Ottilia digested this information in silence for a moment, aware of the footman’s eyes upon her, a trifle of anxiety in his aspect. As well there might be. There was little point in postponing the inevitable question.
“Why did you say nothing of this to Lord Francis?”
He let fall a great sigh. “I knew you’d ask that. You’ll scarcely believe me, madam, but I never thought. What with the panic and the shock, and I’d had so little sleep, it was clean swept from my mind. I remembered it yesterday. I’ve been troubled ever since, for if there’s one thing more certain than another, it’s that her ladyship might still be alive if I’d not been such a coward. I can’t help thinking of that noise and what it must have signified. And to think I could’ve stopped it fair has me rattled, madam.”
“I imagine it might,” Ottilia said, with a calm that in no way reflected her state of mind. “But I doubt your intervention would have achieved the objective of saving the marchioness. We might, however, have known the identity of the murderer.”
Abel looked miserable. “I’d not swear on oath against his lordship, madam.”
“But you did think it was the marquis.”
His hands clenched on his knees. “I’m between the devil and the deep blue sea, madam. If I say it wasn’t, I’m condemning the mistress.”
Ottilia surveyed him in silence. Was it common knowledge in the household that the marchioness had been entangled outside the marriage bed? Could Abel be ignorant, or was this disingenuous? She decided to let it go for the present. She produced a friendly smile.
“I’m glad you told me all this, Abel. There is just one other thing you may be able to help me with.”
He looked eager now. “Anything, madam.”
“While Lord Francis was dressing, did anyone come into the vestibule? Anyone at all?”
Abel hesitated. “Well, yes, madam. Several, as it happens. And not only those as hadn’t been there at the start. Morbid, I call it. But I didn’t let a soul go in.”
“But you were alone there for some of the time?”
“Oh yes, madam. I didn’t like it, knowing her ladyship was in there like that, but Lord Francis was depending on me. To tell the truth, madam, I was glad of company when it came. And once the coroner had been, I was released at last.”
“You are sure you did not leave your post, even for a moment?”
He looked affronted. “When his lordship had asked me special to take care and see no one didn’t go in?”
“Then you had your eye upon the doors the whole time?”
A faint look of puzzlement came into the man’s face. “Yes, madam. The bedchamber door, madam.”
Ottilia noted the particularity. “Lord Francis came back to lock the dressing room door, did he not?”
“Yes, madam,” said Abel, frowning now. “But if you’re thinking someone went in there beforehand, madam, I must have seen them. It’s but a step away from the bedchamber.”
“Of course.”
Ottilia decided to leave it at that for the present. The fewer people who knew about the disappearance of the jewels and the Polbrook fan, the better. She was inclined to doubt the footman’s assertion that he would have seen anyone enter the dressing room, for he might well have shifted into the vestibule to conduct any conversation with other members of the staff. But she preferred to keep her own counsel. It would not be politic to alienate the fellow with searching questions on this point.
She thanked and dismissed him, but just as he reached the door, a half-remembered puzzle leapt into her head. She obeyed the impulse.
“One moment, Abel.”
He halted with his fingers around the handle and looked back. Ottilia was a trifle surprised to see a rough frown in his features. Was that a hint of fear in his eyes? If so, it vanished with the frown and his face took on the bland look of service.
“Madam?”
“Late the other night, when I was down here in the basement, could I have seen you in the corridor?”
“Which night, madam?”
“The night before last, was it?” So much had happened, Ottilia felt a distortion of time. “Saturday, I think. Yes, I believe it was.”
The footman gave a faint smile. “No, madam, I was not in the house. It was my evening off and I slept out.”
Ottilia returned the smile. “Then I must have been mistaken. Thank you, Abel. You have given me considerable food for thought.”
The man bowed and withdrew. Ottilia stared at the closed door without seeing it, recalling the shadow in the passage. It had been but an instant, a mere flash of recognition. She was forced to acknowledge the likelihood of error. She’d seen the fellow but briefly before that moment. But the conviction that the first man she’d seen had not been Cattawade refused to be uprooted. Worse, she could not rid herself of an impression—possibly unfounded—that Abel had lied.
