The Mayfair Affair

by Tracy Grant

  Gui stared at him with a gaze that was unexpectedly sharp. "You can't know Mary loves me."

  "I know it's Suzanne's assessment that she does. And I've learned to trust my wife's assessments."

  Gui scraped a hand through his hair. "She's never said it. Not in those words."

  "One doesn't always. Take it from one of a similar disposition, not being able to find the words doesn't mean the feelings aren't there. Quite the opposite, many times." Who'd have thought he'd be equating himself with Mary Mallinson? As one grew older, one learned the unthinkable could come to pass.

  A waiter plunked two cups of coffee down in front of them. Gui took a sip as though he wished the pewter mug contained something stronger. "Aren't you supposed to be interrogating me, not offering sympathy, Rannoch?"

  "Just because I'm investigating doesn't mean I've stopped being your friend."

  "Odd." Gui turned his cup in his hands. "I thought friends weren't in the habit of passing along confidences to Bow Street."

  "A palpable hit."

  Gui leaned back against the bench, more in the posture of old. "Ask me what you need to."

  "Where were you the night Trenchard was killed?"

  " I dined with Rupert and Gaby. Bertrand and Nick Gordon were there. I'm getting used to seeing them all domestically happy together. A part of me can't but worry if it will last—I still think of Gaby as my sister. Of course, that's always true of happiness, but theirs seems more precariously balanced than most. Still, mostly I choked on the cloying sweetness of the happiness of others. We went on to the Tavistock—one of Simon's comedies, more happiness. I left early, went to Mannerling's, played faro, and tried to drink enough that I forgot about Mary and how she'd refused to see me. I got sick before I forgot. Wrote Mary an indiscreet letter, remembered myself enough to burn it. Went home."

  "What time?"

  "A little before two. Too early to have an alibi for Trenchard's murder."

  "Unless you're a very good actor, you didn't know Mary was pregnant at that point."

  "And you don't think I'm that good an actor? A fair point. Though I did successfully lie to my own supposed family for over a decade. But whether or not I knew, I still wanted to marry Mary. I'd have done anything to marry her."

  "Including commit murder?"

  Gui took a sip of coffee. "It actually never occurred to me. Failure of imagination, of course." He set the cup down. "Unless I'm lying."

  Lady Cranley settled the sapphire blue skirts of her corded lustring gown on the blue-striped satin of the sofa. Her gown was tucked and frilled by an expert modiste. Her hair was carefully dressed, if lacking in movement. Her cheeks and lips were subtly rouged, her face lightly powered. Everything, from the ribbons on her gown to the blue kid slippers peeping out from beneath, matched precisely. It was impossible not to draw a contrast with Lily Duval.

  "I'm as shocked as everyone in Mayfair, of course," Lydia Cranley said. Her voice was low and musical, carefully pitched." And I'll do whatever I can to help."

  "Thank you," Suzanne said.

  "Of course I'm aware of your and your husband's role in the investigation. It must be exciting, if a bit sordid. But I'm surprised you called on me. The last time I saw Trenchard was over a week ago, and I hadn't seen Craven in longer." She shuddered. "I assume their deaths are—connected?"

  "It's too early to assume anything," Suzanne said, "but it seems likely."

  "Not that we knew either of them well, but still— This is Mayfair."

  Cordelia tugged off her second lemon-colored glove. "Doing it much too brown, Lydia. We know you saw Trenchard more recently."

  "I can't imagine what you're talking about, Cordy. I'm sure it was at Susan Herbert's rout. If someone is mistaken—"

  "It was a private interview." Cordelia laid her gloves atop her reticule.

  Lydia Cranley's spine straightened. "You forget yourself, Cordelia."

  "Don't come so high-handed, Lydy." Cordelia snapped open the steel clasp in her reticule. "We found this." She held up the earring.

  Lydia Cranley didn't so much as blink. She was more formidable than Suzanne had realized. "I have several pairs of ruby earrings, but I've never seen that particular one before."

  Cordelia got to her feet and walked to the mantel, the earring held aloft. The painting showed Lydia Cranley in a carnelian gown, standing beside a pedestal with an urn full of white roses. Lawrence. His luminous use of light was unmistakable. The pearlescent glow fell across Lydia's face and caught the earring swinging from her left earlobe. "A mistake to have worn these earrings on that particular night," Cordelia said. "But then, I don't expect you anticipated the night's events."

