“Have you heard something new?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your engagement party.” She gave me a tentative glance, her fingers fidgeting with her pendant. “I’ve received nothing but regrets in the past two days.”
Her eyes held so much misery, I wanted to console her. “Poor Fi. I’ve been so wrapped up in finding Miss Teskey’s killer, I hadn’t even thought of the engagement party. Of course people are sending their regrets. If they believe George already murdered one wife, it’s no wonder they hesitate to celebrate our engagement. Should we cancel it?”
Fiona took me in with a glance. “I think you’re taking this far too lightly.”
Her sharp tone came as a surprise. “Forgive me, dear. I know you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble, but right now the opinion of a handful of society matrons matters less to me than the opinion of Inspector Delaney.”
She waved a hand. “My trouble has nothing to do with it. The opinions of those society matrons matter a great deal. They will determine what sort of life you and George will have in the future. Whether you’re accepted or isolated. And that will be true for Rose and any future children.”
“Fiona, you are not cheering me up.”
“I’m hoping to wake you up. If you plan to be part of London society, you must play by its rules.”
“I understand, but appeasing a lot of gossips is not a priority at the moment. I won’t have any part in society if George finds himself in Newgate Prison.”
She scoffed. “Surely it isn’t that bad? Didn’t you say Delaney’s coming back with Bradmore?”
“That doesn’t mean he’s the murderer.”
“But he might have more information, don’t you think?”
“I certainly hope he does. Information seems to be our biggest stumbling block. We know virtually nothing about Miss Teskey, except that anyone she came into contact with for more than a day had a motive to murder her. Even her husband spent only a few days with her, so I don’t know how he can enlighten us.”
Fiona poured more tea as I pondered this. Miss Teskey had actually given me a great deal of information about herself, most of which I had discounted as nonsense. What if the key to finding her killer was somehow tied up in the complicated story of her life? Perhaps we weren’t at an impasse, after all. If I could reconstruct the woman’s story, it might lead me to the author of the threatening letters or the person who had been following her.
I felt a glimmer of hope.
“I’m confident everything will be resolved in time for the engagement party.” Fiona gave me a crooked smile. “But until then, I have to agree with my brother. It’s best if you aren’t seen together. I wonder that you haven’t heard from the Stoke-Whitneys—some discreet suggestion that you might prefer to stay home this evening.”
“Indeed?” I raised my brows. “Arthur Stoke-Whitney should welcome us with open arms. If his guests are talking about George and me, they won’t be talking about Alicia’s latest indiscretion.”
Fiona chuckled. “You make a good point, but right now, I think it’s best if you don’t give the gossips anything to talk about.”
If she continued, I didn’t hear her. Her last words had given birth to an idea. The more I considered it, the more I liked it. Yes, I could go to the reception with Graham, and George could stay home. The gossips would still talk. But what if I could give them something different to talk about? Could I take charge of the gossip? Perhaps. But I would need assistance.
Fiona jumped when I suddenly reached out and hugged her. “Thank you, Fiona. I knew you would help me.”
She gave me a wary look. “What have I done?”
“You’ve given me an idea. A marvelous idea.” I came to my feet and headed for the door. “But to put it into effect, I must pay a call on my brother-in-law.”
“Graham? Why?”
“You’ll find out this evening.” I turned back when I reached the doorway. “I shall see you at the Stoke-Whitneys’. And George will be with me.”
* * *
After I left Fiona, I paid a call on my brother-in-law. Graham was surprisingly in favor of my scheme. He also volunteered to deliver my request to the Countess de Torby in person. If she agreed, this could work, but I wouldn’t know until this evening.
I chose to be optimistic, and as a result, my mood was vastly improved by the time I returned home a few hours later. I now had two plans. If they worked, one would help us find Irena’s killer and the other would put an end to this annoying gossip. I alighted from the hack with a new bounce to my step and reached up to pay the driver. I tucked the change into my bag and wondered if I should knock on George’s door to see if he’d returned from the theater yet.
“Lady Harleigh.”
I jerked around as a youngish-looking man stepped away from the wall between my door and the service stairs. He touched his fingers to his homburg, and—of all the cheek—did he wink at me?
“Beg yer pardon, my lady, but I’m hoping for just a moment of your time.” He sauntered toward me, gnawing on the end of a cigar.
I squeezed the handle of my umbrella and straightened my back. “I don’t think you could have any business with me, young man, and I’ll have you know, I’m very adept with this.” I raised the umbrella in what I hoped was a threatening manner.
He stopped a few paces away, holding his hands out wide. “Just want to give you a chance to tell your side of the story, ma’am.”
“My side?” Too late, I realized who he was. The hack pulled away, leaving me alone on the street with a newspaper reporter. One who stood between me and my front door.
“Yes, ma’am.” He removed the cigar and pointed it at me. “I hear the police brought that poor lady to your very door, once they heard she was Mrs. Hazelton.”
“She was not Mrs. Hazelton.”
“Tried to get a comment from Hazelton himself earlier today, but, ah, he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Thought you might have something to say.” He tipped his head to the side, examining me. “Did you try to buy her off? Was that the idea?”
