The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2)

by Karen Charlton

  ‘Why did she do that?’ she asked quietly. ‘Why did Mrs Jordan recommend that dreadful woman to me?’

  He took her hand in his and squeezed it. She liked his touch. ‘An attempt at humour, perhaps?’ he suggested.

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Stephen.’

  He sighed. ‘She was probably jealous of the attention the duke paid you and thought she’d have a little revenge. I saw the look of anger and envy she gave you at the theatre.’

  ‘I did nothing! I don’t want her silly old duke.’

  ‘No, you didn’t do anything,’ Lavender said wisely. ‘But Dorothy Jordan becomes less and less secure about her position as the duke’s mistress. Every beautiful and attractive young woman is a threat to her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There are rumours that the duke will be forced into marriage to try and secure the succession to the throne.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘The Duke of Clarence has two older brothers and a niece who are before him in line to the British throne.’

  ‘Yes, but both of those two elder brothers are estranged from their wives and every hope for the House of Hanover rests on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old girl. The old king and queen had fifteen children but they only have one grandchild: Princess Charlotte. There is talk that the Duke of Clarence and his brother, the Duke of Kent, may be soon obliged to marry to provide more heirs.’

  Despite her disappointment, Magdalena felt herself smile. She knew he was trying his best to distract her from Dorothy Jordan’s little trick.

  He turned around and stared straight into her eyes. ‘Besides which, Magdalena, you’re young, beautiful and vibrant – everything that the faded actress no longer is.’

  ‘I’m beautiful, am I, Stephen?’ she asked, quietly.

  ‘Very beautiful,’ he confirmed. ‘Very beautiful.’ Then he winked, leant forward and kissed her lightly on her lips.

  Beside them, Teresa squeaked with surprise.

  Their visit to Kinghorn and Naylor was far more successful. The shoemakers’ names were carved in elaborate script across the lintel of the low door of their tall, timber-framed establishment. Either side of the door were large bow windows: one displayed men’s footwear, the other women’s. Magdalena paused before the wonderful arrangement of brightly coloured women’s court shoes and slippers and let herself be distracted for a moment by their loveliness. The satin slippers, delicately dyed in pale lavenders and pinks, had no heels and sat next to others made from leather of robin’s-egg blue. Some had ribbon laces and ties, some didn’t. She was especially attracted to a pair in yellow leather that had been cut away to reveal an insert of white satin, embroidered in blue, pink and green. Stephen smiled and waited patiently.

  Magdalena tore her eyes away from the delicate shoes to the lines of boots which were displayed in a row behind the colourful slippers. She was pleased to see that they were also attractive and of good quality.

  ‘Is this shop more to my lady’s liking?’ Lavender asked.

  She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Most definitely, kind sir. Although I suspect that once we enter the premises we will have trouble persuading Teresa to leave.’

  ‘Only Teresa?’ he asked. His eyes twinkled with humour.

  She smiled and pointed to a corner of the window. ‘Look at those, Stephen!’ At the edge of the display was a pair of high-heeled, embroidered brocade evening shoes with silver buckles. Apart from the filth, they were identical to the one he had shown her earlier. ‘I think that we will all find what we need for at Messers Kinghorn and Naylor.’

  He frowned. ‘Mmm, I had hoped that the shoes were individually made for patrons of this shop. It would appear that they’re not this unique.’

  ‘Well, let’s find out,’ she said as she pushed open the door. A tiny bell tinkled above their heads as they entered.

  A matronly assistant with a severe hairstyle, a sombre brown gown and a shoehorn dangling from a chain at her waist, moved to assist them. ‘Good morning, madam – and sir,’ she said. ‘Is it shoes for the lady you require?’

  ‘Boots,’ Magdalena informed her.

  ‘This way, please madam.’ The woman led her away behind a pretty but discreet curtain, which divided up half the shop. The curtain was there to ensure that no prying eyes could watch the female patrons as they hitched up their dresses and revealed their stockings while trying on footwear. She smiled to herself at the thought of Stephen’s disappointment on the other side of the barrier; his ‘reward’ had been denied him. However, she soon heard him in conversation with one of the male proprietors of the shop. The two men disappeared into the cobbling workshop at the rear of the premises.

