by Issy Brooke
“He is clever enough merely to do what he is told,” Smith said. “One does not want a servant who is clever enough to go beyond orders; it is dangerous to have one that is clever enough to question things and think for themselves.”
Adelia shot Smith a sidelong glance.
Smith smiled slightly and they carried on up the stairs.
Adelia found it hard to imagine that such a man could have made a dupe of Lord Mondial.
At the top of the stairs, Adelia said, “Oh, I believe that Lady Mondial has invited one of her sisters to the garden party. The Parker-Greys will be in attendance, I hope.” She had hoped for more of them to come but everyone was otherwise engaged.
“God willing Lady Mary’s health permits,” Smith said warmly. Everyone adored Mary, who was Adelia and Theodore’s eldest daughter. She had married a wealthy and educated commoner of very high standing and respect, Mr Cecil Parker-Grey, and had carried a courtesy title with her into the marriage though of course he had remained a mere “Mr”. Mary had seemed as if she were about to expire from the moment she had been born and had consequently spent her life treated as if she were made of the finest glass. Even her husband, who was considerably older than her, would have carried her on his shoulders if he thought he would be allowed to. In spite of the extreme care and attention she’d been lavished with, all her life, Mary was a humble and self-effacing girl. If she were described to someone like that, as a sweet and charming woman of little ego, there was a tendency to assume she was cloying and unlikeable. Nothing was further from the truth.
Everyone really did love her when they met her.
Someone like Mary would be exactly the right sort of company for Lord Mondial, Adelia thought with growing pleasure. She was married and therefore quite safe to converse with the Marquis. She was pure and lovely and also his sister-in-law. She would be like a calming oil poured over the troubled waters of the household.
I should have invited her as soon as the murder happened, thought Adelia.
Smith moved off and Adelia turned without looking where she was going.
“Watch your step!” crackled an older woman’s voice.
Adelia nearly bumped right against the Dowager Countess, but that was only because Grace had deliberately put herself directly in Adelia’s path. “Oh, my word, do forgive me, my lady!”
“It’s Grace when we’re in the parlour and my lady when you attempt to run me down on the stairs like a runaway carriage,” Grace laughed. “You were so lost in thought I feared you would not hear me. Come along, my dear. I cannot stand here on my frail old feet and talk like I’m a woman at market. Let us sit down like civilised people and you can tell me everything.”
“Oh, there is nothing more to tell...”
Grace glared at her and Adelia was beaten instantly. “Very well. The rooms along here are generally full of light at this time of day. Shall we?”
Grace was already ahead of her and flinging open doors as if she owned the castle, hunting for a room with comfortable chairs and a reasonable view. “This is a little showy,” she said, swooping into a long room full of dark oil portraits and over-stuffed red velvet armchairs, “but it will do.”
Adelia prowled to the windows while Grace settled herself in a chair and sniffed at the needlework on the cushions. “I hear Lady Montsalle is to arrive tomorrow,” she said. “That woman takes any excuse to be here.”
“Yes, she was here before. She has a house locally.”
“She has a house thirty miles away. That’s as local as France, quite frankly. One wonders about that woman, one really does.”
“Does one?” Adelia turned to face Grace. “I mean, I have not wondered. She doesn’t like me so we don’t often converse.”
Grace pursed her lips and said, “Well, I wonder. But others will be arriving tomorrow too, and so perhaps I will wonder about other things. Such as – of course – what is on your mind? Come and sit down. I cannot have you hovering like a buzzard, not at my time of life. It makes me think things about mortality. Now, speak: I want to know everything about the case.”
“I don’t think there is a case anymore.”
“Has my foolish son given up?” Grace thudded her cane on the carpet. “I can’t put him over my knee and thrash him but I can possibly order a footman to do it.”
“Please don’t.” Adelia sat down, smiling at the image, and told her mother-in-law absolutely everything. The feeling of closeness that she enjoyed with Grace was always underwritten, just slightly, by a sadness that she had not enjoyed this same closeness with her own mother, who had been so distant and rigid. She even told her about the little tiff with Theodore, because she knew that Grace would understand.
And she did. “Oh, you were rather restrained, my dear,” Grace said with a laugh. “I should have thrown something at his head. There’s nothing like a good temper tantrum from time to time.”
“I have never had one.”
“You are altogether too correct.”
“I have to be. I am not of your class; I am scrutinised at every turn.”
“Oh, the world is changing,” Grace said airily. For all their closeness, this was one thing that the older lady simply couldn’t fathom. “Just be who you are; a dear, good woman. No one who is of real quality could mind that. I don’t.”
Was there a veiled insult under that? Grace was smiling. Probably not. Adelia sank into deep thought, going over everything to do with the murder. If only she could believe it was the work of a passing highwayman.
After a few moments of contemplation, she said, “I still wonder if Lord Mondial is protecting his valet in some way.”
Grace snickered and said drily, “You have met the Marquis, haven’t you? You must have worked him out by now. If he is involved, he won’t be anyone’s dupe. He’s no performing monkey. He’ll be the ringmaster himself.”
