Doctor Pellew bowed slightly. “As your ladyship pleases.” He turned back to Lord Francis. “By the time I saw the late Lady Polbrook, a degree of rigor had set in, which must put the time of decease more than four hours earlier.”
“What time was it when you arrived here, eight or nine?”
“Past nine,” put in Colonel Tretower, “for it must have been near nine by the time I answered your summons and Pellew came after me.”
“I can tell you precisely, my lord,” said the doctor, removing from an inner recess in his costume a small notebook, which he consulted through a pair of spectacles acquired from the same place.
Ottilia noted, with some amusement, the impatience in both mother and son as they waited, the dowager going so far as to click her tongue.
“It was seventeen minutes past the hour, my lord. I set it down along with my findings to pass to the coroner.”
“Around five in the morning, then,” said Tretower.
“More than four hours, George.”
“Four o’clock?”
“It is impossible to be exact,” said the doctor firmly. “One might put it as early as three or a little after, for there are many factors to be taken into consideration. It is an inexact science with a large margin for error.”
“Then we may safely say at least that it was no later than five, may we not?” suggested the colonel.
The doctor pursed his lips. “I would say four and thirty at the outside, and I believe that is conservative.”
Which, as far as could presently be judged, placed the absent Marquis of Polbrook on the premises at the time. Ottilia, glancing at the dowager, saw dismay in her eyes. Looking to Lord Francis, who was markedly silent, she found him heavily frowning. Which was hardly a surprise when one considered how much blacker was the case against his brother under this supposition.
The doctor, having delivered himself of this unwelcome deduction, then made a move to take his leave. No one attempted to detain him, and with a punctilious bow to the dowager, he departed.
Ottilia found Lord Francis’s eyes upon her, their expression serious but eager.
“It appears we are even more in need of that ray of hope you proffered, Mrs. Draycott. Will you tell us what you found, if you please?”
It was not a recital to which Ottilia was looking forward. All eyes were now fixed upon her. She looked towards each in turn. “I shall be perfectly frank, I warn you.”
The dowager emitted a derisive noise. “We are already becoming accustomed to your tendency to be outspoken, although it is scarcely the proper obsequious manner to be expected from your calling.”
“Thank God for it,” came from Lord Francis, moving to bring forward a straight-backed chair and set it near his mother. “It comes as a welcome relief, ma’am. Your poor Teresa is positively cringing in her manner.”
Colonel Tretower cocked an amused eye at Ottilia. “You do not cringe, Mrs. Draycott?”
“I am not known for it, I confess.”
“You appear to be an odd sort of companion.”
Ottilia laughed. “I am a novice.”
“She is also intelligent and astute,” put in Lord Francis, taking his seat. “We are relying on her ingenuity to extricate us in this extremity.”
Tretower looked intrigued. “Indeed? A tall order, ma’am.”
“Yes, and I have little expectation of fulfilling it,” said Ottilia, a touch of acid in her tone. “But as I told Lord Francis, I think we may at the very least cast doubt on his brother’s being responsible for the unfortunate Lady Polbrook’s demise.”
The dowager’s black eyes showed painful anxiety. “After what Pellew said, I am eager for any scrap of hope, however slim. Waste no more time, I pray you. Tell us everything.”
Thus adjured, Ottilia took a sip from her glass and marshalled her thoughts. “I think there can be no question but that the marchioness entertained a lover in her chamber last night.”
“I knew it!” burst from the dowager.
“How can you tell that?” asked Lord Francis. “Has it to do with what you were looking at on the daybed in there?”
“In part.” Ottilia explained about the position of the dressing robe and the construction that might be placed upon it.
The dowager looked disappointed. “Well, it is possible, I suppose. But hardly convincing.”
“In itself, no,” Ottilia agreed. “But that is not the full sum of it.”
Lord Francis’s eyes were fixed on her face in an intent look she found a trifle uncomfortable. “Go on.”