  Once again Lady Cranley didn't blink. The seemingly staid matron had nerves of steel. "Are those my earrings?" she said. "The light was in my eyes when you first held it up."

  "Cut the line, Lydy." Cordelia spun round in front of the fireplace with a masterful mastery of the scene. "You were in the Duke of Trenchard's study. Probably the night he was killed."

  "You always were overdramatic, Cordy." Lydia Cranley put up a hand to adjust the cameo brooch that fastened her muslin tippet. "The last time we dined at Trenchard House, the duke took me into his study to show me his first editions of Chaucer. I must have lost the earring then. I'm surprised I didn't notice it was missing until now, but these things happen. Now that I think of it, the clasp had been loose. It seems ridiculous to talk of good fortune at a time like this, but I'm very pleased you found it."

  Cordelia stepped forwards, still holding the earring. "Trenchard wasn't in the habit of taking guests into his study."

  Lydia Cranley froze. She was a formidable woman, but not a professional.

  "Lady Cranley." Suzanne seized upon her opening. "We have no wish to embroil you in a scandal."

  "My dear Mrs. Rannoch, I'm not so naive as to believe you have the least regard for my reputation. You are solely concerned with this investigation of yours."

  "Which will proceed, one way or another. The easiest route to uncovering your secrets is if you tell us yourself."

  Lady Cranley fingered a fold of her skirt. "I don't have—"

  "Mrs. Rannoch is extraordinarily good at uncovering secrets." Cordelia returned to the sofa and dropped down beside Lady Cranley. "Don't be stupid, Lydia."

  Lady Cranley stared at her as though she were something that had crawled out of a rubbish heap. "You make the mistake of thinking everyone's behavior is as scandalous as your own, Cordy."

  "Not everyone's. But I've always thought you were more interesting than you appeared, Lydy. Not that one lover would make you anything like as scandalous as I was."

  "Must you make a joke of it?"

  "Sometimes that's the best response."

  Lydia glanced away. "I don't do this, as a rule. I'm not like you, Cordy."

  "Point taken."

  "Trenchard was— an interesting man."

  "Oh, yes. Quite attractive, if you like the type."

  "Powerful."

  Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "You thought he could help advance Cranley."

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "I'm rather impressed. Did Cranley know?"

  "Of course not. Cranley's never had the least ambition or the least sense of what needs to be done. He speaks well and he has a certain charm. I made the mistake of thinking he had the drive to go with it." Lady Cranley put a hand to her hair. "I was a good wife. I've given him three children. I'm considered an admirable hostess." She flashed a look at Suzanne, as though in resentment of her easy rise as a political hostess. "And despite all my efforts, Cranley seemed content simply to make the occasional speech and drink with his friends at White's."

  "I can quite understand your frustration," Cordelia said with seemingly genuine warmth. "You hardly did anything others in your set don't do."

  Lady Cranley pushed a perfect curl behind her ear. "I'm not like others. We were discreet. I never thought—"

  "Lydia." Cordelia leaned forwar
ds. "Had you been discovered?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Had you tried to blackmail Trenchard into helping Cranley?"

  Lady Cranley straightened the knot of ribbon on her bodice. "You make it sound so sordid."

  Cordelia's gaze flickered over Lady Cranley's face. "Wasn't that your intention in entering into the affair?" Cordelia asked.

  "Nonsense." Lydia Cranley smoothed the lace on her sleeve. "I might have thought of mentioning that he might assist Cranley, but before I could do so, he—"

  "Lady Cranley," Suzanne said in the silence, "if it could have anything to do with why the duke was killed—"

  "Trenchard wanted me to deliver Cranley's vote."

  Cordelia blinked. "The duke was blackmailing you?"

  "He wouldn't have made it sound so crude, but yes."

  "So you entered into an affair to manipulate him, and instead, found yourself manipulated," Cordelia said.

  "You needn't sound so delighted about it."

  "I'm not. I'm sorry, Lydy."

  "What bill was the vote over?" Suzanne asked.

  "It wasn't a bill." Lady Cranley plucked at the lace on her sleeve, though in general she didn't seem the sort of woman who fiddled with her clothes. "Trenchard wanted Cranley to support him in his bid to unseat Lord Liverpool."