  Seated comfortably on a padded gilt chair, with Teresa beside her, Magdalena decided on a pair of brown kid leather ankle boots for herself. They were decorated with a rose-coloured rosette just below the laces. She chose a plain, black pair for her delighted maid. The total cost for both pairs of boots came to ten shillings and sixpence. She handed over one of the guinea pieces given to her by the duke and pondered about whether or not to treat herself to a pretty pair of striped silk dancing slippers with a black leather-covered heel and black silk trim. She eventually decided against the purchase, as her financial situation was so precarious she dared not risk frittering her money away on a pair of slippers she might never wear.

  Stephen reappeared at her side. She knew by the frown on his face that he had not gained the information he sought.

  ‘This shoe is one of the most successful items of footwear made by Mr Kinghorn,’ Lavender explained, as they walked out into the cold street. ‘And its popularity goes back over several seasons. He does make them for individual clients but he also made several pairs for display in the shop and in the window. I checked through his records but didn’t recognise any of the names of the women for whom he had a commission to make these shoes. And he has no idea of the names of any of the ladies who may have bought one of the pairs on display.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Magdalena said.

  ‘Nor has he ever heard of the actress, April Divine. He’s not aware if she’s one of his regular customers. Nor does he have any idea why her shoes no longer fitted her.’ His face was dark with disappointment when he led them back out into the busy street. Three hansoms went past them, nose to tail, while a cart and four horses clattered by in the opposite direction. He flagged down the last cab, which was for hire, and helped Magdalena and Teresa up into the vehicle.

  ‘Perhaps she purchased the shoes from one of the second-hand stalls in the market,’ Magdalena suggested. ‘That may account for why they didn’t fit her properly. I had also wondered if they might have been defective and simply stretched out of shape.’

  ‘Those are good suggestions,’ Lavender replied as he sank down into the seat beside Magdalena. ‘Though according to Mr Kinghorn, he has never had a complaint or a pair returned to him.’ He sighed. ‘I have a niggling feeling that these ill-fitting shoes are important to this case. But I might be wrong. I’ll take you home and then continue on to Wandsworth to see Mrs Willoughby again.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Magdalena said. ‘At least Teresa and I have had a successful outing.’

  Lavender smiled. ‘You are happy with your purchases?’

  ‘Oh yes, my new boots are beautiful. However, I was a little disappointed that I had to take a pair in a bigger size. My feet grew when I carried Sebastián and they never returned to their normal size after his birth . . .’ She paused as a strange look flashed across his handsome face. His head snapped up and his eyes widened. ‘Stephen? What is the matter?’

  ‘Of course!’ he yelled. He leapt to his feet and rapped loudly on the roof of the cab with his gloved fist. He looked like he would explode. ‘Magdalena, you’re a genius!’

  ‘Stephen? What is it?’

  The cab jerked to a halt and he reached for the door handle. Before he stood up, he fished in his pocket for some change and dropped it in her lap. ‘I�
�m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I must ride out to Wandsworth immediately. Take this cab home – I’ll get another back to Bow Street and collect my horse.’ His eyes gleamed with excitement. Then he was gone.

  Instinctively, Magdalena leapt to her feet and followed him. ‘Stephen! Wait!’ Holding onto the door for support, she stepped down into the cold street after him. The crowds on the pavement hurried past, veering to avoid them. ‘Stephen, what is it?’

  He smiled and stepped back towards her. ‘You have just solved a mystery that has been bothering me for days.’ Then without warning he leant down, pulled her forward and kissed her full on the mouth. The speed and passion of the kiss took her breath away and her body exploded in a flush of pent-up desire. Groaning slightly, she tilted her head back, willing him to ravish her face and her throat. Disappointment swamped her when he pulled away as quickly as he had accosted her.

  ‘Thank you, Magdalena,’ he said, his voice husky and his breathing erratic. One moment she was drowning in the pools of his dark, excited eyes, the next a draught of cold air swirled around her as his warm body moved away and he was gone.