Ottilia took another fortifying sip of Madeira. “I took time to look around the dressing room, which was in considerable disorder. Lady Polbrook seems to have divested herself of—pardon me—her undergarments, in something of a hurry. We know she had donned her nightgown and dressing robe. She had also applied paint and powder to her face.”
There was a silence while her audience digested these facts. The dowager looked rather disgusted, while Lord Francis was frowning in thought. The colonel was the first to enter a caveat.
“Forgive my plain speaking, but with the condition of Lady Polbrook’s features, it is surely impossible to say whether or not she had applied aids to beauty.”
The other two looked struck, but Ottilia firmly shook her head. “Oh no, sir, there are quite visible traces.”
“Indeed?”
“Enlighten us, pray,” cut in Lord Francis.
Ottilia glanced at the dowager. “You found the inspection more difficult than you had supposed, ma’am. Are you sure you want to hear this?”
The dowager waved an impatient hand. “It will be long before I forget. Nothing you say could make it any worse.”
“Very well.” Ottilia sighed a little. “It is very sad to see it, but if you look closely, you may observe the red colour clinging to her lip over the unnatural blue. It is quite distinctive, and readily compares against the bloodstains near her mouth and nose. Furthermore, where the countenance is of a dark red from her sufferings, nothing else may be remarked. But if you look where the skin is merely blue, or upon the forehead where there is less evidence of congestion, you will note the white pallor that accompanies the use of powder. Indeed, in places you may observe very clearly how the powder was sketchily and hastily applied. Oh, and she had darkened her eyebrows, too.”
Lord Francis was looking stunned, and the dowager stared with her mouth at half-cock. Only the colonel, less intimately involved, appeared to take these observations with equanimity. It was he once again who demurred.
“Forgive me if I play devil’s advocate.”
Ottilia turned to him with interest. “Pray do. It is always helpful to look at matters from another point of view.”
“Then allow me to say this: Granted, you have made out a case to suggest Lady Polbrook may have been entertaining a lover. But how can you know this man was not her husband?”
The dowager gave vent to a snort, and Lord Francis threw up his eyes. “You will not have my mother’s support in that, my friend. And I am bound to state there is little likelihood of this phantom lover having been Randal himself.”
“But would a jury of his peers accept that?”
“Unlikely,” said Ottilia flatly. “At least without considerable evidence to support such a claim.”
“Which we can’t supply without dragging Emily’s name through the mud,” said Lord Francis with a groan.
“That is past praying for,” snapped the dowager. “Not that it will matter when this scandal breaks.”
“I don’t think it will be necessary to introduce any sordid details,” Ottilia said, cutting firmly into these comments.
“Why not?” asked Tretower with interest.
Ottilia sighed. “This is a crime of passion, sir. There was a fight.”
“How can you know that?”
“By the wounds on Lady Polbrook’s palms, and on her arms, too. She fought back. She struggled with her attacker.”
The dowager was
looking quite sick, but she spoke with scarcely a tremor. “Would not anyone do so if someone tried to strangle them?”
“Not if they were asleep when the attack was made. She would have been too dazed, too full of the mists of sleep to make so forceful a rebuttal. It does not take very long to throttle someone. Unconsciousness occurs within a few seconds. Unless the victim is able to struggle, driving the murderer to use more force than is strictly necessary to kill. And you will have seen how severe was the damage. This was a brutal attack. It cannot have been done by one who could choose his moment and perform it at his leisure.”
All three were gazing at Ottilia in the blank fashion that signifies stupor or disbelief. After a moment, a frown entered the colonel’s features.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Draycott, but how in the world do you come to know these things? I should have thought only a medical man could make such judgements.”
Amusement flickered in Ottilia’s breast and she had to smile. “Justly spoken, sir. I have learned from my brother, who is indeed a medical man.”
Lord Francis’s dark eyes widened. “Your brother is a doctor? That explains a great deal.”
