by Issy Brooke
But it was exactly the right sort of horse for a man fizzing with frustration and foul temper.
A perky stable-boy jumped briskly to the task of tacking the hunter up and offered to warm him up with some gentle walking but Theodore was itching to get away. He just wanted to be on his own and have some space to think. Properly on his own, not surrounded by servants lingering in corners. So he ordered the boy to lead the horse to a mounting block and swung himself up into the saddle. He adjusted the stirrups, ignored the early protests of his inner thighs and took up the reins, urging the horse out of the courtyard and along the gravel drive. He needed to leave Mondial Castle behind, just for a while.
He started out sensibly and sedately, just a walk that kept bursting into bouts of trotting. But the horse was lively and wanted to test out this new rider it found upon its back and soon Theodore found that he was barely clinging on, fighting to keep the horse down to a rocking canter. He was dragged down lanes and bridleways that were totally unfamiliar to him and he had to trust to the animal that it knew where they were going. It left no space in Theodore’s head for anything else. He used every ounce of his concentration to stay on the horse but he was fairly sure it was the stallion who was calling the shots.
It was over an hour later when he finally managed to persuade the stallion to bring him home. Even after such a long time out, the horse trotted into the yard with a high and prancing step, tossing its head in satisfaction. Both Theodore and the horse were soaked in sweat, not helped by the oppressive atmosphere. The sky was leaden grey with low clouds, an inauspicious start to the day of the garden party.
The stable-boy rushed out to take the reins when he heard them enter, and this let Theodore slither to the ground. He managed to keep upright and dignified until he was out of sight around a corner. Usually Theodore would have taken care of the horse himself, rubbing him down and sorting out the tack although he generally stopped short of cleaning the saddle and bridle himself. This time, however, he was content to leave it to the servants. He just needed to lean against a wall and wait for his legs to stop wobbling.
He guessed that he would have missed breakfast by now so once he was able to walk again, he entered the house by the main doors but went along the ground floor towards the kitchens. A maid waylaid him before he could encroach upon their domain too far, and told him she’d be happy to bring him a selection of breakfast foods into a smaller dining room or his own suite. He refused and requested only bread and ham to be handed over where he stood, as he knew they were all busy with the preparations for that day’s party.
“Oh don’t worry, my lord. We’re used to this sort of thing,” she said. She smiled prettily and was just dropping a curtsey when her face froze and she whirled off to the kitchens, saying in a stiffer voice, “I’ll see to it directly, my lord.”
Tobias Taylor approached from behind Theodore.
Something snapped in Theodore. He couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t just the knowledge of the part Taylor had played in recent events, but it was also the reaction of the maid when she saw the valet. It told Theodore so much. Before he could muster his rational sense, he had grabbed Taylor by the lapels of his liveried jacket and slammed him against the wall.
“I say!” Taylor gasped out as Theodore laid his forearm along his throat and pressed down hard. The valet was a little taller than Theodore but the older man had weight, experience and righteous fury on his side. All of this temporarily overrode the trembling in his exhausted muscles.
“You!” Theodore snarled. “What did you do? I know you did something – you had some part in the murder – that poor girl! I ask you again, what did you do?”
Taylor couldn’t answer. He was choking and going red. In exasperation – partly at himself, as it seemed he couldn’t even get intimidation right – Theodore let go and Taylor sprang away, clutching at his bruised neck.
“My lord shall hear of this!”
Theodore wanted to say, “Good, and tell him I’ll do the same to him, too!” But sense finally prevailed. He could not risk being ejected from the house at this late stage and already he was suffused with regret. He managed to make a stiff apology, saying, “I am so very sorry. That was inexcusable. I have no defence except that I have been so very overwrought lately. Please, I most humbly beg your forgiveness.”
Taylor stared at him like he didn’t believe a word of it, and Theodore didn’t blame him because he certainly didn’t mean it. The valet strode away and the maid, who must have been hiding and listening, popped up with his makeshift breakfast.