  Odd how the most convoluted investigation could still take a completely unexpected turn. "The Duke of Trenchard wanted to unseat the prime minister?" Suzanne asked, unable to keep the shock from her voice.

  Lydia Cranley hesitated, as though even now unsure whether to break her late lover's confidence. "Trenchard had been discontented with Liverpool for some time. He was angered when Liverpool had advocated aboishing the slave trade at the Congress of Vienna and he thought Liverpool hadn't gone far enough in dealing with the disturbances in the north. And I gather there'd been some unpleasantness between them in Paris long ago."

  When he and Raoul had helped a young actress escape Trenchard. What a bizarre twist for the case to take.

  "Who was his candidate to replace Liverpool?" Cordelia asked.

  "Himself."

  Suzanne sat back in her chair. Their murder victim had been scheming to become prime minister. A whole new vista of suspects and motives opened up. "Who else knew about this?" she asked.

  "I don't know." Lady Cranley tugged at her lace-edged cuff. "I would assume he was counting on support other than Cranley's."

  "Through blackmail?" Suzanne asked.

  "I only know what he told me he wanted me to do."

  "Or—?" Suzanne asked.

  Lydia Cranley jabbed the errant ringlet behind her ear. "Or he would reveal our affair."

  "To your husband?"

  "That was the least of it." Lady Cranley snatched up her tea and tossed down a swallow. "Cranley would have been disagreeable—I'm not in the least certain he's been faithful himself, but he'd look askance at it in his wife. But he cares too much for his own consequence to reveal his wife's infidelity. There's nothing that pricks a man's self-esteem like being branded a cuckold."

  Cordelia stared at her childhood friend. "Trenchard threatened to make the affair public."

  Lydia Cranley twitched a ruched fold of her skirt smooth. "I'm not like you, Cordy. Or Caro Lamb. I'm known to be a virtuous wife. I can guarantee a young girl vouchers to Almack's. I have three daughters. Annabel will be out in five years. Trenchard could have ruined everything I've built."

  "Whereas an affair would scarcely dim his consequence," Suzanne said.

  "Quite." Lydia met her gaze in a moment of understanding. "Oh, he wouldn't have openly talked about it. But he knew how to put the story about."

  "So you had no choice but to accede to his terms," Cordelia said.

  Lady Cranley's fingers clenched round the eggshell porcelain of her cup. "I went there that night to tell Trenchard I would do as he wished."

  "The night of the murder," Suzanne said. She wanted it on record. Until now they had had no proof that Lydia Cranley had been at Trenchard House that particular night.

  "Yes." Lady Cranley twisted a pearl bracelet round her wrist. "I was angry. He'd made a fool of me. I suppose you'll say that gives me a motive to have killed him. But I would never do anything so ill bred. I hope my telling you the truth convinces you of that."

  "We're inestimably grateful," Suzanne said. "Tell us exactly what happened. You went through the secret passage?"

  "Yes."

  "You'd used the secret passage before?"

  "As I said, we were discreet. I was angry with Trenchard, but prepared to be reasonable. I wanted the whole wretched thing over. When I came into the study—" She put her hand to her mouth. "The smell of blood stopped me."

  "What did you see?" Suzanne leaned forwards. "Lady Cranley, this could be vital to catching the killer. And making sure an innocent person doesn't pay for the crime."

  Lydia Cranley bit her lip, her eyes turned dark with the memory. "Trenchard was sprawled on the floor. Blood pooled everywhere."

  "Was he alive?"

  "I couldn't imagine he could be. For a moment, I froze. I don't know how long I'd have stood there paralyzed if I hadn't heard someone behind me."

  "Coming from the passage?" Suzanne asked.

  "Yes. I couldn't think what to do, except that I mustn't be discovered. I ran to the curtains and darted behind them."

  "Did you see anything?" Suzanne asked.

  Lydia Cranley swallowed.

  "Lady Cranley—"

  "Through a sliver in the curtains. It was a woman. I didn't recognize her. A dark, unremarkable gown and hair in an enviable shade of titian. I should have known I wasn't Trenchard's only chère amie. She bent over Trenchard, then she ran from the room, calling for help." Lydia drew a breath. "If anything could be done for Trenchard, she was doing it. I seized my opportunity and ran back to the passage. That must be when I lost my earring. I know I tore a flounce on my gown."