“Indeed it does.” Colonel Tretower spread his hands. “In that case, I am dumb. I can think of nothing at present to offer in refutation.”
Lord Francis tossed off his wine and stood up. “Then don’t try. I, for one, am ready to accept all you have said, Mrs. Draycott.”
“And I,” chimed in the dowager.
“But you are both interested parties,” objected the colonel. “You are bound to accept it.”
“It is not only that,” said Lord Francis. “I know, none better, how quarrelsome Randal and Emily had become.” He shifted restlessly away and back again as he spoke. “Indeed, I had settled it in my mind that if Randal had done the deed, he had done so in a fit of rage. But what I cannot believe for one moment is that Emily would trouble to prepare herself to welcome a lover if only Randal was expected.”
“Well thought of, Fanfan,” uttered the dowager, clapping her hands.
Colonel Tretower shook his head. “What if Randal came upon her after this supposed lover had left her?”
“No.”
He turned back to Ottilia. “You sound very certain.”
“I am. Recollect that Lady Polbrook was discovered in her nightgown. Pardon me, but I did look further. The nightgown had ridden high and there are indicative marks upon her thighs. There is no possibility but that the quarrel erupted during or after she had indulged in—pardon me but there is no point in mincing words—an act of sexual congress.”
Three pairs of eyes were focused upon her in varying degrees of revulsion. Ottilia heard the echo of her words in her own head and felt her face go warm. She took refuge in her glass, supping a gulp of wine that burned in her throat. Defiant, she glared at them all.
“I told you I was going to be frank.”
A quiver disturbed the severity of Lord Francis’s lip and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yes, you did. We have only ourselves to blame if we failed to heed your warning.” Then Colonel Tretower was laughing outright. “You must forgive us. It is rare to encounter a female with the courage to speak with such refreshing candour.”
Ottilia smiled. “Well, in the normal way of things, I would not. But you will admit the circumstances are decidedly out of the ordinary.”
“For my part, I am perfectly satisfied,” said the dowager. “You are a woman after my own heart, Mrs. Draycott. I can’t bear this fashion for mealymouthed talk. In my day, we called a spade a spade.”
“And in the cause of proving Randal an innocent man,” said Lord Francis, “I am ready to endure any amount of a like candour.” He came to Ottilia’s chair and reached down to lift her hand to his lips. “I thank you, Mrs. Draycott. You have relieved my mind of a great weight.”
Retrieving her hand, Ottilia fought against an unexpected breathlessness. But she felt compelled to curb his enthusiasm. “It is only supposition and speculation.”
“Precisely.” Colonel Tretower was frowning again. “Fan, you are too previous. I now think I can attempt to counter Mrs. Draycott’s suppositions.”
Lord Francis groaned. “Oh, Lord, must you?”
“Better it should come from me than from Bow Street.” He looked to the dowager. “Forgive me, ma’am, but there is nothing to be gained by shying away from inescapable questions.”
Lady Polbrook flapped a hand. “Go on.”
“Very well. Let us grant the marquis was not the lover in the case. Who is to say he did not come upon the act of adultery and there and then take his revenge?”
“Where is your lover then?” Lord Francis threw in swiftly. “The natural act of any man would be to attack the rival, not the erring wife. What, did the man run off and my brother then exact his revenge on Emily? No, no, it won’t fadge, George.”
“Then let us say the lover had already departed. Polbrook enters the chamber to discover his wife—” He broke off, frowning. “No, that won’t fit. How would he know there had been any wrongdoing?”
“Exactly so,” said Lord Francis.
Ottilia regarded the colonel’s dissatisfied expression without comment. She hoped he would think of another tack, for the more theories presented and exploded, the better pleased she would be. She was by no means convinced by her own arguments. Having no acquaintance with the individuals concerned, she could not be certain that the marchioness would not receive her husband’s advances.