“Buy her off?” The suggestion that my meager funds might be enough to tempt Miss Teskey of the Plump Pockets to do something she didn’t want to do was so absurd, I couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. Once it had escaped, more bubbled up behind it. I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it was no use. I was overcome with unrelenting giggles. This entire situation was beyond ridiculous.
“Here now. It’s not impossible. Isn’t that what you posh folk do?”
He looked so offended, it made me laugh all the harder. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I struggled for breath. With a wary look, he took a step back and, in doing so, appeared less of a threat. Young and brash, this man would ruin my life in a heartbeat if it might advance his career. But absent knowledge of what had actually happened, he made it up as he went along.
I took a deep breath to regain control of myself and took a step forward. “Do you really suppose an inspector from the Metropolitan Police brought a woman he’d arrested to my house so that I could bribe her? That’s what you plan to print?”
“That’s what I heard. Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”
It was the smirk, not his words, that offended me. His source had to be Jackson across the street. He didn’t want my side of the story. He just wanted to goad me into saying something quotable.
“You are just guessing. You hope if you throw out some theories, I’ll react and confirm one of them for you. Well, here’s my reaction.” I poked him in the chest with the umbrella. “If you want to find out what Inspector Delaney did and why he did it, you will simply have to ask him yourself.”
I poked him again, and he backed away. “Here now, I’m just trying to get to the truth.”
Anger made me poke him again, and once more, until I’d maneuvered him away from my door. “You just want to sell papers. You don’t care if it’s true or not. You don’t care if it ruins someone’s
life. I worked very hard to jolly myself out of the doldrums today, and you are spoiling . . . My. Good. Spirits.” I tapped the umbrella against his chest with each word. “Talk to the police and leave me alone.”
I stomped up the steps to my door, which, thank goodness, was unlocked, and stepped inside, slamming it behind me. Let him make what he would of both my outburst and my fit of laughter. He’d likely print I was a raving lunatic, but who, after living through my past three days, wouldn’t be a lunatic? A woman claiming to be my fiancé’s wife. A murder in my own garden. My fiancé accused of this murder and, worst of all, a nosy butler across the street making up stories for the reporters. Well, I was just guessing at that last bit, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.
It was beyond enough. I moved to the drawing room to peek out the window. The young man was nowhere in sight. Good. It was time to take my bad mood and direct it where it belonged.
I stalked to the door, determined to alert Mrs. Chiswick to the harm Jackson was causing with his spying and gossiping. She simply must put an end to it. Hopefully, she’d take the hint and curtail her own busybody instincts. I threw open the door to find Mrs. Chiswick herself tottering on my doorstep, her hand raised toward the knocker. She flailed her arms, attempting to regain her balance, and I instinctively grasped the small woman’s shoulders to steady her as she stumbled forward.
“Goodness me,” she said. “Forgive my graceless entry. I’d just taken hold of the knocker when the door opened.” She massaged her fingers.
I stepped aside and gestured for her to come in. “I hope you’re not injured.”
She wiggled her fingers experimentally while I closed the door. “No, they appear to be fine. It was just a clumsy accident on my part, and I owe it to my anxiety to find out if you are well or if that awful man upset you.”
“Do you mean the reporter?” Had she watched the entire exchange from her window? She and Jackson were certainly a pair.
“So distressing.” She clucked her tongue and placed a hand on my arm. “But I see that you withstood his harassment, as the true lady I always knew you were.”
I raised a brow. “Indeed?”
“Of course, my dear. I’ll admit until recently I was concerned that you’d be swept up in this horrible scandal with Hazelton. I was much relieved to see you separating yourself from him. It’s one thing to be deceived by a rake, but quite another to continue the relationship once the deception has been exposed. One cannot be too careful with one’s reputation.”
How does one even begin to respond to such a load of poppycock? “You must know—”
“I do know,” she said, as if taking a solemn vow. “You are an innocent party caught up in this heinous crime. Jackson and I discussed the possibility of my counseling you to extricate yourself from this situation. I’m pleased to see you’ve done so on your own initiative.”
“About Jackson. I’ve been meaning to speak with you—”
“If you’d like him to keep a watch over your household, I’m sure he’d be willing.”
“Actually, I believe he already does keep a close watch over my household.”
“He worries about you. We both do. Living alone as you do. Perhaps you should come to one of our meetings. You do know I’m the chair for the Ladies’ Society for the Preservation of Public Morality, do you not? The meetings are very uplifting, and practical, as well. For example, we would certainly advise you to seal up the passage between your garden and his.” She jerked her head in the direction of George’s house. “While you have taken the first steps to rid yourself of the man, temptation is likely to hover over your shoulder.”
With each passing minute, this day just kept growing more ridiculous. Perhaps I was still asleep and merely dreaming all this nonsense.
As she parted her lips to blather some additional platitudes, I raised my hand to stop her. “Mrs. Chiswick, you are speaking as if I have broken with my fiancé. I don’t know how you came to that conclusion, but you are mistaken.”
“But you drove off today in a hackney, when you generally use Hazelton’s carriage.”
