The Convenient Murder

by Clare Jayne

  Henry’s eyes promised retribution for her words but, after what he had said about Eddie, she would willingly face even a beating rather than meekly obey him.

  “I am not certain that they intend to find the killer,” Mr McDonald said in an indifferent way.

  She stared at him. He must be wrong. Her friends could not let her down in such a way after she had defied her family to seek their help.

  “There, you see,” Henry said to her in a nasty tone. “Your unladylike curiosity on this grisly subject has got you nowhere. No one else has any interest in contemplating the crime further.”

  “You misunderstand me,” Mr McDonald said, frowning as if he realised he was contributing to a family quarrel. “Mr and Mrs MacPherson simply feel that there is nothing for them to do since the King has sent an officer to find the killer.”

  His words were clearly designed to assuage her disappointment but they failed to do so. What could some stranger find out? This death was personal: she had known the murdered man and had probably met his killer. She needed to make sense of what had happened.

  “Then that is a clear sign that we should all put the unfortunate business behind us,” Henry said, looking pointedly at her.

  This seemed to be what they all wanted but they would not have their way. If she could not rely on others to solve the murder, she would do it herself.

  Chapter Seven

  ANOTHER WEEK passed before Miss Chiverton was able to act on her plan to look into the murder. Her parents had arrived in Edinburgh yesterday, her father’s business at their country estate settled, and Henry’s time had been spent with him instead of on making Fiona miserable.

  Tonight their entire family – other than Eddie, who was still away somewhere with Alex – were attending a musical evening held by Lady Tinsbough. Fiona had had little interest in it until she saw a familiar tall, dark haired woman: Lady Tabor. She did not know if there was any foundation to her suspicion that the woman had been having an affair with Lord Strand, but Lady Tabor had been seated close to the murdered man at dinner and had spent time with him at the subsequent dance, so she must know something useful.

  A famous pianist was introduced to the guests and Fiona reluctantly put off her plan and sat down beside her mother to listen to the music. The first song played was one she had no great liking for and she surreptitiously glanced round at the seated guests, since it was possible that another person from Lord Strand’s party might be here. The only person she recognised was Mr McDonald and she was still feeling resentful towards him despite the fact that the bad news he had delivered last week had not been any fault of his. She seemed to have spent a lot of time over the last year being irritated by him and could only conclude that their personalities were entirely incompatible. It was a shame he seemed to mix in all the same social circles as her family since that made it impossible for her to avoid him. Indeed, it sometimes seemed as if he deliberately sought her out in order to annoy her.

  The recital lasted for at least an hour and consisted of all the gloomiest tunes Fiona could imagine so she missed its end and had to pull herself from her thinking up a list of questions to ask Lady Tabor to belatedly clap her hands together.

  After the extended stillness, everyone began talking and moving about, jewels sparkling in the candlelight. Fiona stood up and took three paces towards Lady Tabor before a familiar figure stepped in front of her.

  “Good evening, Miss Chiverton,” Mr McDonald said. “Mrs Waterson gave an excellent performance, did she not?”

  “Indeed she did,” Mama agreed, as Fiona’s entire family joined her.

  She bit back a sigh of frustration at having her plans thwarted and glanced over at Lady Tabor, who was now also engaged in conversation, almost hidden from sight by the half a dozen people around her. She seemed to be popular although Fiona could see no man nearby who might be Lord Tabor and she wondered at his continued absence from her side. If their marriage was not a happy one, it gave greater credence to the idea of a romantic involvement between Lady Tabor and the late Lord Strand.

  “Do you not think so?” Mr McDonald said and she realised he was looking at her for a response.

  “Think what?” she enquired.

  “Mr McDonald was saying that music is one of the most pleasurable forms of entertainment,” her father said, with a look that told her she had better pay more attention from now on. “We certainly agree with that. We have always found balls rather too boisterous for our tastes.”

  Fiona had never found them to be anything of the sort but disagreeing with her father would only get her into trouble again. The group spoke around her for some time and then, finally, split up, with half the party heading off to collect drinks from the footmen pouring them out for guests. The others went to converse with acquaintances.

  “May I fetch you a drink, Miss Chiverton?” Mr McDonald asked and she bit back irritation at his continued presence. She was a bit thirsty but he would be bound to return too soon and catch her interviewing Lady Tabor, so it was safer to politely rebuff him.

  “No, thank you, but please carry on and collect one for yourself.”

  He left her with a look she could not interpret and she walked over to Lady Tabor, who was talking with two other married ladies, a regal air about her as if she knew her own importance. It would be better to speak to her alone but Fiona would miss her chance if she waited any longer. Lady Tabor was a tall, striking woman who wore a green silk dress that matched the unusual shade of her eyes.

  The ladies threw Fiona disdainful looks as she approached, as if to ask what she thought she was doing trying to mix with her betters, which was not a good start. She fixed a smile on her face and, after introducing herself, said, “I hope you will pardon me for interrupting your conversation but I saw you, Lady Tabor, and, having been so haunted by the terrible death of Lord Strand myself, I wanted to check if you were in need of someone to talk to about it.”

