Campbell & MacPherson 1: Lady Tinbough's Dilemma: Historical Cozy Mystery Series

by Clare Jayne

  She met his gaze with a fierce look in her dark eyes that held him mesmerised. “Then tomorrow we face our killer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  AFTER MR MacPherson had left, Ishbel thought more about what lay ahead in accusing the Viscount of murder. He might just deny it but surely they knew enough to arrest him now? They knew he had bought the locket inscribed with Aileas’s initials and given it to her. They knew – but could not prove – that he was the father of her child. Had he raped her? It seemed unlikely that she would have lain with him willingly, particularly since she had refused to wear the locket. Had he killed her when he learned she was pregnant or had he paid to have a doctor attempt to kill the growing baby and the surgery had gone wrong?

  It seemed as if they still had far more questions than answers but a physician would never admit to a crime that would destroy his career and, unless someone had witnessed the murder, which seemed unlikely given that it had probably taken place in his home, there was no way for them to prove the Viscount’s guilt. The staff seemed to have told all they knew and none of them had linked Aileas and the Viscount, so there was no help there. The locket was really all they had and what did it actually prove?

  When she finally fell asleep it was with the thought that everything they had learned might not be enough, that the Viscount might get away with his crime and the thought of having to tell this to Aileas’s parents was insupportable.

  Over breakfast Harriette asked, “Have you discovered anything more about this maid’s death?”

  “Yes.” Ishbel put down her cup of chocolate, weary and depressed. “We know who is responsible but I fear he might not stand trial for it.”

  “Amongst our class – if I understand you correctly that it is someone upper class – public disgrace can destroy a person quite thoroughly.”

  Ishbel thought about this and felt a little better. If the Viscount were known as a killer then all the social privileges and entertainments would be denied to him. He would be shunned. If that did turn out to be his only punishment, it was better than nothing and might be of some consolation to Aileas’s parents and young man. She felt sorry about Lady Tinbough, though; she was likely to be equally devastated by all this.

  Ishbel attended a couple of lectures, since the Viscount was unlikely to receive visitors before around two in the afternoon, when morning calls were usually made, but was inattentive, her mind on what lay ahead. Mr MacPherson joined her at home for luncheon and they discussed what to say to the young man to try to extract a confession. He, like her, seemed a little nervous but also keen to act: their entire partnership had led them to the upcoming confrontation. Against everyone’s expectations, even their own initially, they had found a killer.

  Mr MacPherson drove them to Lord Tinbough’s home where they rang on the door and asked to see the Viscount Inderly. The butler showed them into the neat, grandly furnished drawing room and Ishbel detected a look of curiosity in his impassive gaze, since he of course knew of their dealings with the lady of the house.

  A few minutes later the door opened and the Viscount came in, all smiles and bows. Ishbel had not seen him properly before and, foolishly, had expected him to look more like a villain. Instead he was a thin, non-descript young man. He put on an air of superiority that was unattractive but, if she had not known what she did about him, Ishbel would have thought that he was doing so to cover up insecurities. He did not have the look of a killer, but who did?

  “I believe you are friends of mother,” he said.

  “We were looking into what happened to an emerald necklace of hers that went missing, but we then started to investigate the death of Aileas Jones,” Mr MacPherson said.

  “Who?” the Viscount asked, standing holding onto the back of a chair, knuckles going white.

  “We have evidence of your interest in her, including the purchase of a locket that you gave to her. We know you got her with child then panicked and forced her to try to get rid of the baby, which led to her death.”

  The Viscount was white-faced now. “How dare you! I will not listen to such scandalous lies.”

  “You do not have to,” Ishbel said. “Your family can listen instead and so can every member of wealthy society. A judge and jury might also want to listen to our evidence against you.”

  “This is insane,” he blustered then said to Mr MacPherson, “You are attempting to slander my good name and I take exception. Sir, I challenge you to a duel.”

  Ishbel breathed in sharply. This was one reaction she had never considered, a way for this evil man to destroy even more lives by killing another innocent person.

  After a pause Mr MacPherson said, “I accept.”

  “No!” Ishbel said urgently, a vision of his death in her mind. “Ewan, we can prove our case against him. There is no reason for you to do this.”

  He looked at her with doubt in his expressive eyes. They could not prove their accusation.

  “I will meet you at dawn tomorrow,” the Viscount said.

  Ishbel shook her head, ready to protest further, but Mr MacPherson was looking at the Viscount: “I agree.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “LORD AND Lady Tinbough can put a stop to this,” Ishbel said, when they got outside the house. She began to turn round, ready to tell them all she and Mr MacPherson knew, the door not yet closed behind them, but he put a hand on her arm, stopping her with a gentle but firm grip.

  “This was always about justice,” he said, quiet but determined. “In old tradition, the winner of the duel is proved justified.”

  “But that is nonsense!” she exclaimed. “The best fighter will win. Have you ever fought a duel before?”

  She knew his answer before he spoke, his character far too good-natured for such things. “No, but I have been taught to use a sword and pistol and can do so with a reasonable level of skill. I have as good a chance as him and I think I believe in that idea: that God will be on my side in proving the Viscount a killer.”

