by Clare Jayne
* * *
Miss Chiverton had taken one look Mr Nailor’s arrogant face and had entered the drawing room hurriedly, not wanting to have anything to do with someone Henry referred to as a friend. Anne reached her side just as a slender gentleman approached her with a warm smile.
“I have not had the honour of an introduction to you, my dear,” he said in a cultured voice. “I hope you will allow the impertinence since we are in my home, after all.”
“Lord Strand?” She curtsied and he made her an elegant bow. “I am Miss Chiverton. I know my parents will be sorry to have missed this party but they are out of Edinburgh at present. This is my brother’s wife, Mrs Anne Chiverton.”
He bowed to Anne and said to Miss Chiverton. “I also regret that I will not have the pleasure of your parents’ company. It has clearly been far too long since I last saw them if I missed seeing their daughter turn into such a rare beauty.”
She was flattered despite herself. Although he was a much older man and, of course, married, his admiration seemed sincere and he was not what she had expected from Mr McDonald’s description. He was a handsome man who seemed nothing but friendly. She certainly detected none of the faults she had been warned about.
“You are kind, My Lord. My family and I are delighted to be here. It makes a most pleasant change to be in such lovely surroundings when Edinburgh has been so gloomy lately.” Realising this might sound like a criticism of the city’s people, she added, “The weather, I mean.”
“I feel just the same. The constant hail and frost have been tedious but I am sure we are due for a change and I will endeavour to brighten the next week at least for the two of you. We will have some dancing later and I would be honoured if you would both allow me a reel.”
She agreed to this and Henry arrived just as Anne said she would have to obtain her husband’s permission. There was another round of introductions and by the time the subject of dancing had been worn out, dinner was announced.
Lord Strand led the procession to the dining room with his wife and, of course, Henry walked beside Anne. Miss Chiverton was not certain where in the line she should be, or with whom, but a young red-haired gentleman approached her and held out his arm.
“May I accompany you?” he asked and introduced himself as Mr Gell. It was not entirely proper to speak to an unknown gentleman on the basis of so informal an approach, but there was no one around whom she knew to effect a better introduction, so she permitted it and accepted his arm. It helped that he was young and attractive.
As they walked he said, “Lord Strand and I are old acquaintances, although I have not had the pleasure of getting to know his family until now.”
They entered the dining room which was designed in Gothic style, full of plain dark furniture. It was not the current fashion but she liked it. Mr Gell’s seat was marked as being some distance from hers and he left her with some signs of reluctance, having first requested to dance with her later.
She sat down next to an older man with greying hair and an old-fashioned style of beard. He stood to offer her a quick bow and so she got up once more to curtsy. “I’m Mr McIntoll,” he said as they both sat down again and she pulled the expensive skirt of her evening gown taut to prevent creases. She repeated his name in her head so she would not lose track of the collection of names she had already heard this evening and the faces that went with them.
She introduced herself and her family, since Anne was seated nearby and Henry, opposite. He gave a brief nod to Mr McIntoll before resuming his conversation with the man he had spoken to earlier, his time clearly too important to be wasted on them.
“This is a finely decorated table, is it not?” Mr McIntoll said in a hearty manner and, after she agreed, he said to a young man who was also seated nearby, “Your mother has excellent taste, my boy.”
The blond haired man was introduced as Lord Cameron, Lord Strand’s son. He had a nervous air that vanished as he conversed with Mr McIntoll with enough familiarity to suggest that they were old acquaintances.
“McIntoll,” Lord Strand bellowed from the end of the table, “you are seated there to entertain the young ladies on either side of you, not my over-indulged son.”
He spoke with a smile, as if joking, and the guests around him laughed but Fiona saw that the smile Mr McIntoll gave in response was forced and, when she glanced round, Lord Cameron had flushed red and once more had an uncomfortable frown on his face. She recalled Mr McDonald’s earlier warnings about Lord Strand and wondered if there was something in them after all.
She studied her host for a moment. He was now conversing with the young lady beside him, smiling at her with the charm he had previously bestowed on Fiona. She wondered how her hostess was taking this slightly flirtatious behaviour and looked at the opposite end of the table, where Lady Strand was concentrating on her soup. Someone laughed loudly nearby and Lady Strand flinched, convincing Fiona that there was something wrong in this family. She wished now that she had not agreed to dance with Lord Strand, but she had hardly had a choice, as it would have been impolite to refuse.
She noticed that she was not the only one watching their host. An elegant woman dressed in expensive blue silk and a sapphire necklace was also looking in his direction. Lord Strand noticed her and smiled, raising his glass to her; she responded by lifting her own glass.
“Mr McIntoll,” Fiona said, “do you know the name of the lady dressed in blue.”
He followed her gaze. “Ahh, that is Lady Tabor. I am surprised you have not met her in Edinburgh, as she and her husband frequently host grand dinners and balls, but of course you are very young, my dear.”
He spoke in a kind, fatherly way so she took no offence at his familiarity. “And which gentleman is her husband?”
His lips twitched. “None. She came here alone.”
