The Viscount's Deadly Game

by Issy Brooke

  The name and address at the top of the list from Kit Greenacre led them to a Christian mission by the warehouses along the River Lune, tucked in among the narrow streets and crowded houses where children ran barefoot and men of all the lands of the empire were shouting in a cacophony of languages while hoisting impossibly large loads on their shoulders between the quays and the boats. This city was not as busy a port as Liverpool to the south but it saw its fair share of trade, centred around St George’s Quay where the finely built buildings were a front that shielded the poverty behind. Smith picked her way through the filth with all the delicacy of a high-born lady, though she was not, while Adelia did her best to walk with confidence and purpose. Roberts collared a lad who found the person named on the paper – a street preacher with a booming voice called, of course, Ezekiel Wellingborough. All preachers should have such resonant names, Adelia thought. He had dark skin that was far more than merely a summer tan on white flesh which reminded Adelia with a jolt that the trade of Lancaster had been in people – in truth, in slaves – not just sugar and saucepans, even within her own living memory. The fine houses and businesses really did hide misery behind them. But Ezekiel Wellingborough had a generosity that was unleashed like a smothering carpet as he took them into a small room and pressed them to partake of hot tea and stale cakes.

  “Do not feel obliged to eat the cakes,” he said though his loud voice made any apology sound more like an order. “One of my dear congregation feels called to bake a veritable feast every week since she had an oven installed in her house and sadly her talents lie elsewhere; no one can work out what she’s doing wrong but they taste week-old when they are fresh, and sadly do not improve with the keeping. Now! How is Thursza and how fare her people? And what brings you to me – for something must be pressing indeed, to wash three such fine folk as yourselves onto my doorstep, welcome though you are.”

  While Roberts merrily munched his way through the cakes, apparently oblivious to the way they seemed to dry out one’s mouth as one chewed, Adelia told Mr Wellingborough about her need to find Lady Beaconberg though she tried to gloss over the finer details of exactly why. She explained that Lady Beaconberg might be travelling under a different name, and that she might not welcome interest in her journey nor a mention of Adelia’s own name. Mr Wellingborough was clearly very curious but too much of a gentleman to press Adelia for all the background information.

  “I have not heard of a woman like this,” he told her, “but as you say, she might not yet be here; I’ve a network of men and women who work around the city and I’ll put word out, as quietly as I can. Where might I find you?”

  She left her contact address with him, and set out to talk to the next name on the list.

  AROUND SIX THAT EVENING, Adelia threw herself down on the bed in the guest room at Mrs Cholmondeley’s house, and let out a long sigh. Smith tutted and began to pick up the discarded items of outerwear that were littering Adelia’s path from the door to the bed. “Well,” Smith said as she shook out a coat by the window. “What did you expect with a list of names from a travelling man?”

  “The list was entirely good,” Adelia said, staring up at the ceiling. “But if Lady Beaconberg is not here, then she cannot be found, and that’s that.”

  “So what now?”

  “We will wait here for a day or two. If there is no word of her, then we must assume that the information she gave to Kit Greenacre was designed to throw people off the scent. I did not think she would plot with such calculation, but maybe I am wrong about her.”

  “I don’t think you are. She is a schemer but only in particular ways. Still, anything might have befallen her on the journey. She does not have the protection that you have.”

  “And I thank you for it, Smith. Oh, goodness, must I really now dress for dinner with – who is it? Lady Cooper? I feel drained of all my social energy. I am too old for this, Smith.”

  “Nonsense. And you can linger for half an hour, my lady, while I prepare your dress for tonight. Try to doze; I will wake you when it’s necessary.”

  Adelia was already drifting off.

  WHAT THE DAY HAD LACKED in solid information, the evening made up for in spades.