  “You would risk your life on a vague hope?” She wanted to shake sense into him, to shout or beg. “What if you are wrong? What if God does not even exist?”

  He gave a crooked smile. “Then I will have to trust in luck.” It was only when a sob broke from her that Ishbel realised she was crying and Mr MacPherson let go of her arm and lightly stroked it, trying to comfort her even now. They were standing so close that she could have rested her head on his shoulder, had there not been so unbreakable a taboo on it. She wanted that touch, needed it, but, despite every other rule she had ever flouted, she could not lean forward that small distance. “The case would never have gone to trial. This is our only chance of justice.”

  The idea of justice was something she believed in; it was a large part of what had driven them to the end of this investigation but now she hated the thought. Aileas was dead: this duel would do her and her family no good. Ishbel could not lose Mr MacPherson.

  She gripped his arms, feeling the warmth and strength in them, and looked into his eyes: “Ewan, I would rather walk away from this whole business than have you die for it.”

  “I will endeavour not to die,” he promised.

  She quarrelled with him until she had used every argument she could think of, standing in the street with well-dressed men and women walking by, but she could not dissuade him from going ahead with the duel.

  He took her home, both of them silent during the short ride, then he left to wait for the Viscount’s Second to come and tell him where the duel would take place and also, as he put it, to get in some practise.

  Ishbel went into the library, sat down and stared blankly ahead of her, almost unable to take in what was happening. How was it that everything had fallen apart and Ewan might die in less than a day? He could die, be ripped from her life as if he had never been a part of it, and she could do nothing to prevent it. She went over and over the events of the morning, trying and failing to find another solution so she could tell Ewan he need not risk his life.

/>   She had not moved from the chair when Harriette found her a while later and Ishbel found herself telling her cousin everything they had discovered and what had been the outcome of their confrontation of the Viscount. For once Harriette listened quietly, making no criticism, while Ishbel’s words grew more emotional, ending on her own failure to find a different way to prove the Viscount’s guilt.

  Ishbel had only cried once in front of Harriette. It was after her parents had died and she had felt alone and desolate and sobbed for hours in her cousin’s arms, unable to find consolation in the face of such a loss.

  She did the same now.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  EWAN AWOKE on the morning of the duel in an oddly good mood. He could not have said why. His duelling skills were middling at best and he had no desire to kill anyone. It was entirely possible that he would soon die but he found he could not accept that.

  Rabbie looked close to tears as he helped him don an outfit the valet felt was suitably solemn at an hour that felt like the middle of the night. Chiverton, unwillingly accepting the role of his Second in the duel, arrived as Ewan was consuming a light breakfast and looked equally woebegone.

  “What can I say to dissuade you from this folly?” Chiverton asked, an uncharacteristically sombre expression on his handsome face.

  “Did you not use up all your arguments yesterday?”

  “MacPherson, I am serious. You must not do this. One way or another, it will destroy you.”

  Ewan squeezed his friend’s shoulder before returning to his plate of eggs. “I do not believe that. Are you sure you will not eat?”

  Chiverton shuddered and ignored the suggestion. “There must be some way to prove the man’s guilt without having to go through with this.”

  “I think not.” Ewan had been racking his brains over the last couple of days to think of some trap or threat to get the truth from the Viscount, but could come up with nothing. Neither could Miss Campbell, which convinced him this was the only solution.

  He finished his meal and they headed into the hallway where MacCuaig handed him his hat and gloves and said, “It has been an honour to serve you, sir.”

  “Er, thank you.” Was it his imagination or had that sounded extremely final? He glanced across at Chiverton who was glaring at the butler. They walked out into the chill, pre-dawn darkness and he said, “I am really not a bad shot.”

  “No, but you are always too good-natured and considerate in any kind of sparring. If you must go through with this duel then you need to be willing to take a fatal shot. Can you do that?”

  Ewan was not sure. “I will have to.”

  The Viscount had chosen a spot in the countryside just outside the city to keep the encounter private and, by the time Ewan’s carriage got there, the sun was rising, brightening the day and filling the sky with pink and gold. Many of the trees around them were losing their summer green and changing to autumnal colours, so the scene was unexpectedly beautiful. Turning, Ewan saw that another carriage was already here and he recognised its crest and strode across the grass to it, Chiverton just behind him.

  “You cannot be here for this,” he told Ishbel, who sat inside the equipage. She looked at him with a grief stricken expression, face pale and eyes red-rimmed and he wanted to hold her more than he had ever wanted anything.

  “Yes, I can,” she said. “If you intend to risk your life then I will be here to support you.”

  “But it is not...” He broke off at the sound of another carriage arriving and this one bore the crest he had expected.

  Miss Campbell put her gloved hand over his. “Be careful and aim here.” She used her other hand to touch her dress at chest level. “The heart is not positioned exactly where people assume it to be.”

  “I will remember,” he promised her then they both looked round to watch the Viscount descend from his carriage, followed by his Second who held an oblong oak box which, presumably, held the duelling pistols.

