The Candlelit Coffin (Lady Fan Mystery Book 4)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  Ottilia regarded him thoughtfully. “Is it because he is the only one to take a different view towards the candles?”

  With a surprised look, George demanded enlightenment.

  “He spoke of them as an homage to Dulcie’s beauty,” Francis said. “Better than leaving her body lying around to be half consumed by wild animals, or some such thing.”

  “Good God, you mean the fellow said that?”

  “He has a foul mouth on him and no respect for women. I should not be surprised to learn he had forced the girl or rendered her drunk for his purposes.”

  George’s face was a study and Ottilia had to smile. “Do not go thinking you had best arrest the fellow without more ado, George.” But she seized opportunity. “However, it occurs to me it might be well to check for these illicit gravediggers in Lyme Regis and Exeter.”

  His frowning gaze turned on her. “Why?”

  “Because Mrs Ferdinand recalls seeing Edgcott at both places.”

  “He told me he prefers the resorts to the West,” Francis chimed in. “Do you suppose he followed Ferdinando’s travels to have a touch at Dulcie when no rivals were by?”

  “Or he may have had other occasion to make such visits, Fan. If he has sold out, how does he live?”

  Francis shrugged. “I assume he has some means. He said he is not a warm man and complained of frittering his money on toys for Dulcie without result. He specifically mentioned he thought her mercenary and flying at higher game.”

  “Putting the scent on Charlton,” said George on a derisory note.

  “Yet according to Kate Drummond,” Ottilia put in, “Dulcie was debating whether to take ‘Perry’.”

  “Peregrine?”

  “Just so, Fan.”

  “The devil!” George threw up his eyes. “That throws it back on Paglesham.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “He boasted of conquest,” Francis reminded her.

  “True. And crucial. We must not forget she was enceinte. Whoever was the father had motive. Why kill her unless to be rid of the difficulty?”

  “Jealousy?”

  “A possibility, Fan, but a little far-fetched, I think.”

  He gave another of his snorts. “The reason was extremely far-fetched in Witherley, if you recall. There is no saying what will set off a murderous mind. You should know that better than most.”

  Ottilia frowned. “But character was key on that occasion. Your Edgcott sounds to be a man of stable mind at least, but is he so ruthless?”

  “Where women are concerned, yes.”

  “Ruthless enough to kill merely for jealousy?” demanded George with scepticism.

  “I’ve already surmised he is capable of forcefully overcoming Dulcie’s reluctance.”

  Ottilia set a hand on his arm. “We cannot rule it out that he did so, but would Dulcie wish to marry such a man? We know from Kate she was possessed of a conviction she was to enter society and mingle with this or that ladyship.”

  George jumped on this. “She spoke of Perry not Edgcott. She thought Paglesham would marry her?”

  “He wouldn’t,” Francis cut in. “He was specific on that point.”

  Ottilia felt obliged to quash this line. “He said so to you, Fan. That does not mean he did not lure Dulcie with false promises.”

  “Any of them could have done that,” George objected. “Including Charlton, though Fan does not think he fits the description.”

  “Except Robert Collins,” Francis pointed out. “He is already married.”

  “Yet I think we can be certain one of them did indeed make some sort of promise,” Ottilia went on, “whether of marriage or some other solution to Dulcie’s desperate problem. Dulcie at least believed that night she was destined for happiness. We also know she was drugged. If we take Fitzgerald’s story for truth, we know the man took her off in a coach around midnight.”

  “Which,” said George with obvious reluctance, “becomes more plausible since this boy told you the murderer came in a coach.”

  A stray thought made Ottilia throw out a hand. “Coaches, George!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She clicked an impatient tongue. “Who owns a coach?”

  “How the devil should I know? I doubt either Edgcott or Paglesham has the means, and Fitzgerald does not need one. And I had Ferdinand’s coaches checked while the funeral was going forward and there was nothing untoward discovered.”

  “But anyone might hire a coach,” said Francis. “Is that what you had in mind, Tillie?”