His reaction hinted at some kind of scandal. Lady Tabor would hardly be the first married woman to have an affair, if that was indeed what was going on, and the man most likely to be her paramour seemed to be Lord Strand. She studied the two people again, noting Lady Tabor’s beauty and air of sophistication and the knowing look in Lord Strand’s pale eyes as he watched her.
“How is it that you know Lord Strand?” she asked Mr McIntoll, intrigued by the undercurrents in the relationships here.
“We have known one another for practically a lifetime,” he said, surprising her, since she had detected no warmth between him and their host. “I am almost an uncle to Lord Cameron.”
The young lord overheard this and gave a pleased smile. “Mr McIntoll has always been a most welcome visitor here. It has been pleasant to see a friendly face since I returned home.”
Fiona leaned forward to see him more clearly around the other guests at the table. “I believe I heard that you were at school in England. It must have been fascinating to see more of the world.”
She had always longed to travel and envied her brother, Eddie, his recent excursions with Alex. She would probably never have the opportunity to go anywhere.
Lord Cameron’s expression darkened, although he said, “It was interesting.”
Lord Strand must have caught the subject of their conversation, despite the half dozen people between them, as he said loudly, “My son had the best education imaginable and has returned home knowing even less than when he left.” He laughed. “But I suppose not everyone can be blessed with a good mind.”
Fiona’s breath caught at the public insult, knowing how she would feel were her father to speak of her in such a way, and she looked at Lord Cameron, who was flushed scarlet. Although his eyes were downcast, Fiona saw something dark flash in them.
“He always says nonsense when he has been drinking,” Mr McIntoll said to the younger man who nodded curtly.
Other guests paid these words little heed but Fiona felt nothing but tension from those around her for the remainder of the meal. When it was at last over she was happy to leave for the larger space of the ballroom, forgetting momentarily t
o whom she had promised her first dance.
* * *
“Lord Strand asked me to dance and ...” Miss Chiverton trailed off and was silent for so long that Ishbel thought that she must have forgotten she had not finished the account. Miss Chiverton finally spoke again, her gaze fixed on her gloved hands, as she said in a rush “... And by the next morning he was dead.”
Ishbel wondered if the change in Miss Chiverton’s manner was due to seeing something distressing. “Did you see the body?”
“Yes.” The question seemed to pull the younger woman from her distraction as she looked up and met Ishbel’s eyes, the former agitation gone from her face. “He was lying dead in his study, still dressed in his clothes from the previous night’s entertainment. There was a strong odour of vomit from him so I wondered if he might have been poisoned.”
So much for the idea that seeing the corpse had upset her. Miss Chiverton’s detailed description betrayed no unhappiness over what she had viewed. Then what had she kept from them and why, when she had clearly been the one who wanted them to solve the matter, would she hide any information about the crime?
Chapter Five
“OUR FRIENDS seem to have had an upsetting weekend,” Ewan said when Miss Chiverton and Mr McDonald had left.
“Yes,” Ishbel agreed, “yet I got the feeling that a dead body was the least of what went wrong.”
“I am sure it was more of a shock than we realise for them to have actually been in the house of someone who was killed in such a way.”
“I felt as if we only heard part of what happened,” Ishbel said, thinking about the behaviour of their friends. Mr McDonald had agreed with the basic facts provided in Miss Chiverton’s description but he had disagreed with her interpretation of people’s relationships, believing that Mr McIntoll’s relationship had been nothing but friendly with Lord Strand, that Miss Chiverton was reading far too much into the brief interaction between Lord Strand and Lady Tabor, and that Lord Strand had a perfectly amicable relationship with his son and wife.
“It seemed as if they were describing two utterly different dinners,” Ewan said, frowning, “but, of course, they are trying to find an explanation for a murder based on only the briefest acquaintanceship with possible suspects, so their ideas about relationships are little more than speculation.”
“I dislike saying such a thing but it seemed as if Miss Chiverton was hiding something important about the night of the murder.”
“She shared a dance with a man who was later killed. Do not forget that Miss Chiverton has not been out long in society and is an innocent young woman. However calm her demeanour, the events she witnessed must have been a terrible shock.”
Ishbel thought that her husband still viewed Miss Chiverton as the baby sister of one of his closest friends and as little more than a child. While Ishbel did not doubt that the weekend had been difficult for Miss Chiverton, she had a high opinion of the lady’s intelligence and good sense and was sure there was something else going on. Apart from anything else, both Miss Chiverton and Mr McDonald had spoken as if they had had a cordial relationship during the visit, but it was clear from their irritation with each other today that they had argued since then. “So are we agreed to look into the murder?”
He gave her a fond smile, clearly seeing through her indifferent air, and said, “I think we should certainly speak to Lord Strand’s family and ascertain whether they wish us to solve the crime. I was slightly acquainted with Lord Strand myself, since he attended many of the same entertainments as I did, so I know where his family’s town house is located.”
“We should probably leave at once then.” She felt a rush of anticipation at the prospect of the enquiry.
“Certainly,” Ewan agreed, getting to his feet. He held out his arm to her and she smiled as she took it. He briefly put his hand over hers and, as they shared an affectionate glance, she stored this memory away with all the other precious moments of their married life together over the last few months. She walked into the hall at his side, only then recalling her disagreement with the butler and happy to have other things to concentrate on.