  “We were shocked to hear what had happened ourselves,” one of the women said, unintentionally helping her. “You did not see the...” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “... The body yourself, did you?”

  “I did.” Fiona gave a theatrical shiver she hoped was convincing. “I will never forget it. But, Lady Tabor, you must be far more distressed than I, since I believe you and your husband were better acquainted with Lord Strand?”

  The other woman all looked at Lady Tabor, who lifted her chin and looked down at Fiona with a frown. “I cannot imagine what gave you that idea. My husband and I are invited to countless social engagements by people who wish to increase their standing in society. We knew only that Lord Strand and his family were people of quality. We had barely spoken to him before.”

  The way Lady Tabor was emphasising the ‘we’ when she had attended the event alone, made it seem more likely than ever that there was something suspicious. “Please excuse me,” Fiona said. “I clearly misunderstood. But you did talk to Lord Strand for some time on the night he died. Did he give you any idea of who might have had a grudge against him or been angry with him?”

  “I do not like the tone of your questions, Miss Chiverton, particularly when you are not someone I am in any way acquainted with. Your interest in such a disgusting deed is unladylike in the extreme.”

  “Yes, are you not friendly with Mr and Mrs MacPherson, who go around accusing decent people of ugly crimes?” another woman asked and Fiona was caught between wishing to defend her friends and thinking up an excuse to explain her questions.

  “Should I suppose that your presence here means you wish to try and blame me for Lord Strand’s death?” Lady Tabor’s pale eyes flashed. “How dare you!”

  “N-no,” Fiona stuttered. “That is not what I intended in the least.”

  “You should not be allowed to come into good society and behave with such a complete lack of manners,” Lady Tabor said. “Where are your parents? By the time I have finished speaking to them, you will never attend another function.”

&nb
sp; “Lady Tabor,” said a familiar voice and, just to complete the humiliation, Fiona turned to find Mr McDonald standing nearby. “Miss Chiverton’s comments were certainly tactless but she has had a terrible shock, as we all have. I am quite certain that she spoke to you only for the purpose of sharing her own concerns over what happened to poor Lord Strand. I hope you can be generous and overlook her clumsy words.”

  “Very well, Mr McDonald,” Lady Tabor said in a calmer tone, “since I know you to be a true gentleman, I will do so.”

  Fiona curtsied, her face burning. “Thank you, my lady, and I offer my sincerest apologies for causing offence.”

  She let Mr McDonald lead her away from the group, feeling sick and shaken. She had never expected that asking a few questions would result in so much anger.

  “Miss Chiverton,” her companion said in a gentle tone, “I understand that the work Mr and Mrs MacPherson do must seem exciting to you, but I hope this experience will teach you your limits. You are young and unmarried and could easily damage your reputation if you continue to take an interest in unladylike matters. There, I believe your mama is looking for you.”

  He gave her a nudge in her mother’s direction, like a shepherd returning a helpless lamb to its parent. The worst part was that, without his assistance, her parents would have learned what she had done and might never have allowed her out into society again, while her father would probably have immediately married her off to someone she detested. She had never felt more embarrassed and wanted to argue with Mr McDonald over his condescending words, but she owed him a considerable debt of gratitude that made it impossible to do otherwise than obey him.

  Chapter Eight

  EWAN RETURNED from lunch with Mr McDonald and, joining Ishbel in the drawing room, he told her what had occurred to Miss Chiverton the previous evening. She put her medical text book down on the oak coffee table beside her to listen while he warmed his hands over the flames dancing in the fireplace and then took a seat opposite her.

  “Poor Miss Chiverton,” Ishbel said, thinking of how the young woman must have felt. “I was treated in a similar way a number of times and there is nothing more humiliating.”

  “She is clearly determined to find out what happened to Lord Strand and I do not believe it would be fair to allow her to do so unassisted.”

  Ewan sounded worried, as if she might object to this, and Ishbel could not help but laugh, bringing an answering smile – albeit a confused one – to his own lips. “I must confess that the crime has been on my mind and I am not exactly reluctant to take it up again.”

  “Then it is settled,” he said, relaxing in his chair. “Mr Williamson – if it is he who is handling the matter for the king – might be glad to have a couple more people working on the matter. If not, we can simply pursue a separate exploration of the facts.”

  She nodded. “Perhaps we should begin by letting Miss Chiverton know what we are doing. If we both go to her house, we might be able to interview her family and have a private word with her about it. That way we can hopefully convince her not to continue asking questions alone.”

  “That sounds like a good plan,” he agreed.

  He had always been on her side, Ishbel thought with a surge of affection, even from the first crime they had looked into together, while she had still been unsure what to make of him. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek and he touched her face tenderly. Such intimacies still felt scandalous; she had to keep reminding herself that no one would condemn them for such actions now they were married. It sometimes seemed bizarre to her that one short ceremony could change all the rules of behaviour expected of people. Not that either one of them had ever heedlessly followed society’s expectations.