“What if,” suggested Tretower slowly, “Polbrook had caught the fellow as he was leaving the chamber?”
Lord Francis demolished this without hesitation. “He would have chased after him.”
“Yes, I daresay you are right. But he could have returned and quarrelled with his wife.”
“Having caught the fellow, or the man having got clean away?”
Colonel Tretower suddenly struck his hands together. “There! I knew there was something that did not fit, but I could not put my finger upon it.”
Ottilia felt the stirrings of alarm, for there was a species of triumph in the man’s tone. “What is it, sir, that does not fit?”
He turned to survey her, a regretful look in his face. “I am sorry to be obliged to put a spoke in your admirable wheel, Mrs. Draycott, but that is the matter in a nutshell. If there was a lover, how did he get into the house? For the matter of that, how did he get out of it?”
She stared at him, aware of the sudden tension emanating from both the dowager and Lord Francis. “That is a considerable flaw, I agree.”
“Fudge,” burst from Lord Francis. “There must be any number of ways he could get in and out.”
“Not without the participation of one of the servants,” Ottilia pointed out. “How many entrances are there besides the front door?”
“Dear Lord, at least three! There is the door to the garden, the scullery, and the area below the front. There may be other entrances, of which we know nothing. This is a mansion, after all.”
“Come, Fan, it is a town house,” objected the colonel, shifting out into the room to join his friend. “In the country, you may readily assume anyone could get in unobserved, but not here.”
“And even if he could do so, he would need to know his way around,” said Ottilia. She observed that the dowager’s black glance was travelling from one to the other, although she had not so far entered the debate. “What do you say, ma’am?”
The elder dame’s gaze settled upon her. “It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that a favoured paramour might be given a key.” She shifted in her chair, a sign of discomfort. “The wiles of women are ingenious.”
“That is true,” Ottilia conceded, “but I submit, much against my will I hasten to add, that a lady of the standing of your daughter-in-law, ma’am, is unlikely to be in the way of locating such a key without assistance.”
“Perhaps she had assistance,” said Lord Francis. “We have questioned none of the servants so far.”
“Agreed. But Colonel Tretower raises an important consideration, and we can readily see how a skilled advocate may work upon such speculation to turn it against the marquis. It cannot end here. If we are to clear your brother of any breath of suspicion, we must find indisputable facts to prove his innocence.”
“You have carte blanche, ma’am,” said Lord Francis with vehemence. “Question whomsoever you wish. The household is at your disposal.”
Ottilia met his gaze. “It is not only for me to do, sir. You must play your part, for there may be people you can better question or places I may not go.”
“Not in this house, there are not,” stated the dowager flatly.
“That is all very well, ma’am, but if we are to succeed we must go further afield.”
Lord Francis was once again regarding her with one of his intent looks. “Why so? To what purpose?”
Ottilia looked from one to the other of them. “Do you not see? Is it not obvious? There is only one sure way to clear your brother’s name. It is all very well trying to prove him innocent, but that isn’t enough. We must discover another suspect—in a word, the real murderer.”
Chapter 4
Taking the short walk round to the mews where the Polbrook stables were situated, Francis took opportunity to probe something of the background of the extraordinary female who had landed on his mother’s doorstep in so timely a fashion.
“I take it you are a widow?”
The companion, swathed in a thick travelling cloak against the October chill, nodded beneath her hood.
“I have been so from the year of my marriage. My husband was ordered to the Americas within a few months of our wedding. Jack was killed at the Battle of Monmouth.”
Francis was dismayed. “How shattering for you. I lost my wife young, but at least we had a few years of happiness.”
Her clear gaze came around to meet his. “How did she die?”
He winced, the memory ever sharp though it had been more than seven years. “A carriage accident.”
“Were you driving?”
Her tone was hushed, and he was struck by her instant comprehension of the worst possible scenario. The actuality was hardly less blameworthy.
The Gilded Shroud Page 5