I sent up a prayer for strength or patience or whatever would keep me from throttling her. “No one could fault your powers of observation, Mrs. Chiswick, but you have drawn the wrong conclusion. Mr. Hazelton is an innocent party in all matters involving Irena Teskey, and it pains me to hear you condemn him unjustly.”
She blinked. “But—”
“The police are working to bring this case to a speedy conclusion, and when they do, you will find I speak the truth. Until that happens, I can only hope that you and Jackson will keep your speculations to yourselves.”
Mrs. Chiswick drew in such a great gasp, I feared her imminent explosion. “I do not gossip, Lady Harleigh,” she said at last. “Such a scandal as this takes on a life of its own. One cannot keep it a secret, as you will undoubtedly learn.” She snapped around and jerked open the door. “I came here out of concern for you and your reputation. I now see that concern was misplaced.”
I closed the door behind the awful woman and stomped up and down the few paces of my entry hall. How does one become so sanctimonious? On the flimsiest of evidence, she had George tried and convicted. I was now convinced that staying away from him didn’t help me so much as it hurt him.
My mind made up, I took the garden path to George’s house and let myself in his drawing room, where I found him reading a book. He jumped to his feet as I stormed into the room.
“Frances, what’s wrong?”
“This.” I spread my arms wide, as if to embrace everything. “What we’re doing is wrong. Keeping my distance from you is wrong, or at least it just isn’t working for me. We shall have to adopt a different plan.”
His brow furrowed. “A different plan?”
“What I mean is we are both going to the Stoke-Whitney reception this evening. Together.” I gave him a sharp nod. “You may call for me at eight.”
Chapter Seventeen
Of course, it wasn’t that simple. I hesitated to tell him about my plan, in case the countess denied my request. Instead, I resorted to persistence and persuasion. Some might call it badgering. In fact, George used that word several times, but I finally won him over with a simple truth—no one would believe he was ill. They would say he was hiding and would assume the worst. If he stepped boldly into society, obviously in no danger of imminent arrest, those same people would begin to doubt the rumors whispered into their ears. I was not entirely sure if I convinced him or if he just grew weary of arguing with me, but he agreed to attend the reception.
My powers of persuasion had their limits, however. They failed me when it came to Aunt Hetty. Though I’d spent far more time working on her, Hetty stuck to her plan of a drive to the outskirts of the city with Gilliam, followed by an intimate dinner. She even used the same argument I’d used with George—that the man shouldn’t have to prove his innocence.
The lateness of the hour forced me to give up and ready myself for my own evening events. I was still in the midst of preparations with my maid when Hetty came to my room. She was dressed, coiffed, and ready to leave, though it was a full thirty minutes before Gilliam’s expected arrival—in an automobile, no less.
“Will this do, do you think?” Hetty did a slow spin beside my dressing table, while I strained to see her from the corner of my eye. Bridget was pulling my hair upward and had it in a grip so tight, there was no moving my head. I caught a flash of black with silver and white and knew which gown she wore.
“Why black? Are you in mourning?”
“Only for my lost youth.”
I jerked my head around instinctively, only to hear a loud sigh of exasperation behind me as my hair fell about my shoulders. “Apologies, Bridget.” I faced the mirror once more and addressed Hetty. “What on earth do you mean by that?”
Hetty waved a hand and stationed herself next to Bridget so we could see each other in the mirror. “Nothing really. I just need to remind myself that I
am much older than Mr. Gilliam, and I shouldn’t become carried away by his attentions. I’m sure he’s just hoping I’ll become his next partner.”
It took all my discipline not to jerk around again. “Surely you don’t still believe that? The man is completely besotted with you.”
She huffed. “How ridiculous.” She paused, but before I could speak, she added, “Do you really think so?”
“Indeed. At first, I thought he was just trying to entice you to open your purse, but after seeing him with you yesterday, I’ve dispensed with that theory. The man might have the theater in his blood, but no one is that good an actor.”
“He’s not an actor at all. What gave you that idea?”
That made me pause. “I suppose just his line of business. How did he become involved in the theater?”
“His father designed and built them, well, not theaters exclusively, but when he had his first commission for one, Gilliam was just a young man. He and his father visited every theater in Paris, judging the acoustics, the structure, and the materials. Gilliam became entranced with the idea of staging productions. The theater he owns in Paris is one his father built.”
Let that be a lesson to me not to make assumptions. “Apparently, your conversations have been about more than just business.”
Hetty stopped me from speculating further with a wave of her hand. “My conversations with Hazelton have been about more than business, too, as they’ve been with Lord Harleigh, for that matter. I don’t fancy that they have any designs on me.” She frowned. “I don’t want to imagine an attachment where one doesn’t exist. Gilliam and I are friends. My hope is that we can remain friends when I tell him I won’t be his partner.”
And I hoped he wouldn’t be charged with murder, or there might be prison visitations in Hetty’s future. She made a sensible point, but it seemed to me she was ignoring a few details. The Hanover was his second theater. Irena contributed her funding, but she didn’t pay for everything, so one would assume his Paris theater was successful. He should have no difficulty finding a partner. It was clear to me it wasn’t Hetty’s money he was after, but Hetty herself. How could she not see that?
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