  Ewan began to feel less easy about what lay ahead but then he thought of Aileas Jones – all that was left of her a vulnerable corpse on the one time Ewan had seen her – and any doubts faded. Miss Campbell’s hand still rested on his, the gesture meaning more than he could put into words. He took the delicate fingers and bent over them, pressing a kiss onto the cotton glove encasing her hand. This was not the time to say how much he loved her but he tried to put the feeling into his expression as he looked at her. He let go of her hand and walked over to the Viscount.

  “Is there no better way for you to solve your problems with each other?” the Viscount’s Second asked them.

  “No,” Ewan said. The man – a towering, long-nosed fellow – had said his name when he visited Ewan with the details of the duel yesterday but Ewan tried in vain to recall it now.

  “I must defend my good name,” Viscount Inderly insisted.

  Ewan thought of all the deceit and lies hidden behind the family name and hardened his heart to the disturbing notion of killing another person.

  The Second opened the box he held and, as Ewan took one of the two pistols, he noticed that Miss Campbell had got out of her carriage and was watching. He wished she were not here even as he acknowledged that she would likely be hardier than the rest of them to the sight of blood.

  The Second directed them to stand back-to-back then said, “You will take twenty paces then turn around, raise your pistols and make your shots.”

  Everyone fell silent and Ewan could hear nothing but the faint rustle of the breeze against the tree leaves and his own fast heartbeat. He turned his back, ready to move the prescribed distance, but the sound of a whimper made him look about.

  “No!” The Viscount lurched away from the small group, complexion a pasty white. He looked very young: barely more than a child. “I cannot.”

  “The only way you can back out of this is to make a full confession about the death of Aileas Jones,” Ewan told him.

  The Viscount turned, as if preparing to walk or run away, and Ewan knew that if he did leave now then he and Miss Campbell would have failed in their duty to Aileas. Chiverton moved to his side and Miss Campbell walked forward, joining them on the dew-damp grass.

  “It was her own fault,” the Viscount said, turning round so that he faced them again and speaking with a mixture of anger and regret. “I only lay with her once but she got pregnant. She was going to tell Mother.”

  “So you killed her,” Ewan said.

  “No, of course not.” The Viscount’s shocked expression looked genuine. “I just told her she must get rid of the child or her family and friends would all turn her away. She accepted what I said....”

  “What choice did she have?” Miss Campbell exclaimed, glaring at him. “None of it was of her doing. She did not lie with you willingly, did she?”

  He avoided her eyes. “Girls of that class always put on a show of being respectable but I rewarded her handsomely.”

  The locket she had never worn, Ewan thought. She had probably been too afraid of the Viscount and his family to throw the gift back at him and she could not have sold it without raising questions about where the money had come from, so she had carried it round in a pocket, an unwanted memento of what had been the worst experience of her life. “You forced yourself on her and then made her go to some unqualified butcher...”

  “No. He was a doctor,” the Viscount insisted. “He was not yet qualified to practice medicine but he knew what to do.”

  “An impoverished student who would do anything for money,” Miss Campbell said in a hollow tone and Ewan remembered that a lot of her acquaintances were medical students. It was probably someone she had studied alongside, maybe even had a friendship with. “Something went wrong.”

  “She died,” the Viscount said. “There was blood all down her body. I told Phi... I told the doctor he must get rid of her but he obviously botched it as the corpse showed up again and the two of you were already hanging about asking everyone questions about Mother’s stupid necklace. I
thought I might be able to scare you off but you would not stop. It was a nightmare.”

  “Scare us?” Miss Campbell asked.

  “He sent a funeral wreath to my home,” Ewan said. “I checked you had not received anything but it made me fear for your safety.”

  “You should have told me,” she said.

  “I did not want you to be afraid.”

  The Viscount said, “What will you do? I have told you everything – I never harmed the girl...”

  “Rape is a crime,” Miss Campbell said, a hard look in her eyes. “The attempt to kill the unborn child was a crime. I believe they will hang you.”

  When the Viscount turned and ran towards a tree, Ewan thought he was fleeing and began to go after him. Instead, they heard the sound of vomiting. When the man was finished, Ewan gestured for Chiverton to help him take hold of him. “Viscount Inderly, I am making a citizen’s arrest...” He broke off and turned to ask Miss Campbell in consternation, “What must we do with him now?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  THEY WAITED several hours to call on Lady Tinbough to tell her that her son was in Tolbooth prison awaiting trial, but they still got her out of bed and had to wait half an hour while she dressed. There was no sign of Lord Tinbough, for which Ishbel was grateful given what they had discovered about him. She thought of asking Mr MacPherson why he had not told her about receiving the funeral wreath – it troubled her that, even after getting to know her, he thought her too fragile to know something unpleasant. After consideration, though, she remained silent. Today had been a difficult one and she did not want to argue with him; every time she looked at him she was filled with gratitude that he was alive and well.

  They were sitting in the drawing room sipping tea from small china cups when Lady Tinbough finally appeared, wearing a yellow gown that seemed incongruent with their grim news and with her greying hair around her shoulders.