  “Just so. You must discover from the livery stables, George, if one was hired within the timeframe.”

  The colonel became brisk. “I’ll set Sullivan on to it. We may have to check outside of Weymouth. I’m going to see Shellow tomorrow so I’ll drive across to Lyme and possibly Exeter too. It’ll mean staying over, which is a nuisance, but it can’t be helped.”

  “You mean to check for Edgcott at those two theatres?”

  “I’ll question the locals there, but I’m hopeful Shellow will have his men hunt for the gravediggers.”

  “Excellent. And we should discover whether Fitzgerald owns a coach.”

  “Easy enough.”

  Ottilia found her husband’s eye on her. “Would Fitzgerald bring up the business of seeing a coach at all if he had been the man?”

  “A fair point, Fan.”

  “Unless he thought to throw suspicion away from himself because George clearly had him in his sights?”

  “From what George says of him, I am inclined to think him too level-headed to make so foolish a mistake.”

  “He’s overmuch level-headed, if you ask me,” said George in mordant fashion. “Conveniently so.”

  But Francis continued to keep his attention on Ottilia. “Then upon whom are you focused, Tillie? And pray don’t fall into your usual practice of refusing to say anything until you know more.”

  She could not resist throwing him a look of mischief. “I might, but I will not since I am reliant upon you for my discoveries.”

  “You need not be. It’s too late today, for I must go and fetch Mama directly. But if you feel up to it tomorrow, I could escort you to the Rooms to see these fellows for yourself.”

  “All well and good,” George cut in, “but at this present, if you please, Fan, I must insist upon her answering your question.”

  The demand was just. Ottilia smiled upon George. “Everything points to Paglesham or Edgcott. The trick is to discover which of them is lying.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was, to Ottilia’s dismay, still an ordeal to her to endure the crowding chatter of the Assembly Rooms, although her husband said the place was quieter than usual.

  “The fine weather must have drawn off a number to attempt one of these expeditions they talk of.”

  Ottilia did not respond. She felt disoriented, aware of many eyes that scrutinised her as Francis guided her towards the entrance to the card room in which she glimpsed Sybilla in a foursome. Her mother-in-law had attended at her usual time, leaving Francis to return to the lodgings to bring his wife at her leisure.

  A face loomed up before her in which she recognised the master of ceremonies.

  “Ah, Rodber, you have already met my wife.”

  The man was bowing with a flourish. “Indeed, my lord, and may I say it gives me great pleasure to be permitted to welcome your ladyship at last to our little assembly.”

  Ottilia thanked him, though she was tempted to decry his notion of ‘little’. The room seemed to her vast, with high ceilings and a deal of light splashing the tiled floor. She replied suitably and was glad when Francis evaded Mr Rodber’s efforts to take over. She caught a wave from her mother-in-law, accompanied by a narrow look of question, which Ottilia returned with a smile of reassurance. Sybilla had been dubious of the wisdom of the outing, although she understood the need for it once brought up to date with the state of the investigation. She gave a nod and returned to the game.

  “
The devil of it is,” said Francis in Ottilia’s ear as he guided her to a quieter part of the large room and found her a chair, “that neither of our fellows is in the place at this moment.”

  “Perhaps one of them will come in presently.”

  “Unless they have gone off on this infernal expedition. Well, if they don’t turn up, I’ll take you home again.” He was eyeing her with a frown. “You look decidedly peaky.”

  Ottilia tried for a measure of her customary self-possession. “I admit I find it a trifle overwhelming, but I dare say the feeling will pass.”

  “I don’t want you tiring yourself unnecessarily, Tillie. We can very well find another way.”

  “We may have to if neither of them come in.” She allowed her gaze to wander around the visitors and found most of the curious faces had returned to their occupations. “I never thought I should have occasion to be glad of your rank, Fan.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Thank my mother’s rather. She is senior among Weymouth’s visitors.”

  “Except for the King, should he appear to gratify Mr Rodber.”