There was a rushing sound, like waves breaking on a shore, in Adelia’s head. Her palms were clammy. “He ... he set it all up himself?”
Grace shrugged slightly, as much as her tight clothing would allow such a movement. “I am not suggesting that he did. But if he is involved – as you suspect he might be – then he will be at the very heart of the matter. Lord Mondial will never be on the periphery of anything.”
Adelia stood up quickly. She paced to the windows and when she turned around, the Dowager Countess had left. She must have slipped out silently to leave Adelia to think.
And think she did.
We have been hunting for Tobias Taylor’s motive, she thought, and coming up short. He does not have a hidden motive. He has no motive.
But what of John Haveringham, the Marquis of Mondial? What of his motive? He could not shoot himself – but he could arrange a shooting.
Why was Philippa the target, though?
And then Adelia smacked her forehead and gasped as her blood ran cold. Lord Mondial didn’t intend to be out in the gardens with Philippa Lamb.
He was supposed to be there with Dido.
Adelia wanted to be sick. She gathered all her wits and she ran to find her husband.
Twenty-two
Adelia rushed back into their suite. She didn’t bother with an apology to Theodore about her earlier behaviour. It was hardly the most important thing at the moment. She sat on the bed, stood up, sat at the window, stood up, paced around, sat down, stood up again and all the while she blurted out what she had put together.
Theodore remained seated throughout and listened intently, also willing to put the matter of the small argument to one side for the moment. He bid her explain her reasoning to him three times. Each time she did so, she slowed down a little and together they pieced together a possible chain of events. He pulled out the drawings that they had made right at the start, and followed the paths of the principle acts as they talked it over.
“Taylor the valet,” Theodore mused, tapping his pencil repetitively on the table as he went over the possible events. “He is asked to attack ... our daughter
.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Mondial arranges to walk with her in the gardens, here. But she is called back to the house. Miss Lamb is already down there. Is that a co-incidence? We may never know.”
“I believe Lord Mondial was lusting after her,” Adelia said, no longer willing to see anything good in the Marquis. “And she knew of his unseemly attentions and she wanted to avoid him.”
“Well, they met anyway and probably accidentally, and Taylor did not know it was the wrong woman. He fired as arranged and fled from the scene. He changed his clothes and hid the pistols and came back into the house. Later he burned the clothes, but unsuccessfully. And then Mondial tried to send him away. But he came back. I gather that he ran out of money. Is he a gambler, do we know?”
“I don’t know but I can find out,” she said.
“It’s not the most important thing. From his words, I suspect that he is – he said he was not as lucky as he usually is. So, this is all plausible,” Theodore said, now pressing so hard with the pencil that the lead point snapped. “But is it true?”
“I do not want to believe so. Yet it fits as no other explanation did.”
“Explanations are one thing – a clever man can explain the moon is made of cheese and we can believe it if the lie is good enough. What don’t lie are facts.”
“Which you have unearthed,” Adelia said. “The clothing, the pistols, the movements of Taylor. There are witnesses, too. Sir Henry Locksley, for example.”
“Motive,” Theodore spat out suddenly, and his face was twisted with anguish. “Miss Lamb or our Dido – why would either woman be a target?”
Adelia was still pacing around. She got to the window and looked out across the lawns. It was a bright day but the grass was untouched. No one played on the perfect lawn. No children hunted for beetles in the flower borders. The castle was filling up with guests all carefully chosen to be the best of the best, the elite of British society. There were barely a dozen marquises in all of England and Lord Mondial liked you to know it.
“Do you think he is truly a devoted husband?” Adelia said. She was talking to herself as much as she was addressing Theodore. “I’m not talking about love. He doesn’t need to love her.”
“He should!” Theodore said.
“You old romantic. You know that’s not how it works. We were happy to have him as the husband for our daughter because he was rich and his reputation was spotless. And she was happy to have him as she found him kind and attentive. He’s also good-looking and they shared the same aims.” Adelia stopped.
“What? I agree with all of that.”
“No. Their aims. I think they have always had different dreams and different ideas of what this marriage was supposed to be!” Adelia said in a rising panic. “I can see it now – I think.”
“It was a mutually beneficial transaction between them, if you wish me to be logical,” Theodore said. “But I do believe he loves her, and she loves him. That is a great bonus.”
“They might have done so, once. I need to confirm my thoughts with Dido herself, but she will never confess this to me directly.” She turned and smoothed down her clothing. “I’m going to speak to your mother again first.”
“Wait. Wait one moment – tell me honestly, my dear heart, do you believe, really believe, that Mondial could have engineered some harm to befall our daughter, for whatever reason?”
“Yes. I am sorry to say that I do but I need to find more proof.”
He was on his feet by then. “I don’t need proof anymore. I believe in your intelligence and if you say this to be true, then I shall call the cad out and be done with it.”
“No! You must have patience. Remember that you are the rational one, my love. Do not be swayed by my feminine excesses. Bide your time. You told me about the importance of evidence; now take your own advice. Please.” Adelia was afraid that one more push would have sent Theodore striding down the corridors, threatening a duel with the Marquis.
“What proof can you possibly get into the inner workings of a man’s dark heart?” Theodore demanded.
