Lady Caroline sniffed again and dabbed her eyes. ‘Yes, you’re right, Lavender. You know me so well. It’s wrong of me to be jealous of Duddles’ happiness. And Ned Woods is wrong – you do understand the fairer sex. Magdalena is a lucky woman to have you for her husband. You see the world so clearly.’
Stephen sat back, satisfied. Magdalena breathed a sigh of relief and decided to change the subject. ‘What happened to that young artistic apprentice of Joshua Reynolds?’ she asked. ‘You told me the boy was quite smitten with you last week.’
Lady Caroline smiled and a little colour flooded back into her sallow cheeks. ‘Unfortunately, his master heard of his infatuation and hauled him back into his own studio. It was such a shame – I’ve never known a man so keen to clean my brushes and mix my paints for me before.’
They laughed and had a short conversation about other mutual friends and acquaintances while they sipped their coffee. When Magdalena thought her friend was strong enough to leave alone, she indicated to Stephen it was time for them to return home.
‘Before we go, Lady Caroline,’ Stephen said, ‘can I talk to you about a few of the elderly female inhabitants of Mayfair? I would value your opinion and knowledge about these women.’
‘What’s this?’ Lady Caroline joked. ‘More police work for me? I’m sure if Magistrate Read knew how often my expertise was sought to solve the cases overwhelming Bow Street Police Office, the man would pay me a retainer.’
Stephen smiled. ‘And you would deserve it. I need to ask you about five women: Mrs Sylvia Palmer, Miss Deborah Anderson, Lady Tyndall, Mrs Mary Willis and Lady Louisa Fitzgerald.’
‘Good grief! Why do you want to know about that coven of old witches? Have you found them practising necromancy on Hampstead Heath?’
Stephen smiled again. ‘I take it you know the women I mentioned?’
‘No, not all of them. I’ve never heard of the first two but yes, I do know of Lady Tyndall and Lady Louisa and their social-climbing friend, Mrs Willis.’
‘Was this Mrs Willis married to the doctor who cured the King’s madness?’ Magdalena asked.
‘Yes, she was his second wife. Willis was well rewarded for his successful treatment of the poor king but his wife thought he should be more recognised by high society. She’s a shrill woman and she forced her way into many of the card parties and soirées I attended. But the good doctor died several years ago and she’s had to live quietly since then.’
Stephen frowned thoughtfully. ‘Is this the same woman who is the mother of Lady Allison, wife to Sir Richard?’
‘No, she’s her stepmother.’ Magdalena felt Stephen sigh with relief; it would make his job easier now he knew there was no blood connection between this Mrs Willis and Sir Richard’s wife. ‘To be honest, I haven’t seen or heard much about the wretched woman for a while,’ Lady Caroline continued. ‘I understood she’d retired to Lincolnshire to nurse her dying brother and has been there some months.’
‘But what about Lady Louisa Fitzgerald and Lady Tyndall?’
Lady Caroline sighed and shook her head. ‘Louisa Fitzgerald is a domineering old spinster. She’s the only surviving child of the late Earl Fitzgerald. A distant cousin inherited the title and the family seat in Ireland after her father’s death. She inherited a small annual income and that huge mausoleum of a house in Berkeley Square. It’s too big for her and she uses it as a dog kennel, I understand.’
‘Is she an honest woman, do you think?’ Stephen asked. ‘I met her this afternoon and was quite startled by her candour.’
Lady Caroline nodded. ‘Yes, Louisa Fitzgerald is a brutally honest woman. She’s extremely confident and never holds back her opinion on any subject. You do realise, don’t you, Lavender, that you’ll have to share with me the reason for your interest in this circle of old harridans.’ Light had returned to her green eyes and she was smiling now.
‘I’ll do that happily in a moment,’ Stephen said, ‘but first tell me about Lady Tyndall. Ned Woods met the woman but as yet, I’ve not had the pleasure.’
Lady Caroline frowned. ‘Poor Woods! Clarissa Tyndall is the worst of them. I try to avoid her if she attends the same social function, which thankfully is rare. She’s very bossy and quite bad-tempered. It’s rumoured she drove her first husband to his death with her nagging. The poor man hanged himself from the bannisters of the family home on Park Lane.’