  Magdalena climbed back into the carriage in a trance. She neither knew nor cared if Teresa had just witnessed their kiss. Slumping back against the hard wooden seat of the cab, she raised her gloved hands to her still-tingling lips and smiled.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lady Caroline was taking tea with Mrs Willoughby in her parlour when Lavender arrived. Both women were now dressed in black mourning gowns trimmed with velvet ribbons. Mrs Willoughby wore a see-through chiffon overgown atop her white silk dress. Lady Caroline had a fetching black lace cap, decorated with seed pearls, on top of her thick auburn hair. They made an elegant and sombre picture but Lavender wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it. Part of him was fuming at the deceptions they had practiced upon him. The women were leant forward, deep in discussion, when he entered the room. They sat back, unsmiling, and eyed him warily.

  He waited until the maid had left and then bowed. ‘Good morning, Lady Caroline,’ he said, pleasantly. ‘And to you too, Mrs Willoughby.’

  Then his voice hardened and sliced through the warm room like a knife: ‘Or should I say, good morning, Miss Clare?’

  There was a stunned silence. The younger woman froze in her chair and said nothing. She stared silently up at Lavender, her dark eyes large and luminous. Was that fear that shone in their depths? He hoped so.

  Lady Caroline slowly put down her teacup on the side table. Her hand shook and the cup rattled in the saucer. She cleared her throat. ‘Detective Lavender, how delightful to see you again. But what on earth do you mean?’

  ‘Please don’t try to continue the pretence, Lady Caroline,’ he snapped. ‘As you well know, the woman sitting opposite you is not Mrs Harriet Willoughby. Mrs Willoughby is dead. This is Miss April Clare, actress extraordinaire from the Sans Pareil Theatre.’ He took a few steps across the thick carpet and glared down into the pale face of the younger woman. ‘And what an excellent part you have played over the last few days, Miss Clare. Do you deny it?’

  The young woman took a deep breath. ‘No,’ she said, quietly. ‘I’m April Clare.’

  ‘Why in God’s name did you pretend to be your twin sister?’ he shouted. ‘What are you hiding?’

  ‘Detective Lavender, take a seat, please,’ Lady Caroline pleaded. ‘Let us get you a cup of tea.’

  He wasn’t in the mood to be distracted or placated. ‘Don’t you want us to track down those responsible for your sister’s death?’ he demanded. April Clare nodded. ‘Well, how on earth do you think we can help you if don’t tell us the truth? We have spent the last few days investigating the death of the wrong woman! How long did you intend to carry on with this charade? And for God’s sake, why do it in the first place?’

  ‘Detective, please!’ Lady Caroline sounded genuinely distressed. ‘Sit down, take some tea with us and we will try to explain.’

  He turned to reply and was struck with a fresh flush of anger. ‘Did you know about this, Lady Caroline?’ he demanded. ‘Are you party to this deception, as well?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I arrived yesterday afternoon to offer my condolences to Harriet and quickly realised that this was April, not Harriet. I have spent the last two days trying to persuade her to tell you the truth and ask for your help.’ She reached out a bejewelled hand for the china teapot and poured out a fresh cup. ‘The girls have swapped clothes, mimicked each other’s hairstyles and pretended to be each other since they were little,’ she continued, ‘But I have always been able to tell them apart. Not that I let them know this, of course. They enjoyed their little game and I always went along with it.’

  ‘Well, I’m not enjoying this,’ Lavender snapped. He turned back to the actress. ‘I have a good mind to arrest you, Miss Clare, for wasting my time.’ The younger woman still said nothing but he thought he saw a glimmer of distress flash across her face. ‘You lied to us,’ he continued. ‘My constable and I have been seriously misled about the identity of a dead woman and have probably wasted valuable time trying to solve the case as a result. On top of that, a reporter from the newspaper has now told most of London that the actress, April Clare, is dead.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Lady Caroline. Fine frown lines appeared across her forehead and she paused, her hand resting lightly on the handle of the milk jug. ‘I read the article this morning at breakfast. This is most, most unfortunate . . .’