  Suzanne released her breath. "Thank you, Lady Cranley. That can't have been an easy story to tell."

  "Will I need to tell anyone else?"

  "We'll do everything we can to preserve your reputation."

  Lady Cranley nodded. "Who is she? This other woman?"

  "A friend," Suzanne said.

  Chapter 28

  "We only have Lady Cranley's word for the story," Roth said. "And she's an interested party."

  "But she'd have no reason to lie to protect Laura," Suzanne said. "Unless they were in on it together, and if so she'd have come to us with the story ages ago."

  Roth regarded Suzanne and Cordelia across the cramped room above the Brown Bear. They had repaired to Bow Street directly upon leaving the Cranley house and had found Roth writing up notes at the tavern.

  Roth drummed his fingers on the table. "Would Lady Cranley attest to this?"

  "She says she will," Cordelia said. "Obviously, she'd prefer to tell as few people as possible. But, though Lydia's a lot of things, she's not the sort to go back on her word."

  "And you have Cordy's and my confirmation that she said it, in any case," Suzanne added.

  Roth drew a breath. "I'm not—"

  The door swung open and Malcolm strode into the room. Suzanne turned to her husband with relief. She had sent word to him but hadn't been sure when he'd get it. "Darling, help us convince Jeremy to let Laura go."

  "I'm not disagreeing with Mrs. Rannoch and Lady Cordelia," Roth said, when they had updated Malcolm. "I'm just trying to think through all the objections Sir Nathaniel will raise."

  "Suzette and Cordy are right, there's no reason for Lady Cranley to lie to protect Laura," Malcolm said. "Laura would have to have stabbed Trenchard, left—managing not to encounter Lady Cranley in the secret passage—and then returned."

  "And why on earth would she have done that?" Suzanne demanded.

  "Because she forgot something?"

  Suzanne frowned at her husband. He wasn't helping.

  "Only trying to think through the objections," Malco
lm said. "It doesn't seem likely."

  "And from Lady Cranley's account, it sounds as though Laura tried to help Trenchard, which doesn't fit with her having killed him, and does fit with her own account of the situation," Suzanne added.

  Roth looked from Malcolm to Suzanne to Cordelia and slowly inclined his head. "I'm going to write the order now. I'll handle Sir Nathaniel. Malcolm, can you deal with Carfax?"

  Malcolm gave a faint smile. "'Deal' may be too strong a word, but I'll deflect any objections."

  Roth nodded.

  Suzanne released her breath. Outside, rain peppered the roof like rifle fire. Nothing was settled, risk still hung round them like a London fog, but the first objective raised when Jeremy Roth came knocking at their door was achieved. Laura could come home.

  Roth paused in the midst of gathering up papers. "One more question, Lady Cordelia."

  "Yes?" Cordelia, like Suzanne, was smiling.

  "You know Lady Cranley," Roth said. "As you all say, there'd be no reason for Lady Cranley to lie to protect Miss Dudley, and the fact that her account of events tallies with Miss Dudley's argues that she's telling the truth about events after Miss Dudley came into the study. But what do you think of the rest of her story?"

  "You mean, could she have quarreled with Trenchard and killed him, instead of finding him already stabbed?" Cordelia asked. "She was angry. It's true she cares for her reputation. But she might have seen killing him as the only way to preserve it. Or she might have snapped in a fit of pique when she confronted him. Miss Dudley could have surprised her after she stabbed him. Once we found the earring, she might have been convinced we'd discover she'd been there the night of the murder. It would be cool-headed thinking. But one way or another, it seems Lydia is more cool-headed than I credited."

  Roth inclined his head.

  "And there's another question," Malcolm said. "Who else did Trenchard anger in his bid to become prime minister?"

  "Could he have pulled it off?" Roth asked.

  Malcolm frowned. "I'm scarcely privy to the secrets of Tory inner circles. Liverpool has a lot of support behind him. But there are divisions within the party and tensions over the debt, taxes, Catholic Emancipation, the unrest in the north. Trenchard could have explointed those tensions. A dukedom carries a certain inherent power, though not as much as you might think. But depending on how much influence Trenchard could wield behind the scenes—"