‘Heavens!’ Magdalena exclaimed. ‘What did she harass him about?’
Lady Caroline leaned forward towards them and lowered her voice dramatically. ‘It was said she’d found out about his mistress. But rather than turn a blind eye to the affair, as most sensible women would, she was driven by jealousy and harassed the poor man relentlessly. Harassed him to his death, in fact.’
Magdalena struggled to keep back her smile. Her friend’s lax morality still had the power to surprise her sometimes. ‘She truly sounds a dreadful woman.’ She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. The baby was restless this evening and she suddenly felt tired.
Lady Caroline turned back to Stephen. ‘So why are these women of interest to Bow Street Police Office, Lavender?’
Stephen explained about MacAdam’s death and his relationship with the elderly widows and spinsters of Mayfair.
Lady Caroline burst into laughter and had to dab her eyes to stop tears of merriment coursing down her cheeks. ‘I haven’t heard such a wicked story for weeks. Imagine! All of them sharing the same young men in their beds!’
‘There is no evidence to suggest . . .’ Stephen began hurriedly.
Lady Caroline held up her hand to stop him. ‘Oh, I’m sure there isn’t any evidence – but that’s what everyone will think when this comes out, isn’t it? Don’t spoil the picture that has formed in my mind. This is the most amusing tale.’
‘Yes, it seemed to amuse Magdalena too. Well, if you’ll excuse us, Lady Caroline, I can see Magdalena is tired. We must leave you now.’
‘Oh, of course, yes. But before you go, at what number on Park Lane does this enterprising Mrs Palmer reside?’
‘Why?’
Lady Caroline’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘Well, now Duddles has abandoned me I may need to call on her services to find another young man to escort me around town.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Lavender helped Magdalena up into the hackney carriage, climbed in after her and shut the door. The vehicle jolted and pulled away. He shook his head and gave a half-smile as they settled back into the seat. ‘You and Caroline Clare are incorrigible. I’m forced to delicately tiptoe around a group of amorous and titled sexagenarians trying to uncover the truth about their relationship with a dead man – and all you women can do is laugh.’
‘Sexagenarians?’ Magdalena giggled.
He gave a glance of mock disapproval. ‘Your Latin is as good as mine, Magdalena. You know what the prefix means.’
‘Yes, I know the word – and I also know you English have a totally different meaning for the word sexual . . .’
‘Don’t!’ He held up his hand to interrupt her. ‘I’ve already had Ned Woods musing about petticoat pensioners.’
She laughed again and settled back in her seat for the journey. Then she frowned as a worrying thought crossed her mind. ‘Are these women really suspects in David MacAdam’s murder?’
Lavender sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know what to think. MacAdam was an unscrupulous lothario who used his good looks and charm to win over every woman he met. Did this cause jealousy? I don’t know. Was his behaviour enough to drive one of the women he toyed with to murder him? I don’t know. What do you think?’
‘We never stop loving,’ she said slowly. ‘Our joints swell with arthritis and the skin sags and wrinkles but the heart still pounds and hot blood pulses through our veins. We never lose that sparkle in our eyes and the passionate beat of our heart.’ Lavender turned his head to listen.
‘Tonight, we distracted Lady Caroline from her misery,’ she continued. ‘But by now, her pain
over Duddles will have returned. She’ll have a sad and restless night. It doesn’t matter how many times we love and lose, or how old we are, the pain from heartbreak is still as sharp as ever. We’re all excited, infatuated fifteen-year-olds trapped in ageing bodies.’
‘What are you suggesting, my love?’
‘I don’t think you can dismiss these amorous old ladies as foolish clowns, Stephen. Passion never dims – and, as you’ve taught me, jealousy is often the greatest motive for murder. You need to take these women seriously as suspects in the murder of David MacAdam.’
He squeezed her hand affectionately. ‘I don’t know what I would do without your love and support, Magdalena.’
‘Good.’ She pulled away her hand and wagged a warning finger at him. ‘Because should you ever be tempted to take a mistress, when I’m fat and worn out with childbearing, I won’t look the other way and ignore it – as Lady Caroline suggests. I’ll hound you like Lady Tyndall instead.’