  Her spouse laughed and she smiled, relaxing a little. In general, she loathed the social convention that dictated none would approach her, in such an assembly as this, without invitation or a formal introduction. Francis and the dowager being already known, her identity must be obvious. The drawback could not but obtrude.

  “It is of scant use either Edgcott or Paglesham appearing here, Fan, for how in the world are we to draw them apart?”

  “The deuce! I had not thought of that.”

  Ottilia sighed. “I shall have to mingle.”

  “No need. You may observe just as well from here. Ah, there’s Charlton just coming in from the entrance hall. Do you want to try him?”

  “By all means.”

  While Francis waited his chance to attract the man’s attention, Ottilia took opportunity to observe the stocky fellow who had entered, trying to put herself in Dulcibella’s place. He was certainly possessed of a good countenance with a patrician nose and a confident air, but he looked his years. What could attract a young beauty except for his rank and status? Yet she would be naïve indeed to suppose such a man might marry her.

  Charlton had caught Francis’s eye and was coming in their direction at his signalled invitation. Ottilia saw how a few eyes took note of this preference and was both amused and flustered at the exigencies of the social niceties.

  “Does the whole world know I am convalescent?”

  The agitated murmur drew her spouse’s attention and he laid a consoling hand on her arm for a brief moment. “I had to account for your absence.”

  Aware the undue interest lay in her belated appearance, Ottilia accepted this and turned her attention to Lord Charlton, who was bowing as Francis performed the introductions.

  “May we hope you are a little recovered, ma’am? I need scarcely say it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  Ottilia summoned a smile, wishing she might bypass the necessary preliminaries. “Thank you, sir, yes. I have found the sea air invigorating.”

  “Find a chair, Charlton, and join us for a moment, if you will.”

  A faint frown crossed the other’s face, but he complied, taking one of the empty chairs set around the walls and bringing it across. He sat down with his back to the room, which afforded a neat way of excluding others from disturbing them. An enquiry from Francis as to his daughters elicited a chuckle.

  “My little devils, you mean? They are grown as brown as berries and wild enough to drive their nurse demented. I shall be obliged to act the stern papa before daring to present them before their aunt and the governess.”

  The change in the man’s demeanour caused Ottilia to revise her first impression. He looked younger and an attraction of vitality possessed him as he talked.

  “Do not, I charge you, Fanshawe, allow anyone to tell you daughters are easier to bring up than sons. Deadlier by far than the male — saving your presence, Lady Francis.” He turned laughing eyes on Ottilia. “I adore them both to their little pink toes, but I quite dread the moment they begin upon flirtations. Both are already perfectly wicked in that line. A mere father is no match for them, I assure you.”

  Francis looked amused and Ottilia could not help laughing. “I had charge of my nephews for years, sir, and can vouch for it that boys are a perfect handful and quite as expert at getting their own way.”

  Charlton smiled. “Then I must hope to have that pleasure in store.”

  “Indeed I hope you will.” Ottilia gave him a speculative look. “I imagine you must be besieged, sir, in a place such as this.”

  He grimaced. “There are few eligibles, ma’am, and in truth, I come here for the pleasure of my girls rather than my own.”

  “But you contrive to enjoy your sojourn nevertheless,” Francis cut in, his tone deliberate, “when it is not interrupted by unnatural events.”

  A frown snapped in between Charlton’s brows and his sombre mien returned. “Are you at that again?” He glanced at Ottilia. “Scarcely a suitable subject for feminine ears, sir.”

  A mischievous gurgle escaped Ottilia and her spouse grinned.

  “You are mistaken, Charlton.” He lowered his voice. “I beg you will not spread it abroad, but it is my wife rather than I who is assisting Colonel Tretower.”

  Astonishment spread across the man’s face as he stared at Ottilia. “Is it indeed so, ma’am? I cannot think it possible.”

  She kept her gaze steady. “Quite unfeminine of me, is it not?” She seized on her usual excuse. “You see, my brother is a doctor and I have had occasion to see him at work, so nothing shocks me very much.”