For what reason? If he had been there, he must have hidden himself from Cattawade’s eyes. Which could only mean his purpose in the domestic area at such an hour had been nefarious. Unless it had indeed been his evening off and he had but just returned. Slipping in ahead of the butler’s locking and bolting the back door? Then why not advertise his presence?
Concluding that she must indeed have been mistaken, Ottilia banished the matter to the back of her mind and returned to the voice Abel said he’d heard. It provided but a slim hope, and was a double-edged sword. If it opened up the possibility of another suspect, it equally put Randal, Lord Polbrook, back into the picture, setting the time of the murder squarely ahead of his departure.
The arrival late in the afternoon of Lady Candia Fanshawe coincided with a visit to Hanover Square from the family’s man of business, Mr. Jardine, who was just concluding a punctilious greeting when a series of unmistakable sounds took the dowager’s attention. She interrupted without ceremony.
“Is that not a carriage, Ottilia? Take a look out of the window. Is it Francis at last?”
Doing as she was bid, Ottilia peered through the glass in the near parlour window, looking into the street where a bustle was going forward. She was afforded a view only of the hooded back of a carriage, but a servant was standing to one side and a groom was already at the horses’ heads.
“It looks like a curricle, but I cannot see—”
She broke off, for a pair of booted feet landed on the road on the other side, and in a moment a man rounded the carriage and Ottilia caught a glimpse of his features under the beaver hat.
“Yes, I believe it is Lord Francis.” She saw him throw open the low door and reach up a hand to someone inside. “There is a female getting out of the curricle.”
“Candia! The poor child. Where is Harriet? Ring the bell, Ottilia.”
As she went to comply, the lawyer moved towards the door.
“You will wish to be alone, Lady Polbrook.”
“No, you don’t,” snapped the dowager. “Stay just where you are, Jardine. Francis will be as anxious as I for your news.”
“It is nothing that cannot wait.”
“That is immaterial. You will oblige me by remaining, if you please.”
Mr. Jardine, whether in deference to the dowager’s wishes or to avoid further argument, gave in with an obvious ill grace and retreated to the window. Ottilia wished she might hint to him that he was wise, for her employer’s temper, uncertain since the distressing event, had been exacerbated by Ottilia’s various findings. To Sybilla’s mind, the introduction of a mysterious voice served to blacken the case against her elder son, and Ottilia had been obliged to remind her about the garters and reiterate her conviction of there having been a lover involved.
Presently the bustle in the hall beyond the door indicated that the travellers had entered the house. Ottilia caught the butler’s voice and the light fresh tone of Lord Francis in answer. A ripple disturbed the even tenor of her pulses and she was conscious of a rise of anticipation that signalled a distinctly unwelcome development. The effort to suppress it took all her atte
ntion, and by the time she had succeeded in recovering at least a semblance of her habitual calm, the party was entering the parlour.
The youthful creature who halted on the threshold, despite blotched cheeks and a pair of tragic eyes, was breathtakingly lovely. She was tall, and the family resemblance was marked—dark eyes, high cheekbones, glossy brown hair—but a straight nose and a mouth finely sculpted as by the hand of a master set her apart from the rest and caught a resemblance to the portrait of the marchioness.
The large eyes darted from face to face, catching on her grandmother’s features. Sybilla rose and held out a hand towards her.
“My poor child.”
Lady Candia took a few steps into the room, but Ottilia noted reluctance in the girl’s face. Then she found herself quite unable to keep her eyes on the girl, for Lord Francis entered behind her. Her breath caught. She had not recalled him as attractive as this. He did not notice Ottilia’s fixed regard as he put off his hat and greatcoat and threw them carelessly upon the nearest sofa. She was relieved when thereafter, without looking about the room, he crossed to the dowager and dropped a chaste salute upon her cheek.