He smiled. ‘That’s a terrifying thought. I promise to behave.’
Mrs Hobart was waiting on the steps of their home for them as Lavender helped Magdalena down from the carriage. She looked worried and twirled a folded note in her hands, which she handed straight to Lavender. ‘This came from Bow Street, sir – and young Eddie Woods is waiting to see you both in the kitchen.’
‘Eddie?’ Magdalena said. ‘I hope there’s nothing wrong. I’ll go down to him now.’
‘Excuse me, ma’am, but he wants to see both of you – Detective Lavender too.’
Magdalena paused on the steps. ‘Very well, we’ll go together. What’s the message, Stephen? Please tell me you don’t have to go back to work?’
Lavender shook his head as he read the note. ‘No, I don’t have to return to work tonight.’ He followed the women into the house. ‘The Bishop of London has replied to Magistrate Read’s request for an exhumation of the grave in Chelmsford. Woods and I are to take MacAdam’s body there tomorrow afternoon and stay overnight. The exhumation will take place the following morning at dawn and we’re to bury MacAdam in the grave before it’s sealed up.’
‘Ugh. You call this good news?’ Magdalena removed her cloak and handed it to Mrs Hobart. ‘Come with me now to see Eddie.’ Mrs Hobart followed them downstairs to the kitchen.
Lavender knew the moment he saw Eddie’s face that something was wrong. The lad was pale and stood awkwardly by their kitchen table, still wearing his coat.
‘Good evening, Eddie . . .’ Magdalena said pleasantly.
‘Evenin’, Aunty Magdalena.’
‘Is something wrong at home, son?’ Lavender asked.
‘My da were foxed when he came home tonight, Uncle Stephen.’
‘Ah, yes, I left him in the tavern with a jug of ale.’ Lavender frowned. Foxed? Woods handled his drink better than any man he knew; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his constable inebriated.
‘He hasn’t had anythin’ to eat since yesterday mornin’,’ Eddie continued, ‘the ale went straight to his noddle.’
‘What?’ Lavender and Magdalena exclaimed in unison. This didn’t make sense. Woods had a legendary appetite and love of food. Even Mrs Hobart looked startled.
‘Where is he?’ Lavender asked.
‘He’s sleepin’ off the ale in the kitchen. Ma’s right worried about him. I came straight here.’ His words came out in a torrent.
‘Is he unwell?’ Magdalena asked, concerned. She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.
Eddie shook his head. ‘No, he’s just refusin’ his food. He turned up his nose at his supper tonight and when Ma pressed him for a reason, the truth came out. Thankfully, he were in his cups – otherwise I don’t think we’d have got to the root of the problem.’
‘What’s this truth?’ Lavender asked.
‘He says he’s starvin’ himself for a week.’
‘He’s what?’ Magdalena was incredulous.
‘He didn’t eat supper last night in Chelmsford,’ Lavender said thoughtfully. ‘Or breakfast this morning.’
Eddie’s brown eyes narrowed as he frowned. ‘Did you know he swooned like a gal at Bow Street this afternoon?’ Eddie’s voice rose with the distress he was trying so hard to contain. ‘He’s starvin’ himself and makin’ himself ill.’
‘Why is he doing this?’ Lavender asked.
‘Ma thinks somethin’s upset him. He says he’s too fat and this is his way to lose weight.’
Lavender groaned. ‘It’ll be that comment Sir Richard Allison made yesterday about how he needs a man’s corset.’
Eddie’s cheeks flushed with wrath. ‘That popinjay of a surgeon said that about my da?’ Lavender heard the fury in his voice. Eddie had the height and build of his father but everyone who knew the family was aware he’d inherited his mother’s fiery temper rather than his father’s genial nature. His battles with his mother were legendary.
‘How can we help, Eddie?’ Lavender said hastily. ‘Do you want me to stop taking your father into taverns after work?’
‘No, Uncle Stephen, I want you to make him eat again.’
‘I don’t see how . . .’
‘You’re his Principal Officer. Order him to eat a pie. That’s why I’ve come here tonight. To get you to make him eat.’
There was a short silence in the room. Magdalena and Mrs Hobart looked at Lavender expectantly, as if the young man’s request was the simplest, most logical thing in the world.