  “What is more, she has solved murders several times in the past,” said her husband on a note of pride that could not but gratify her.

  Enlightenment entered Charlton’s features. “Good God! Do you mean —?” He broke off and cleared his throat.

  “Yes, I do mean the scandal in my family,” Francis said doggedly. “And other events since.”

  Charlton now looked upon Ottilia with a new eye, she thought. Interest mingled with wariness. He glanced from her to Francis and back. “You questioned me at your wife’s instigation?”

  “Correct.”

  His cheeks darkened and his eyes glinted. “I must confess myself somewhat insulted, ma’am, but no doubt that is neither here nor there.”

  “It is a pity, sir, and I am sorry for it,” Ottilia said. “Yet as I understand it, you were as anxious as any to have Dulcibella’s murderer brought to justice.”

  The fire died out of his face and he sighed. “I could not help but think of how I would feel if either of my precious babes was in her place.”

  “Be content, my lord. We have reason to judge you out of the running.”

  “Ottilia!”

  She cast an apologetic look upon her spouse. “Well, but it is true, Francis, and I had rather Lord Charlton worked with us than went off in a dudgeon, for which I could not blame him.”

  She turned a questioning gaze upon the man as she spoke, noting his frowning puzzlement. Did he believe her? Imperative he did not feel threatened if he was to be of use. She was fairly certain he was not the murderer, although she would not hesitate to name him should evidence come to light to say he was.

  He relaxed a little, a faint smile crossing his lips. “Well! You are an original, Lady Francis, I’ll give you that.”

  She was aware of her spouse’s ironic eye upon her, but she chose not to acknowledge it, merely waiting to see how Charlton decided to play it.

  He straightened in his chair and nodded. “How can I help you?”

  She began without preamble. “When was the last time you met with Dulcie, sir?”

  He did not look best pleased with the question, his eyes narrowing a trifle. Ottilia neither flinched nor gave sign she noticed, holding her gaze steady. She felt tension beside her and knew Francis was gearing to intervene should the man speak to her with less than the res
pect he considered her due.

  Charlton broke first, glancing away and back again. He cleared his throat. “How is this relevant?”

  “It may be.”

  He pursed his lips and dropped his eyes to the fingers of one hand, drumming on his knee. Ottilia waited, flicking a warning look at Francis to enjoin his silence. Was the man thinking of times, or forming an evasive reply?

  “It was an afternoon two or three days before she died. A Saturday, I think. I met her by chance as she came out of the theatre and walked with her along the Esplanade.”

  There was a constricted note in Charlton’s voice, which had dropped to a pitch low enough to be inaudible to any outside the little circle. Ottilia matched it.

  “How did she seem to you then?”

  He looked up and met her eyes, a faint frown in his own. “Distrait. A little troubled, I thought. That’s why I persuaded her to walk with me.”

  “Was she content to do so?”

  The frown intensified. “I did not think so. She seemed a little shy of me.”

  “As she had not been before?”

  Charlton gave a tiny sigh. “I thought she trusted me. Hoped it. But she denied being either anxious or distressed.” His hand curled into a tight fist. “I ought to have persisted, forced her confidence. I might have prevented…”

  He closed his lips, a burn at his eyes. Ottilia was seized with a clutch of compassion.

  “You could not have stopped it, sir. Dulcie was lured with a false promise of some kind. She expected a happy outcome.”

  “And was deceived?” The bitter note was marked. “Worse yet. Had I known who threatened her, I might have offered protection.”

  “My dear fellow, she did not know who threatened her,” put in Francis on a dry note. “Or even that she was threatened.”

  “Except,” said Ottilia with deliberation, “for the menace of becoming a mother without being a wife.”

  Shock leapt in Charlton’s eyes and his countenance whitened. “Oh, dear God! The very thing I warned her of!” A trace of horror entered in. “That was why? He disposed of the infant as well?”

  Francis reached across to lay a hand on Ottilia’s and grip it, his tone minatory. “Careful, Charlton. It is not generally known.”