The Gilded Shroud

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “Thank you,” said Ottilia. “You went to bed then, Mary?”

  “Yes, but the mistress did have the fan.”

  Mrs. Thriplow cut in before Ottilia could respond. “How do you know?”

  “I found it in the morning when I—when she—”

  She faltered, and Ottilia once again caught her hands. “Where did you find it?”

  “It was thrown down, all among the pots in the dressing commode. So careless of her, as I thought, for it could easily have been broken or been marked.”

  A dark thought was revolving in Ottilia’s head. She had no choice but to put the question. “Did you put the fan away?”

  To her secret dismay, Mary shook her head. “I had no time to think of that, for it was then I smelled . . . and I went into the chamber and . . .”

  Quickly, Ottilia held up a hand. “There is no need to go into that, my dear Mary. We understand.” She got up. “I must thank you. What you have told us is extremely helpful.”

  Huntshaw rose, glancing towards the dowager who, Ottilia noted, was looking white and strained. And no wonder.

  The housekeeper claimed her attention. “Will that be all, miss?”

  “Oh yes, thank you, Mrs. Thriplow. It is Mrs. Thriplow, is it not?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then, if you do not object, perhaps we may have a little talk at another time.”

  “But I don’t know anything,” protested the housekeeper.

  “Perhaps not, but you are best placed to help me understand your late mistress’s household. I rely on you absolutely.”

  Mrs. Thriplow visibly swelled, preening a little. “Well, it’s true enough I know what’s what. I’ve been housekeeper here nigh on twenty-five years, and I came up the ranks through fifteen before that. I’ve seen them all in and out. Except Cattawade, of course.”

  “Then we are agreed.”

  Ottilia held out her hand. The housekeeper looked at it and back at Ottilia’s face, and gratification spread over her features. She took the hand and shook it vigorously.

  “I’ll look forward to it, ma’am.”

  Ottilia watched the two pass from the room and turned to see that the dowager had let her head drop into one hand as she rested an elbow on the arm of her chair.

  “Do not distress yourself, ma’am,” said Ottilia, going quickly towards her.

  The dowager looked up again, a haggard look in her face. “The fool! The wretched, addlepated fool! Who will believe him innocent after this?”

  Ottilia went to her, kneeling by her chair and grasping her trembling hand.

  “Do not despair. It is a setback, but the facts I outlined earlier remain.”

  “What use are they against that girl’s testimony? And why in the world did you not ask her about a door key?”

  “My dear ma’am, the woman is in no condition to be revealing secrets of that nature.”

  “If indeed such secrets exist.” The dowager groaned aloud. “Where is Francis when there is this fresh disaster falling upon our heads?”

  “He will be here presently,” Ottilia soothed, patting her hand. “He meant to set about writing letters, for he says there are several persons who must be informed at once.”

  “Too many.”

  “I believe Lord Francis means to despatch a number of messengers about the country. And he sent for your Mr. Jardine.”

  “Not merely mine. Jardine is the family’s man of business.” The dowager groaned deeply, and Ottilia grasped her hand tighter. “The thing becomes worse and worse. All we need is for the world and his wife to be apprised of what we have just been told, and the fat will be in the fire.”

  “Fear not, ma’am. There is more to this than meets the eye. Did you remark what Mary Huntshaw said about the fan?”

  The dowager snatched her hand away. “Of course I remarked it! Do you think I am in my dotage? That thing is worth thousands. And Emily treats it like a twopenny fairing!”

  Ottilia stood up and confronted her, setting one hand upon the mantel.

  “Be that as it may, ma’am, the fan is of significant interest.”

  This caught the dowager’s attention. “How so?”

  “Mary Huntshaw said that when she went in this morning, she saw it had been thrown down among the pots, and she did not touch it. When I went into the dressing room, I saw no fan in that place. If it was there this morning, it is now missing.”

  By the time Francis had finished penning a number of urgent letters and was applying his brother’s seal, the housemaid came into the library to inform him that a repast was to be served in the dining parlour.