  In spite of her weariness, Adelia found that she perked up as she accompanied Mr and Mrs Cholmondeley in their coach across the city that evening. When they arrived, they were met by the youngest Cholmondeley son, a fair-haired man in his fifties with brown spots on his cheeks and eyes so pale they seemed to be fish-like. But he was cheerful and attentive and though his conversation kept to rigidly polite paths, he was interesting in his discourse nonetheless. Adelia thought that Theodore would have loved him.

  Lady Connor was perfectly gracious and with all the armour of social convention to coat her, Adelia was able to roam happily among the crowd of strangers without feeling ill at ease. Reverend Cholmondeley, the widowed younger son, kept a steady eye on her even when she was talking with someone else, and she found her wine glass was never left to get empty. He took her into the dining room when they were called to be seated and she was soon settled in place, and finally able to look around at all the guests. She did not think she could gather much information during the meal itself. Most of the real gossip would happen later, as the food made people relax and the alcohol made them unguarded.

  As they talked about things both small and local, large and national, she noticed one woman with a necklace that tugged at her remembrance. When the woman touched her fingers very lightly to it, the gesture brought the full memory back to Adelia. The necklace was in silver and made up of a series of elegant galloping horses, and she had last seen it adorning the neck of Lady Beaconberg.

  Perhaps it was one of many that had been mass produced, but Adelia suspected not. She fixed the woman in her mind and as soon as they were released from the meal and left the men to their cigars and brandy, she launched herself across the drawing floor towards her.

  The lady turned and smiled as Adelia approached, as she was standing alone by the fire and was glad of the company. Lady Connor, the most excellent hostess, had already noticed and swept by to give a little introduction between them before moving on to talk with someone else.

  “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Swann,” Adelia said. “I will come right to it; I could not help but admire your necklace while we were dining.”

  “Oh! I saw you looking and thought I had a smudge on my cheek or something.”

  “Not at all. I am so sorry for causing you concern! It is a very fine piece.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Thank you. Yes, I acquired it only this morning and could not wait to wear it this evening. Do you like horses? My husband was happy to buy it for me as he knows I adore horses even more than I like jewellery and beautiful things.”

  Adelia dropped her voice and Mrs Swann drew in closer. “Mrs Swann, what I am going to ask will seem impertinent but I can assure you that it is of vital importance. From whom did your husband purchase this piece?”

  Mrs Swann’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do you ask?”

  Adelia pressed on. “Was it a woman? A tall, well-spoken lady of considerable breeding, unknown in these parts?”

  Mrs Swann’s face gave it away before she even spoke. “Why, yes, she was – do you know her?”

  “Perhaps although it depends what name she gave.”

  Mrs Swann clutched her necklace and said, with some reluctance, “Oh, please don’t tell me this is stolen property? I am already so in love with it – I cannot bear to lose it – and I swear I didn’t know it was yours.”

  “It is not mine! No, do not worry. It was this lady’s very own property and entirely hers to dispose of in any way that she wished. You need not worry. It is the woman that I seek, not her jewellery.”

  “Oh.” Mrs Swann wavered and looked around but the men had not yet come in and she could have no support from her husband. She clearly didn’t know what to do. She took a sip of her wine and after a few moments came to a decision. “Very well. The
lady that sold us this necklace was just leaving the jewellers’ place on the High Street – Maigret’s – as we went in, and she was looking thunderous about something. My husband collided with her and apologised, and so it was that we began to talk. She had found that the jeweller was a stickler for certain matters of business and would not buy her goods without confirmation from her husband or some evidence that she owned the pieces herself. And when I saw this, I knew I had to have it, not least because it seemed I was helping a woman in distress.” She eyed Adelia warily. “And now you’re looking for her. Might I ask why? I do not want to bring more trouble to her door. She seemed blameless.”

  Adelia thought quickly. Was she really pursuing Lady Beaconberg to add to her distress? She didn’t really know. She didn’t want to lie so she chose her words very carefully. She said, “I am a friend of hers from York who wants only to help bring about justice.” Justice for who – that was still an unknown. “I, too, wish to avoid trouble. But there are those who will come after her who do not have the same scruples.”