“We came as speedily as we could, Mama. Candia was anxious to arrive. I hope you have not been unduly oppressed.”
His mother’s answer was forestalled by the entrance of Lady Dalesford, who no sooner saw her niece than she cried out, “My dear, dearest girl. Oh, I am so very sorry.”
Lady Candia turned quickly, catching sight of her aunt. She let out a wail of despair and flung herself headlong into the countess’s welcoming arms.
So much for Lady Dalesford’s worries, Ottilia thought, watching as she received her niece in a comprehensive embrace, sobs bursting from her throat to match Lady Candia’s grief. Ottilia could not forbear casting a glance at the dowager, and was not very much surprised to note the faint look of exasperation that crossed Sybilla’s features. Being herself of an undemonstrative disposition, she had evidently little patience with displays of naked emotion. It struck Ottilia that the only one of her children to take after her in this respect was Lord Francis.
Looking across at him as he moved to close the door the countess had left wide, she found in his features a mixture of indulgence and irritation. She was relieved to discover that her own nerves had settled while the little drama was in play. Without thought, Ottilia crossed to his side.
“Do I detect a trifle of impatience in your aspect, Lord Francis?” she murmured. His gaze came swiftly round, a startled look in his eye. “The task of conveying a grieving niece all the way from Bath has tried you pretty high, I think.”
The dark gaze crinkled at the corners and his lips twitched. “As usual, you are perfectly in the right, Mrs. Draycott. I could readily have thro—” He broke off, consternation leaping into his face. “No, I don’t mean that.”
Ottilia smiled her understanding. “I daresay the thought of the gallows was a sufficient deterrent.”
He laughed out at that. “Mrs. Draycott, you are the most outrageous female.”
“Not at all,” she countered. “Flippancy is always an efficacious remedy against the dramatic happenings of life, do you not think? One must fight back somehow.”
“It is certainly preferable to indulging in settled gloom. But how have you fared here? Any news?”
Ottilia met his eager glance. “Nothing conclusive, but I think we have made a little progress. Your sister’s advent was fortuitous, for it has given me rein.”
His eye gleamed appreciation. “You mean Harriet has kept my mother occupied.”
“Most usefully,” she agreed, smiling. “They have done wonders together in sorting the marchioness’s effects.”
Lord Francis cocked an eyebrow. “You set them to that, did you? Masterly, Mrs. Draycott. I will not ask if you had done all you needed in the chamber first.”
Ottilia was insensibly encouraged by the clear indication that he understood her so well. But she felt obliged to put out a warning finger. “We may be overheard. Let us reserve this discussion until your niece is safely out of the way.”
Lady Candia had been perforce passed to her grandmother, whose hug, though eloquent, was brief. The dowager held the girl away, gripping her shoulders.
“Come now, my child, you must be brave. Your Aunt Harriet will look after you. And you will have all your cousins about you.”
The young girl sniffed dolefully. “What of Papa? Has he come home?”
Sybilla shook her head. “Jardine has sent to him. He will be home presently.”
The pretty features crumpled. “Where is Giles? I want Giles.”
As Lady Candia dissolved into tears again, the dowager threw a harassed glance at her own daughter, who at once came to the rescue.
“There, there, my pet,” she soothed, taking the young girl into her arms again and drawing her away. “Let us go and put off your travelling costume.” Over her shoulder, she called back to her mother as she drew her charge towards the door. “Pray ring for your woman to come to me, Mama.”
“An excellent idea,” said the dowager, relieved. “Ottilia, ring the bell. Venner can make up a calming drink for Candia.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to put a dose of laudanum into it,” suggested Lord Francis as the door shut behind the two females.
“I would not recommend it,” Ottilia said, tugging at the bellpull. “The stuff is addictive. Hartshorn or a tisane of herbs would be far safer.”