  “Is it so late?”

  Even as he asked, his stomach reminded him he’d had no time even to take breakfast.

  The girl bobbed a curtsy. “It’s nigh on two, my lord. My lady—” She faltered, flushed, and hurriedly added, “I mean, your lordship’s mother, my lord, she give order for tea and something light, and Cook done what she could.”

  “Excellent. I will come at once.”

  “And Mr. Jardine is waiting, my lord,” added the maid conscientiously.

  Hearing which, Francis took up the sealed papers. “In good time. You had best invite him to join us in the dining parlour.”

  “I’ll tell Mr. Cattawade, my lord.”

  The girl curtsied again and had reached the door before Francis thought to take advantage of her presence.

  “One moment.”

  Pausing, she turned. “My lord?”

  “I don’t suppose you heard anything last night, did you? Or saw anything?”

  A fearful look came into the girl’s eyes, but she shook her head fiercely. “I were asleep throughout, my lord, for which I’m that thankful. I didn’t know nothing until I come into the kitchen first thing.”

  Francis crossed to where she stood at the door. “Who told you, then?”

  The girl looked frightened. “I don’t rightly know, my lord, there were so much talk. There weren’t a body there but hadn’t summat to say. It were that shocking. The poor mistress.”

  Taking a leaf out of Mrs. Draycott’s book, Francis smiled at the girl in a friendly way. “I daresay it was quite a cacophony.”

  The maid looked mystified. “A what, my lord?”

  “There was a lot of talk? Everyone talking at once?”

  A trifle of excitement showed in her eyes as she nodded vehemently. “Yes, my lord, and some bust out crying. Sukey were sobbing fit to bring the roof down and Cook had to give her a slap.” Recalling perhaps to whom she was speaking, she hastened to add, “Cook sat her down after and give her a drink of port special, for it were poor Sukey as had been in the chamber to light the fire and the mistress dead in her bed all the time. I’d have been took bad myself if it’d been me.”

  Astonished at the looseness of the girl’s tongue, Francis reflected on the far-reaching effects of the ghastly events of the day. Everything and everyone was in disarray. Apart from those such as Mrs. Thriplow, whose long service and position in the household allowed a little licence, few servants would dream in the normal way of pouring out such a torrent of words before one of the family. Or was it, Francis wondered, because he was not inclined to encourage it? But the reference to Sukey was useful. He must apprise Mrs. Draycott, who would no doubt wish to speak to the girl.

  “Thank you, er—”

  “Jane, my lord,” supplied the maid, bobbing again.

  “Jane, of course, yes. Thank you, Jane. Run along now. Oh, and don’t forget about Mr. Jardine.”

  “No, my lord.”

  The girl vanished through the doorway, and Francis followed more slowly, feeling as if he trod on ice which might at any moment give way and plunge him into the depths. The press of things that must be done was overwhelming.

  In the dining parlour he discovered seated at the table, which was spread with a selection of sliced pies alongside a loaf of bread and several cheeses, his mother, Mrs. Draycott, and Colonel Tretower, who had ret
urned from an official errand. The dowager, who was looking hangdog, hailed him with a demand to know what had kept him so long.

  “I have but just finished my letters,” he told her, feeling a trifle guilty. He should never have allowed her to come here. Had there been more said to dispirit her? Before he could enquire, Jardine was ushered into the room.

  There was, on the face of this man of law, Francis noted, an incipient scowl that accentuated his usual appearance of unrelieved severity. The fellow’s cold eyes had ever caused Francis an inward twinge of distaste, despite a thorough knowledge of Jardine’s incomparable competence at his calling. He was as shrewd a man as one could wish, and it was far better to have him in one’s corner than supporting an opponent.

  The lawyer paid his respects first to the dowager, executing a small bow and offering his condolences in the clipped manner habitual to him.

  “A sorry affair, my lady. I have every sympathy with your loss.”