  Mrs Swann said, “Very well. Let me speak to my husband.” She removed herself from Adelia’s company and left her alone by the fire. The men hadn’t come in yet, but Mrs Swann hovered by the door and when they entered, after a brief conversation, Mrs Swann returned to Adelia. “Here. She gave us the name of the hotel where she was staying in case we were interested in buying anything else. She seemed very keen to raise funds. I could not remember it but Jacob says it’s the King’s Arms and she’s going under the name of Lady Wilthorpe.”

  “Thank you.”

  Adelia’s heart began to hammer as she realised how very close she was to finding Lady Beaconberg.

  What should she do next?

  Twenty

  “You should tell the police here in Lancaster, my lady, tell them everything and let them arrest her.” Smith was very firm upon the matter as they discussed it the next morning.

  Roberts was standing by the window in the downstairs room at the Cholmondeley’s house, looking out. He did not offer an opinion, but instead contented himself with merely looking ready for anything. Adelia couldn’t see his pistol but it was both comforting and alarming to know that it was there, somewhere.

  “I do not know the authorities here,” Adelia said. “And I want to know more about why she ran away before I let the wolves loose on her.”

  “She is a murderess fleeing justice!”

  “Yes. Perhaps. Yet, if she did do something, she did not act alone, if she acted at all. I would look to Sir Arthur, still, and that lad Mackie. They are hiding something.”

  “Or look to her daughter,” Smith said, and even Roberts gasped at that.

  Adelia trusted her servant’s intuition and she looked at Smith carefully. “Do you think that Miss Parr could have had anything to do with her father’s death?”

  Smith shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. The world is topsy-turvy. You take advice from travelling-folk and here we are in Lancaster, doing the job of the police.”

  Maybe Smith’s intuition wasn’t always totally reliable, Adelia thought.

  “I do have some doubts about Lady Beaconberg,” Adelia said. “I admit that. But of course, we must hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I hope she is innocent but let us prepare for her guilt, and acting in that guilt, her potentially desperate actions as she strives to evade justice. We will go to the hotel and I will go into her room alone to speak to her.”

  Roberts stirred and turned but did not interrupt. She knew he wanted to object.

  Smith did object, most vocally, but Adelia talked over her, continuing with saying, “You two will be outside the door – directly outside, and listening to everything. If she is on the ground floor, then we will need someone at her window to prevent her flight that way. We will speak to the staff of the hotel when we get there, and hopefully obtain their goodwill, for if it transpires that she is guilty then word will need to be sent immediately to the police. Have I missed anything, do you think?”

  Smith sighed and flung her hands in the air. “You have missed everything sensible! But my lady, you have already decided, have you not?”

  Adelia smiled grimly. She had.

  ADELIA AND HER RETINUE left the Cholmondeleys’ house just before midday and found it was a short walk to the King’s Arms Hotel. She felt nervous when she spoke to the man at the main reception desk and asked for the whereabouts of a certain “Lady Wilthorpe” but he didn’t bat an eyelid. Perhaps Adelia was merely one of a number of callers. She discovered the room was on an upper floor, at the end of a corridor that had no other exit. She bid Smith to stand at the top of the stairs with a view of the length of the corridor and be poised to run to send for the police if Roberts gave a signal. Roberts himself was to stand directly outside the door of Lady Beaconberg’s room, and listen as much as he could.

  “This is the only time I’ve been instructed to eavesdrop,” he said with a quick grin, and she smiled back grimly.

  “Don’t get used to it. Now, let’s go.” She was still unsure of herself but wanted to get it all done as quickly as possible. Much like stepping into cold water, the sooner one did it, the sooner it could be over.