Adelia could not resist a grim smile. “You would be amazed what a woman can do.”
SHE FOUND THE DOWAGER Countess deep in conversation with a gaggle of recent arrivals, all ladies, gathered in the garden room. Dido was there too, playing the part of graceful hostess with calm magnanimity as if nothing had been happening in her life but an endless whirl of tea parties and fancy cakes. Adelia greeted everyone with the due respect they were owed, which took far too long, but she kept making meaningful eye contact with the Countess until the older lady sighed and declared she needed to stretch her legs.
“Otherwise,” she told everyone, “I shall simply set like stone in one position and have to be carried from chair to bed and back again for the rest of my days. My dear daughter-in-law, would you do me the honour of accompanying me on a turn around the garden? No, no, dear Dido, you stay with your guests. Don’t allow a doddery old fool like me to ruin your day.”
As soon as they were out of earshot and progressing down a neat pathway, Grace said, “Well, I must say, no one has mentioned the murder yet but they’re all simply dying to. My money is on Lady Montsalle to be the first to open her mouth. She is utterly crass.”
“If you hear any gossip or rumour, however idle or spurious, will you come directly to me?” Adelia begged. “We believe we might be close to a breakthrough but...”
“Of course. What is the nature of this breakthrough?”
Adelia hesitated. “You bid me look more closely into the nature of Lord Mondial,” she said at last. “I am fearful that his relationship with Dido might not be ...”
They walked on in silence. Adelia struggled with finding the right words to express herself. She could barely frame her fear that Lord Mondial might be plotting his own wife’s death and anyway, really, why would he? Except that...
Grace put voice to those fears. She said, “Dido is the most dear, sweet thing but she’s not at all what he was expecting in a wife, is she?”
“What do you think he was expecting?”
Grace snorted. “What do all men of his class expect? A pretty woman who will stay looking as if she is twenty-one her entire life. A witty woman who will sparkle, night after night, at soirees and dinner parties and social engagements, without tiring or flagging or growing bored. A woman that others envy. A woman that others lust after. A woman that everyone admires, everyone looks at, everyone wants to be seen with. Her glamour and beauty and skills as a hostess reflect all the more on him and his status. He wants a bride, a perpetual bride. He did not expect her to become a good, sensible, mature wife and mother.”
“You have expressed well what I have been struggling to come to terms with,” Adelia said as a profound sadness washed over her. “I am not sure if he has been unfaithful but I suspect that he wants to and little would stop him once he found a willing partner.”
“Miss Lamb?”
“She was decidedly unwilling. She was packing to leave at one point and now I suspect he had made advances to her which she repelled.”
“And so he arranged for her murder?” Even Grace sounded shocked at that idea.
“No, worse. He arranged for ... oh, this is beyond horrible. When the attack took place, he was supposed to be walking in the garden with Dido!”
Grace did not speak for a long minute. They stopped walking and stood side by side, staring across the lawns at the rolling hills and carefully planted copses of trees that dotted the idyllic landscape. High hills rose up behind, making the perfect backdrop. “There are other ways to be rid of a wife,” she said at last.
“Yes. The asylum is the most common choice for a man of means.”
“Yet I feel certain that he loves her, or at least holds her in high regard,” Grace said. Then she gave a bitter laugh. “Do you know, I rather fancy that’s why he would rather have seen his wife dead than committed. In death her reputation is spotless and unsullied and no blame can attach to the hu
sband. A mad wife, though, is a source of pity and shame and public speculation. Oh, my poor dear Adelia – my poor dear Dido. If this is true, it is a tangled mess. Do you think she knows how he thinks or feels?”
“No,” said Adelia. “I doubt she even suspects the specifics but she must have some idea of her husband’s mental state in general. I cannot ask her. I am her mother and she will never tell me everything, especially if she thinks it will upset me. But you...”
“Consider it done. I shall go and speak to her this instant.” Grace offered her arm to Adelia and they walked back up to the gathering together. The patio doors were open and the conversation spilled out onto the upper lawns and terraces. There was light laughter and gentle teasing. No one was saying anything of importance. And Adelia had to fight the urge to run through the garden room, picking up cups of tea and hurling them against the walls, kicking over the tables and shouting – “Shut up! All of you, all of you, can’t you see you’re all fake?”
Of course she was as fake, outwardly and in public, as anyone else. She plastered on a smile and entered the throng, and wondered how many other people there harboured secret desires deep in their hearts to kick over a table or two.
GRACE WENT OFF TO SPEAK to her granddaughter Dido, and Adelia found that now she herself was the object of meaningful eye contact. Harriet Hobson was on the edge of the growing crowd and wiggling her eyebrows frantically. They slipped away before anyone else could waylay either of them.
“Tell me some good news,” Adelia said. “For I am going to burst with worry.”
“I am so glad that I can! I’ve been sleuthing for you and you can thank me in many ways, but let them be alcohol-based ways. Your darling brother has left this area and is bound for London.”
“Oh, thank goodness!”
“And are we absolutely sure that he’s nothing to do with the murder? I should hate to have aided a murderer to escape, thrilling though that sounds as an abstraction.”