  The dowager eyed him balefully, and Francis recalled how little his mother liked the man. “It’s to be hoped you can do more than sympathise, Jardine. For one thing, you can tell us where my son has gone.”

  The lawyer pursed his lips, but his face gave nothing away. “I would tell you if I knew.”

  “You need not dissemble. Polbrook was making for the coast, and we must suppose he has set sail for France. If anyone knows where in that present hellhole he may be going, it is you.”

  The mention of France caused the faintest twitch of a muscle in the man’s cheek, Francis noted. His mother was right. Jardine did know. But if she thought he would reveal it, she had a deal to learn of the man. He was as close as an oyster.

  “Jardine,” he cut in, “will you take these letters, if you please? This for my nephew, that for my brother. I rely on your messengers to locate both and bring them back here as speedily as they may.”

  Taking the letters, the lawyer looked at their inscriptions, turned them over, and inspected the seals. Then his keen glance came back up to Francis’s face.

  “Anything else, my lord?”

  “Not at present. The others are to persons situated within the country, so it will not tax my ingenuity to have them delivered. Colonel Tretower is assisting us with the authorities. If there is anything else, I will—” A thought occurred to him. “Stay! There is the matter of the will. You have it, of course?”

  Jardine nodded briefly. “The reading must await an inquest.”

  “But you can tell us what is in it,” said the dowager.

  His lips pursed once more. “I am not at liberty to divulge anything prior to the reading, but I think you will find no surprises.”

  “Pardon me, sir.”

  Francis had forgotten Mrs. Draycott. If she was planning to question Jardine, he had best pave the way. Without knowing her interest in the matter, the fellow would likely refuse even to answer. But much to his surprise, the lawyer turned at once.

  “Yes, Mrs. Draycott?”

  Her special smile appeared, but Francis could not see that it had any visible effect upon Jardine.

  “Is there anything in her ladyship’s will that could provide a motive for murder?”

  The lawyer’s brows drew together, increasing the sternness of his expression. “You interest yourself in this affair, ma’am?”

  Mrs. Draycott’s chin went up, and Francis saw, with a stirring of interest, a light in her eye that was positively martial.

  “My dear sir, would you expect Lady Polbrook’s companion to do otherwise?”

  “She is acting for me, Jardine,” cut in the dowager irritably. “I wish you will not stand upon your dignity, man, in such an extremity as this.”

  Typically, Jardine chose not to respond to the last, although he addressed himself directly to the dowager as he answered. “I cannot suppose one could make out a case against anyone from the contents of the will. Since your ladyship presses me, I will look into the matter further.”

  “Do so, if you please.”

  Jardine bowed, and looked back at Francis. “If that is all, my lord?”

  Feeling compelled, Francis asked if he cared to share their repast. To his relief, the lawyer refused the offer.

  “I have other business waiting, and I must attend to your letters instanter.”

  With which he nodded to the rest of the company and withdrew.

  No sooner had the door closed behind him than the dowager exploded. “I loathe and detest that creature! It was just the same with your father, Fanfan. I never could worm a single secret out of Jardine.” She flicked a hand towards the companion. “I doubt even you could prise him open, my dear, and you are singularly expert. Francis, do you know she got that foolish maid of Emily’s to tell us everything she knew? Not that I am happy to have heard it, for a more damning set of statements one could scarcely imagine.”

  Francis instantly demanded enlightenment, and as the company set about consuming the cold collation provided for their sustenance, he was regaled with the tale Mrs. Draycott had extracted from Huntshaw.

  Dismay swamped him. “Lord! To my mind, that augments the case against Randal.” He looked across the table at Colonel Tretower. “George?”

  His friend chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “I am bound to agree it looks bad. Have you any notion what he did after he left his wife’s bedchamber on the last occasion?”

  He turned as he spoke to Mrs. Draycott, who was seated with her back to the window. Francis focused on the woman’s eyes. They really were quite free of guile, he reflected. Unusual in the females of his acquaintance, and therefore refreshing.

