed when Dr. Grant shifted the blanket.” Julian dropped the three fragments on the coverlet. The pale ivory gleamed against the deep green. A woman’s hair comb. He arranged the pieces in their original shape, marveling at the detailed craftsmanship in the carved designs. Above the fine white teeth, a treble clef sign curled in the comb’s spine. A memory flitted through the recesses of his mind, then disappeared back into the shadows.
The magistrate traced the musical notation with his stubby finger while Julian retrieved a candle and held it nearer. “Who has been caring for Fleming?”
“The footman today. One of the maids last night.” Julian had seen such work before, many times over.
“This doesn’t look like a maid’s ornament.”
“Unless she had a beau in the navy.” Or...a brother?
“My lord?”
“Life on a ship often offers little stimulation beyond work and battle. Entertainment is limited, so bored sailors frequently fashion such creations for wives and sweethearts during long voyages. I would guess this one was formed from whale ivory.” Julian flipped the delicate comb over.
His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the name engraved on the back.
Leah Vance.
* * *
Leah lifted another picture card from the stack and showed the face to Lady Caroline. “Do you remember this letter?”
The girl glanced at the paper, then shifted her gaze to the corner of the room where Teresa studied.
“Are you tired, Lady Caroline?” Leah snatched a slim book from the stack on the table. “Perhaps you would enjoy a story instead?”
“Draw.”
“If you like.” Leah removed the book and situated a sheet of paper on the table. She dipped a quill in the inkwell and passed the implement to her guest.
“Pretty.” Lady Caroline shook the plume. Specks of ink peppered her hands and cheeks, and probably Leah’s, as well. At least her dress was dark.
“What should we draw? A puppy maybe?” Leah guided the girl’s hand lest another spray of ink splatter over them.
“Miss Vance?” Molly tapped on the door, then pushed it open. “Lord Chambelston and Mr. Mason requested your presence in the drawing room.”
“Mine?” Not Teresa’s?
“I’ll stay with Lady Caroline.”
“Thank you. She would like to draw pictures. You might want to get an apron for her clothes.” No telling where the ink might land next.
“I see.” Molly pointed to her cheek. “Ah, Miss Vance, you have a bit of ink...”
Leah scrubbed at her cheek as she traipsed down the stairs. Whispers followed her through the hallway. Whatever could the magistrate want with her? She had nothing to offer beyond what Teresa had already shared. She paused at the drawing-room entrance. Voices drifted through the door, then the heavy oak swung open. Cook marched past, her lips locked in a white line and tension taut on all her chins. Leah stared at the amply endowed matron’s retreating back.
“Miss Vance?” The magistrate gestured to a settee. “Won’t you join us?”
Did she have a choice? “Ah, yes.” Leah recalled her mission, if not her composure. She shuffled to the settee and dropped onto the upholstery, feeling much like the accused in the witness box.
“Lord Chambelston and I have a few questions for you.”
Despite her better judgment, Leah’s gaze flitted to the man positioned next to the fireplace, one casual arm propped against the mantle. Notwithstanding his proximity to the fire, ice still hardened his eyes, and his unsmiling mouth admitted no thaw of attitude. “I—I’m not certain I can be of any assistance. Lord Chambelston was with me yesterday when we located Lady Teresa and Mr. Fleming. I fear I have nothing to add beyond his account.”
“We’ll discuss that presently.” Mr. Mason lowered himself onto a nearby chair and folded his hands over his abundant middle. “Right now we want to discover what happened this afternoon. Miss Vance, were you in Mr. Fleming’s chamber at any point today?”
“Briefly. I heard a commotion, so I ran, ah, down the stairs. I found a gathering of family members and servants assembled in Mr. Fleming’s room.” Leah allowed herself to relax slightly. “Mr. Fleming appeared near death.”
“Did you approach Mr. Fleming when you noticed his distress?”
“No, Lord Chambelston arrived straightaway. He tasked me with the care of his younger sister. Lady Caroline’s chamber is across the hallway, and he didn’t want her to witness Mr. Fleming’s condition. I ushered her to the schoolroom, and I remained there with her and Lady Teresa until you summoned me here moments ago.”
“And you weren’t in Fleming’s room at any other time today? Or perhaps yesterday?”
Suspicions flitted across her mind. Why the speculation about her presence with Fleming? “I had no reason to be.” And she wasn’t likely to pay him a friendly social call.
“All I need is a simple yes or no, Miss Vance.”
Unease began to stir in her stomach. “No.”
“That’s most interesting because we found something we believe to be yours.”
“Mine? But...I didn’t lose anything.”
“It has your name on it, Miss Vance.” Lord Chambelston ambled toward her, his towering form looming even farther above her than usual. He uncurled his fist to reveal a spiny white object.
The tips of Leah’s fingers brushed his palm as she accepted his offering. Not one item, but several. Her puzzlement transformed to pleasure as she arrayed the pieces on her skirt. “My comb!” Her brother’s smile flashed once again across her mind. He’d carved musical notations into the whale ivory and presented her the gift on his last visit, before...
“Ca
n you tell us how it came to be in Reginald Fleming’s chamber?”
“Fleming’s chamber? I—I wouldn’t know. It’s been missing for years.” Surely her comb couldn’t have remained in the house all this time. A maid would have discovered it while cleaning—and with Leah’s name engraved on the back, someone would have returned the article to her.
“Years? How many years?”
“Three.” Since that fateful day when Reginald Fleming had trapped her in his chamber. Revulsion swirled around her stomach and surged to her throat. The images and impressions etched into her soul once again flashed across her mind. The humiliation of his hands on her. The terror that slowed her responses. The panic when her well-aimed blow laid him on the carpet. She forced the bile back with determination and pragmatism. Not the same chamber. Obviously Fleming had had her comb in his possession for the past three years. Where had he kept it? And why bring it back to Northamptonshire—other than to torment her further? “Where did you find this?”
“It fell out of Fleming’s bed.”
His bed. But... Her gaze jumped from one man to the other, reading cynicism and contempt on their features. They suspected the worst of her. And why wouldn’t they, given Fleming’s proclivities? The same helplessness she’d felt that day three years ago washed over her again. Fleming would have his revenge on her, even from the grave. That she’d ultimately saved herself from his advances wouldn’t cleanse the stain from her reputation.
Leah dropped her stare to the pieces of the comb in her hand—David’s last gift to her before he’d marched out of this life and into the hereafter. She’d wept when she had realized she’d lost it. Now at last it was returned to her—broken. Like her family, her dreams, her life.
* * *
She was dissembling. Julian had seen Miss Vance before when caught in a misdeed—particularly that night when he’d discovered her searching his bedchamber. Had she entered Fleming’s in similar circumstances? What better time to rifle the man’s belongings than when he was unconscious.
The pale smoothness of the comb gleamed against the dark fabric of her skirt, similar to the way the ivory ribbon contrasted with her brown tresses. He focused his thoughts back to their meeting in the music room this morning. Same dark gown, same modest knot of hair with the same simple ribbon threaded through it. No, she hadn’t worn the comb this morning, nor could he recall seeing it in her hair at any time. So why the feeling of familiarity when he’d first held the piece?