The dowager waved her hand at Lord Francis, who seemed about to say something. “Venner will know how to do, and she disapproves strongly of laudanum.” A loud cough brought her head round to the window embrasure. “Jardine! I was forgetting you were still here. I made him wait, Francis, for I imagine you will wish to hear anything he has to say.”
Lord Francis went across to the lawyer. “I certainly will. What news, sir?”
“Nothing of moment, my lord. Her ladyship bade me examine the late marchioness’s will, which I regret to say I cannot read except in the presence of her immediate family.”
“You are saying we must wait for my brother and my nephew?”
Jardine gave a slight bow of assent. “I can, however, confirm that there are no beneficiaries other than the immediate family.”
“What, nothing to any of her own kin, let alone Randal’s?” exclaimed Sybilla. “Nothing to any servant?”
“The late Lady Polbrook’s personal fortune is tied up in the funds, my lady. It cannot be separately apportioned unless the beneficiaries choose to sell out.”
“I daresay, but she has personal items of value. It is customary to reward one’s faithful retainers, even if she did not see fit to assist individual relations.”
“The deed is hardly likely to come home to any of Emily’s family,” cut in Francis. “Nor can I suppose she would be quite so crass as to leave a sum to a person who might fit the criteria belonging to the particular murderer for whom we are looking.”
The dowager gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. “I suppose not. I had hoped the will might have given us a lead.”
“So had I, ma’am,” Ottilia put in, “but at least we now know that there is only Lord Polbrook to consider in that light, and he, as no doubt Mr. Jardine can confirm, would have no need to murder his wife for money.”
She came under the lawyer’s penetrating glance, but he merely nodded and then turned back to Lord Francis. “I think you may be glad to know, my lord, that my messengers have been despatched these three days.”
“Excellent.” The lawyer’s thin brows drew together, and Ottilia was unsurprised when Lord Francis demanded the reason. “There is something else?”
Mr. Jardine cast a glance from Lord Francis to the dowager, who had passed from a species of disgust at her erstwhile daughter-in-law’s apparent lack of generosity to a look grimly anxious.
“I feel it my duty to inform you, with regret, of what has come to my attention,” said the lawyer.
“Well, out with it, man,” came testily from S
ybilla. “No need to make a meal of it.”
The severe look intensified, but the lawyer made no demur. “Hard upon the heels of my fellow in his way to France, I understand there is a Bow Street Runner.”
Chapter 10
A hasty exclamation escaped Lord Francis, and the dowager glared at her man of business as if he were to blame. Ottilia put her oar in without ceremony.
“Is your man capable of staying ahead?”
For the first time, a muscle twitched at the corner of Mr. Jardine’s mouth and his usually stern eye gleamed. “I choose my tools with care, Mrs. Draycott. No mere redbreast can hope to outfox my fox.”
She had to laugh. “I am relieved to hear it. How many days before we may expect to hear?”
He did not hesitate. “Up to a week, I imagine. At most, ten days.”
Ottilia eyed him for a moment, and then cast a swift look towards the others. Lord Francis was regarding the lawyer with a thoughtful expression, but the dowager was watching Ottilia.
“If you are going to come out with one of your revelations, Ottilia,” she said irritably, “pray do so and stop checking to see whether the rest of us can stand it.”
“I was rather wondering if one of you might have leapt to the same conclusion.”
Lord Francis’s eyes turned towards her. “That Jardine knows precisely where my brother is to be found?” He looked back at the lawyer as he spoke, but the man’s face gave nothing away. Nor did he speak. “I have long believed you know far more about his lordship’s affairs than we do, Jardine, and I can only applaud your integrity. In Polbrook’s place, I should wish for a similar reticence on your part. However—”
“All very well,” interrupted the dowager, her eyes flashing at the lawyer, “but when my son is suspected of murdering his wife, it is not the time to be reticent.”
The lawyer gave a small bow. “I appreciate your ladyship’s point of view. No doubt his lordship, when he returns, will give a satisfactory account of himself.”
The Gilded Shroud Page 15