  By the time that Adelia found herself standing outside Lady Beaconberg’s door she could barely hear anything over the sound of her own heartbeat and she took a moment to try and calm down, and tell herself that if it all went wrong, then this little escapade would become one of those tales that one told the family at gatherings and parties. Yes, she would be the butt of jokes, but it would not matter in the long run. She did not imagine she was in any physical danger. She’d stay by the door and she’d speak confidently to Lady Beaconberg. Perhaps Lady Beaconberg would refuse to answer, or she’d push past and run away, or she’d throw a vase at Adelia’s head.

  Adelia hoped not. She had the conversation planned out in her head, now.

  She wanted to know why Lady Beaconberg had run away. What had made her flee? What did she know about the death of her husband that she was not telling anyone? Who had she been working with?

  And Adelia wanted to assure her that if she came back with Adelia now, and explained it all to the police, they might be more lenient than if – no, when – they finally caught up with her. Adelia felt the urgency of impressing upon Lady Beaconberg that she was not above the law, and that it would surely catch up with her sooner rather than later. There was nowhere she could hide, not for ever. Each moment of delay increased the likelihood of more severe punishment.

  The final mode of persuasion would be to use her daughter Elizabeth as a bargaining tool. Think of her, Adelia would urge. Think of her future, the future of the innocent girl you have left behind.

  Well, mostly innocent.

  She ran through it all in her head one more time, and then rapped with a shaking hand on the door.

  Lady Beaconberg opened the door slowly and all of Adelia’s prepared speeches went clean out of her head, leaving her gasping like a fish on a riverbank.

  Lady Beaconberg looked equally horrified to see Adelia. Then she stared past Adelia at Roberts, and down the corridor. Her knuckles were tight and white where her bare hands gripped the door.

  “We are alone,” Adelia said. “Might I come in? Roberts will remain outside.”

  Lady Beaconberg was nearly fully dressed for walking out in the city, lacking only a coat, hat and gloves which were all flung over a nearby chair, ready for her apparently imminent departure. She was not in mourning. She looked a little tired and strained and her mouth opened and closed as she struggled for an answer.

  Adelia took a deeper breath and pressed home the little advantage that she had. She stepped forward and Lady Beaconberg, after a hesitation, stepped back into her room. Adelia said, “I am glad to find you ... Marguerite. You need not fear the police as they have not been informed.” Then she added, “Yet,” to gauge Lady Beaconberg’s reaction.

  “Adelia, Adelia, what am I to do?” Lady Beaconberg said with a barely s
uppressed wail. She reached past Adelia and pulled the door closed, then hurried to a sideboard where there was a half-drunk bottle of wine. She poured herself a large glass, and another for Adelia, who had not asked for it but now felt obliged to at least sip at it.

  “Let us start with the truth,” Adelia said, abandoning her speeches now. She was facing a woman who was snared up in pure distress.

  “But how did you find me? Who else knows? They must not find me here!”

  “The police do not know I am here, so they certainly don’t know that you are.”

  “I don’t mean the police.”

  “Then who do you mean?”

  “The murderers of my husband of course!” Lady Beaconberg’s eyes were wide and terrified, and Adelia began to wonder exactly how wrong she’d been in ever considering Lady Beaconberg was the perpetrator.

  But she clearly knew something about it all.

  “Who did it?” Adelia asked, loudly, hoping that Roberts was able to hear everything.

  “I think it was Douglas Mackie.”

  “I wondered that myself,” Adelia said. “But you said they. Who else? Sir Arthur?”

  “Sir Arthur knows something, yes! But I am helpless against him – helpless – I don’t know what to do, and the police have taken against me – and anyway, why would they listen to me, a poor and widowed woman? Yes, I know I am poor. I know all about the will and the ramifications of what it contains. I know full well that I am left destitute now, and a poor woman is an unpopular one. No one will be my friend if they think I have nothing to give to them.”

  Adelia thought that such ideas reflected more on Lady Beaconberg’s own view of the world and her personal approach to friendships but now was not the time to berate the other woman. She said, “Have you any proof at all against Mackie or Sir Arthur?”