  They left the warm sanctuary, getting into an icy carriage to visit the Chiverton family. Ishbel had seen enough of them to know that Miss Chiverton had a difficult life, wanting to stretch her mind and experience the world while constantly being told to take on a conventional role, being encouraged to accept the offer of any gentleman instead of waiting to find love. If there was anything Ishbel could do to help her, she would.

  All the family except for their friend, Mr Edward Chiverton, assembled in the drawing room to see them. Ewan was a respectable gentleman and, now that they were married, she had been endowed with the same respectability, so despite the fact they associated with a son the family had disowned and that they regularly solved crimes, they were greeted politely.

  Ewan discreetly nodded to her and Ishbel said, “May I have your permission to speak to Miss Chiverton alone, Mr Chiverton?” she asked the older gentleman. “I know she has had an upsetting experience recently and hope to distract her from it with more domestic matters.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  Miss Chiverton’s expression was shuttered as they walked out into the hall and then off into a small room that Ishbel presumed was a sewing room. A footman followed them in and saw to the fire before leaving to fetch tea.

  When he was gone Ishbel turned to her friend, “Ewan and I heard what happened last night. I was so sorry to find out that you endured such an unpleasant scene.”

  “I thought you might berate me too,” Miss Chiverton said in a shaky tone, the lines of tension vanishing from her face.

  “Why should I, when I have been in the same position many times?”

  “It was so awful.” Miss Chiverton told her what she had intended and what had happened.

  Ishbel held the younger woman’s hand as she listened and gave it a sympathetic squeeze before letting go and sitting back in her chair. “I think you discovered more than you realise.”

  Miss Chiverton’s expression brightened. “What do you mean?”

  “Lady Tabor’s reaction was defensive in the extreme. From her behaviour towards Lord Strand at the dinner, it seems likely that she lied to you when she said she barely knew him, which means she is hiding something. She also avoided answering your question about knowing anyone with a grudge against him. That may mean nothing, but it is suspicious.”

  “I see what you mean,” Miss Chiverton responded, with a return of her former confidence. “She made me feel so stupid that I overlooked why she was being so hostile.”

  Ishbel hesitantly broached the other subject that had been on her mind, not wanting to give offence but needing to hear the entire truth. “Forgive me, but when you gave your account of what had happened during the visit to Lord Strand’s estate, I could not help feeling as if you too might be hiding something.”

  Miss Chiverton made a face and her shoulders slumped a little. “I should have told you about it from the start but that, too, was a humiliating experience.”

  * * *

  “May I claim my dance, Miss Chiverton?” Lord Strand asked her with a warm smile that, after what she had seen of his behaviour at dinner, made her uneasy.

  There was no polite way to turn him down, so she put her gloved hand on his arm and let him lead her onto the dance area. They stood in their own lines, men and women facing each other, and then the music began and they walked, turned and skipped through the moves of the dance. Fiona’s nerves faded as her partner remained polite and friendly and she finished the dance in a good mood. He bowed at the end and she curtsied, then he held out his arm to lead her back to her family.

  As she took it she saw Lady Tabor watching them with a furrowed brow. Fiona could not hasten her steps as, walking beside Lord Strand, she had to match his walk and he seemed in no hurry at all, pausing to bow to other guests. He stopped altogether in front of the windows that overlooked the formal garden at the back of the grounds, although little of it could be seen in the darkness.

  “Such a lovely view, I always think, and an even lovelier lady to share it with.” There was something possessive in the way he was looking at her.

  “You are too kind, sir, but I think I must get back to my family. My brother dislikes me spending time alone with any man.”

  “Just as he should,” he agreed with a smile. H
e started moving again and she saw, with relief, that Henry and Anne were standing only a few feet away conversing with several other couples. “But you will be alone later.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He leaned closer and she stiffened in panic. Her eyes met those of Mr McDonald and he frowned, apparently seeing her distress, and began to hurry over to her. Lord Strand whispered in her ear, “I will come to your room tonight, my dear.”

  She gasped and was ready to tell him to do no such thing, but he was already bowing and walking away.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She started at the voice but it was only Mr McDonald and, for once, she was glad of his felicity. “Lord Strand said something beyond belief. He cannot have been serious.” That was it, she thought. He had been joking – a poor jest, but that had to be all it was.

  “What did he say?”

  “I cannot repeat it.”

  “I will fetch your brother.”

  She grabbed his arm before he could go, knowing that Henry would certainly see the words as the gravest of insults. He might even issue the challenge for a duel and, as annoying as he was, she did not wish to see her brother dead. The thought was horrible. With no other choice, she quietly told Mr McDonald what Lord Strand had said to her.

  “That scoundrel,” he exclaimed. “I will call him out.”

  She rolled her eyes. Was no man capable to behaving in a rational way? “You will do no such thing. It was an appalling jest and I will ignore it.”

  “Miss Chiverton,” Mr McDonald said in the tone she hated. It was the one that suggested that she was an innocent child in need of being told what to do by an intelligent man. “You know nothing of the world...”

  She pursed her lips. Why had she told him of all people what had occurred? Why had he even accepted the invitation to stay here? It was all Eddie’s fault. If he had never become friends with Mr McDonald, she would not be standing here now listening to yet another lecture from him.