  ‘So, just how long did you intend to carry on with this charade?’ Lavender asked the actress. ‘You have obviously fooled the servants. They believe you are Mrs Willoughby. Was it your intention to steal the rest of her life? What about when Captain Willoughby finally returns from his latest sea voyage? Were you hoping that after such a lengthy absence he wouldn’t notice you had taken your sister’s place in his house and his bed?’

  ‘Detective Lavender!’ Lady Caroline let the silver teaspoon fall with a clatter onto the tray. ‘Please take a seat and let April explain.’

  He paused. Perhaps he had gone too far remonstrating with the blasted woman but he wasn’t accustomed to people behaving in such a devious fashion while he tried to help them. He ignored Lady Caroline’s gesture to sit next to her and chose a low-slung armchair opposite the fireplace, which kept him apart from the women but gave him an excellent view of their faces. He flicked a piece of dust from his breeches and waited.

  Finally, the actress spoke. ‘I had no plan,’ she said, simply. ‘I didn’t think ahead. I just knew it was safer if I pretended to be Harriet – for both her and me. I have never been so scared in my life, Detective; you have to believe me about that. I was terrified.’ She turned her large eyes up towards his face and he saw tears glistening on her long lashes. Despite his anger, he felt a stab of sympathy; there was no doubt in his mind that the two sisters had been through a harrowing ordeal. In that, at least, she was sincere.

  ‘It was—It was exactly as I told you and the constable yesterday morning,’ April Clare began. ‘Except, as you have already determined, my sister and I swapped clothes and were pretending to be each other in order to play a trick on Lady Caroline.’ Her hand went to the high ruffled neck of her sister’s gown and she pulled it away from her skin as if it irritated her. ‘I was wearing Harriet’s clothes, a sombre dress and a short veil, and Harriet had on my more – how shall I say it? – my more distinctive clothing beneath her cloak.’ She paused.

  ‘And you also swapped your shoes?’ he prompted.

  ‘Yes. The silver embroidery on my shoes complemented that on the dress I gave her. She didn’t want to wear them because she said they didn’t fit her properly, but I insisted.’ Her eyes clouded over with pain at the memory of the disagreement.

  ‘You always were more forceful than your sister.’ Lady Caroline sighed. ‘You could persuade her to do anything.’

  ‘What happened next?’ Lavender asked.

  ‘It was as I told you yesterday, Detective. On the way to Lady Car
oline’s soirée the coach was attacked and a group of men threw open the door. “Get the actress!” they shouted. They pulled out my sister, threatened me and the coach driver and . . . and . . .’ She looked like she might dissolve into tears again at the memory.

  ‘And what did you do?’ he prompted.

  ‘I came back here. When I entered the house, I was distraught but I claimed to have a migraine. Ruby, the maid, immediately assumed I was Harriet and chivvied me up to her bedroom. I was too upset to protest and the next morning when she continued to address me as “Mrs Willoughby”, I just let her. I didn’t know what to do for the best. Those kidnappers wanted April Clare, the actress, and I didn’t want it known that they’d kidnapped the wrong woman. I thought that might endanger Harriet’s life. I just sat here and waited for them to get in touch with their demands so that I could get her back.’

  ‘There you are, Lavender,’ said Lady Caroline, as she passed him a cup of tea. ‘A perfectly reasonable explanation. Sugar, Detective?’

  He glanced at her, looking for that twitch of the lips or a glint in her eye that would suggest that she was being ironic. There was none. Either these women were blithely unaware about what was normal and ‘reasonable’ behaviour in most families, or Lady Caroline was a better actress than her stepdaughter. And he hadn’t even touched on that other deception they had carried out yet – the one that was sleeping innocently upstairs in the nursery.

  He picked up his cup, held up his hand to refuse Lady Caroline’s offer of sugar, sat back in his chair and regarded them both dispassionately. ‘So tell me, Miss Clare, what exactly do you propose to do now?’ he said.

  The women exchanged startled glances.

  ‘I don’t know,’ April confessed.

  ‘What do you suggest, Detective?’ Lady Caroline asked. Neither of them had expected him to throw the problem back at them.