Their carriage took them across the city to a large house in the old part of the city. The street was quiet – away from the bustle of the shops – and had good views of the surrounding countryside. Ishbel and Ewan were shown into the drawing room, where the usual signs of mourning were evident in the stopped clock and black drape over a painting of the deceased. In response to their request to see the master and mistress of the house, they were told that Lady Strand was still in the country, presumably at the estate where her husband had just died. It seemed peculiar to Ishbel that the woman would wish to remain in a place where such an event had occurred.
The young blond man who came to greet them minutes later wore no black band to signify grief and his eyes held a lively expression, as if nothing untoward had occurred. “Mr and Mrs MacPherson?”
It still sounded odd to Ishbel to hear this new name. The men bowed to each other and she curtsied. Ewan said, “I only slightly knew your father, Lord Cameron, but I wished to pay my condolences.”
“That is kind. I am, of course, now Lord Strand.”
“Yes, indeed. Please forgive my error,” Ewan responded easily while Ishbel thought how quick the son was to lay claim to his new title. “My wife and I have some experience in solving murders and wondered if you might require our assistance at this difficult time.”
“There is no need for you to trouble yourselves,” the young Lord Strand said dismissively. “My father was an important man so the King is sending an officer to look into his death.”
“Is that Mr Williamson?” Ishbel asked. She had not met the man but had seen him giving evidence at the trial of William Brodie in the courtroom where she had first met Ewan. George Williamson was the King’s Messenger for Scotland and she knew that, among his other duties, he had been involved in catching several of the more notorious criminals in the region.
“I do not recall the name,” Lord Strand said, giving every sign that he would rather concern himself with other matters. This was certainly no loving family. Indeed, his reactions suggested that his father’s death had had nothing but a positive effect on his life.
“You and Lady Strand are not worried that someone you know might be extremely dangerous?” Ewan asked, clearly thinking the same things as her and wanting to find out more about the young man’s feelings.
“I am quite sure that is not the case. It was most likely a stranger, perhaps trying to rob my father.”
“Was there evidence of an attempted theft?”
“Well, no...” The young man looked flustered. “I am not certain. I do thank you for your offer of help but, as I have said, it is not needed. I fear there are a great many arrangements to be made before my father’s funeral, so I must bid you good day.”
On this abrupt note, they took their leave of him and left the house.
As the carriage began to lead them away, Ishbel said, “It might simply be that he has faith in Mr Williamson’s ability to handle the matter, but it seemed as if the new Lord Strand had no desire whatsoever to see his father’s murderer caught.”
Chapter Six
“I SOMETIMES wonder where you could possibly have learned such disobedient behaviour from, Fiona,” Henry exclaimed as he stood in a self-important stance beside the fireplace in the drawing room, his wife seated nearby, looking down at her embroidery. “Did I not say that you ladies should banish this sordid matter from your thoughts?”
“Yes, dear,” Anne responded at once, lifting her head to shoot her sister-in-law a reproving glance.
“Miss Campbell... That is, Mrs MacPherson and her husband have solved many similar murders,” Fiona said, standing beside the door, wishing she had never mentioned the visit. “Naturally I thought that they would wish to hear my description of the events.”
“Then I will say this for the last time. You are to forget all about Lord Strand’s death and devo
te your thoughts to more appropriate matters. Have you been reading passages from the Bible daily, as father bade you to do? You can learn from the sacred book about the sorrows that are visited upon wilful women who do not obey men.”
“I certainly recall that the crime of murder is said in the Bible to be the worst of all transgressions,” she responded.
Henry pursed his lips and glared at her, annoyance turning his entire face red, the expression having the unfortunate effect of making him resemble a child on the verge of a tantrum. Before he could respond, though, the butler came in. “Mr McDonald is here to pay his respects, sir.”
“Again?” Henry responded curtly. “I thought he would lose interest in our family in the absence of my degenerate brother.”
Fiona gasped at this insult. She was ready to say that Eddie was fifty times more worthy a man than Henry was, but Mr McDonald was shown in. If he had overheard any of what was said, he gave no sign of it, as he wore his usual slightly patronising expression and greeted Henry with no discomfort. He bowed in a dignified manner to the ladies and Fiona curtsied in response, Anne putting down her embroidery and rising to do the same.
“I just wanted to check that the ladies were quite well after the distressing events of Sunday and the long journey home.”
Fiona glanced at Anne and, out of the blue, had to hold back laughter at her sister-in-law’s difficulty in making a response, since she had just been forbidden to think about the murder by her husband. Anne shot Henry a worried look and settled for nodding to Mr McDonald.
Fiona wondered if he had some other purpose for his visit since she had seen him just yesterday, when they had been on no particularly friendly terms, and she had certainly not been in need of help in recovering from the situation surrounding Lord Strand’s death. “I am in perfect health, thank you, Mr McDonald and should Mr and Mrs MacPherson require any more information about what happened on Sunday, I would be happy to oblige them.”