  “Not as yet,” she replied. “But I have not yet had time to talk to the other servants. I have every hope we will be able presently to piece together the marquis’s movements.”

  “And the disappearance of the fan?” pursued Tretower.

  This was news to Francis. “What in the world are you talking of? I thought you said Emily and Randal had been arguing over it.”

  “Yes,” agreed Mrs. Draycott, “but although Mary Huntshaw saw it in the morning, left carelessly among the pots on the dressing table, I did not.”

  “What? You mean it had vanished?” Francis set down his fork with a clang. “The devil! It was I who forgot to lock the dressing room door.”

  “But the footman was guarding it,” his mother reminded him.

  “Yes, but the window was open,” Mrs. Draycott pointed out. “I remarked it when we went into the room. Had you opened it, Lord Francis?”

  He shook his head. “No, it was already open. One of the servants must have thrown it wide before I reached the place.”

  “Do you seriously imagine someone might have scaled the wall and climbed in the window?” asked George, his tone sceptical. “Difficult and dangerous, I think. And he might have been spotted.”

  There was a pause. From the faces of the others, Francis knew he was not the only one who found it perplexing. Almost without thought, he looked again at the companion.

  “Mrs. Draycott?”

  Her open gaze met his, and her tone was meditative. “Difficult, but not impossible—to climb the wall, I mean.”

  “Next you will be suggesting this fictitious lover came and went by that route,” George cut in.

  Francis almost snorted. “What, like Romeo? Even I, desperate as I am to believe in the lover, could not support that notion.”

  “On the other hand,” said Mrs. Draycott, apparently indifferent to this interchange, “someone might have slipped past Abel. Like everyone else, he was suffering from shock. How long were you at your toilet, my lord?”

  Francis shrugged. “I scarcely know. Diplock provided me with a much needed brandy when I got back to my room. I had to shave, but I did not waste time about the rest. I suppose it may have been half an hour or so before I got back to Emily’s room.”

  “When you locked the dressing room door,” suggested George.

  “Yes, because it had only just occurred to me to recall the connecting door
into the bedchamber.”

  “Time enough,” snapped his mother. “For my part, I would trust no servant to be vigilant at all times. I daresay any number of curious others came to Emily’s room in the interim.”

  Tretower laughed. “Only too likely. And this footman of yours, being one of the privileged, might well have taken his eye off the game in a bid to puff off his own importance. It is a failing I have had to check in several of my men, I can tell you.”

  The dowager was in agreement, and the conversation ran upon these lines for several moments before Francis realised that Mrs. Draycott was bearing no part in it. A faint crease sat between her brows, and she looked to have her attention otherwhere.

  “You seem in a brown study, Mrs. Draycott,” Francis ventured at the first lull.

  The companion blinked, looking at him as if she had just noticed his presence. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I say you looked as if you had not been attending.”

  He saw withdrawal in her features, but she gave a quick shake of the head. “It is nothing. A random thought.”

  Oddly dissatisfied, Francis eyed her. “Has it to do with the business at hand?” She seemed uncomfortable, as if she did not wish to pursue the matter. Francis felt impelled to press her. “We are all on the same path, are we not?”

  At this, Mrs. Draycott seemed to throw off her abstraction. “Indeed. The case is, I was wondering which of the household to talk to next.”

  If he had been challenged, Francis could not have given a reason, but he felt certain this was a blind. Something she did not wish to share was in her mind.

  Chapter 5

  Mrs. Draycott’s words, however, had reminded Francis of the maid Jane. “I can tell you just whom to talk to next. One Sukey, a chambermaid, who must have been the first into the room this morning. I recall you expressly stated someone must have made up the fire.”

  “Why, thank you, that is most helpful, my lord.” She gave him a bland look. “And you, sir? What is your next move?”

  Francis sighed. “I must leave in the morning to fetch my niece home.”

  “But it will take you all of two or three days to reach Bath and come back again,” his mother cut in.