‘Right, yes, of course. Leave this with me, Eddie. I’ll make sure he eats something tomorrow.’ He said the words confidently but he hadn’t the faintest idea how he would accomplish the task. He wasn’t sure that force-feeding his burly constable steak and ale pie was physically possible but he had to do something. Eddie expected it – and he didn’t want to let the boy down.
Relief washed over Eddie’s face and his anger abated. He turned to Magdalena and asked when Sebastián was next expected home from boarding school. Magdalena’s son and the Woods boys had become good friends over the last two years.
Lavender made his excuses and went to wash and change for dinner. Weariness swamped him when he dragged himself up the stairs. It had been a long and exhausting day.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wednesday 23rd September, 1812
Lavender and Magdalena were awakened just before five o’clock by an incessant hammering on the front door.
Lavender lit a lamp and pulled his breeches over his nightshirt.
‘What is it?’ Magdalena asked sleepily from her pillows.
‘I don’t know. Stay in bed. I’ll deal with it.’ He padded downstairs in his bare feet and pulled back the bolts on the door.
A muddied and pale-faced night patrol officer from Bow Street stood on the chilly doorstep. Behind him in the gloom, two saddled horses were tied to the railings.
‘Mornin’, sir,’ the officer said. ‘You’re called out to work urgently. They’ve sent me to fetch you.’
Lavender ran his fingers through his tousled hair. ‘What’s happened?’
‘There’s been a burglary at Mr Howard’s home in Bruton Street. ’E’s asked for you to attend the scene personally.’
Lavender nodded. Burglary? Was this connected with the murder of David MacAdam? This case became more complicated by the hour. ‘Give me five minutes to dress. Do you want to step inside?’
The officer shook his head. ‘No, I’ll stay out ’ere with the ’orses.’
Lavender dressed quickly and splashed cold water on his face while Magdalena watched him from the pillows. He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin but there was no time to shave. He kissed his sleepy wife on the forehead, grabbed his coat and descended the stairs.
The night patrol officer returned to his duties, leaving Lavender to wend his way through the dimly lit streets towards Mayfair. London never slept. Broughams and curricles sped by, taking home the late-night revellers and spraying up filth from the gutter. Staggering drunks were still weaving their way home after a no
isy night in the taverns and gin shops and shadowy figures lurked down the narrow alleyways. Meanwhile, the steady stream of wagons from the country were already heading for the capital’s markets, heavily laden with produce to feed the gargantuan appetite of the biggest city in the world.
Lavender took his horse to the stables at the rear of Howard’s home in Bruton Street and left it with a sleepy groom. The building blazed with light; the entire household must be roused. He strode across the stable yard to gain entrance through the servants’ quarters and braced himself for whatever shock lay inside.
A grim-faced and hastily dressed Indian footman led him through the chilly marble hallway to the drawing room, where the family waited. The man hadn’t had time to pull on his turban and his long black hair wound down his back like a sleek ebony snake. In the weak light from candles and lamps, Howard’s impressive arsenal of Mughal daggers and sabres took on a more sinister appearance. Their evil glimmer mocked him for his failure to find the knife that had killed MacAdam.
‘Lavender! Thank goodness you’re here at last!’ Howard said. ‘This is a damned shocking business!’ He wore his flowing green silk banyan over his nightshirt. It flapped and rustled as he paced angrily in front of the hearth. Every candelabra and lamp in the opulent drawing room had been lit. The warm glow bounced off the shimmering silk wall hangings, the ivory statues and the gold leaf and jewel-encrusted ornaments.
‘What’s happened?’ Lavender spoke to Howard but his eyes were drawn to the two young women sitting demurely on the sofa in plain high-necked dressing gowns. Both wore lacy nightcaps over their unbound hair.
It was the first time he’d been in the same room with the elusive Miss Amelia Howard. She sat with her head bowed, wringing her hands in her nightgown. Her silky black hair fell forward, obscuring part of her pretty face, but he saw enough to confirm his suspicion that she was the beauty of the family. Both girls were small and slender but there the similarity ended. Miss Howard’s facial features were softer than those of the sourpuss beside her.
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