She had filled a basket of goodies for him. “Oh, do please take it and enjoy it, my lord.” She looked as if she wanted to say something else but she restrained herself, held in a small smile, and tripped away.
He took the food up to the suite and prepared to face the day.
Today was the day he’d bring Lord Mondial to justice.
Twenty-five
Adelia looked strained, Theodore thought. She was looking around the room and then out at the garden, all the while tapping her fingers against her dress.
“You mustn’t worry,” he told her as they lingered in their suite during the dead hours before the garden party was to begin. “I promise you that I shall bring them all to justice.”
She turned from the window and blinked at him in surprise and confusion. “It’s not that. Well, that is part of it all, of course. But I thought that Mary looked well until I looked more closely and realised she was wearing an inordinate amount of powder and rouge, though carefully applied to make herself look as if she were perfectly healthy. And I was thinking about Lord Mondial and our Dido. And I was thinking about this afternoon’s party and whether everything is ready and where the band is going to be and if Lady Montsalle will keep her opinions to herself. And also, I am sure that it’s going to rain. Don’t you think?”
“We could do with the atmosphere to break and freshen things up.”
“Perhaps, but it needs to wait until tomorrow. Did you think that Mary looked ill?”
“No, I thought she looked very well.”
Adelia made a non-committal noise and continued to stare out of the window. Someone tapped at the door and Theodore called out for them to enter. Smith poked her head inside.
“No, thank you; we’re all ready,” Adelia said over her shoulder.
“Begging your pardon, my lady; but there’s a gentleman downstairs who’s asking to see my lord.” Smith handed over a card.
Theodore glanced at the name and felt a strange dropping sensation in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he was a small boy again, nervous and unsure of the world.
“What is it?” Adelia asked.
“I must go down. It’s – he has come at last. I mean – it’s Doctor Hardy.”
He barely heard his wife’s reply. His vision had narrowed to a point. He followed Smith down the stairs and he was glad of her confident step because he wasn’t sure, in his suddenly overwrought state, that he could have found his own way down. She steered him through the bustling great hall and into a side room set out for receiving any last-minute arrivals.
And there he was.
He was old, so much older than even Theodore had imagined he might be. He was sitting in a straight-backed chair with his hands on his cane and a solemn-faced male attendant stood behind his shoulder, glaring at Theodore in case he offered any threat to his master. Theodore said, “Sir! Doctor Hardy! Please don’t get up...” and then he felt foolish for the old man was making no move to do so anyway.
Doctor Hardy smiled broadly and his face instantly became the one that had etched itself into Theodore’s memory since his childhood.
He was gazing upon the face of his hero once more.
“My lord,” the doctor said, his smile fading. “We meet at last under the most terrible of circumstances. You were there at my dear Philippa’s passing...”
Theodore went to the doctor’s side. He wanted to pour out his heart to the old man, tell him of his
own struggles to become a doctor, tell him of the influence that he had had on Theodore’s whole life.
But Adelia seemed to be with him, in his head, and she was saying – very firmly – no. This is not about you. He is here for his granddaughter and don’t you dare divert him.
Theodore realised that his soul’s unburdening could and would have to wait. He said, “Yes, sir, I was there...”
“Tell me everything.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am old and ill and not long for this world. My heart weakens with each passing day. Let me go to my grave with nothing but truth.”
Theodore nodded. “Very well.” And, still kneeling on the floor as if his own aging knees were not complaining, he told Doctor Hardy everything, including his investigations, his suspicions, and his plans for justice. He summed it up as succinctly as he could, not wishing to tax the old man.
His legs had almost seized up. As he got to the end of his recount, Doctor Hardy sunk into silence as he took it all in, and Theodore got awkwardly to his feet. The attendant had to put out his hand to steady Theodore and he nodded with gratitude. He stretched and said, “Sir, do you stay here tonight?”
“Oh, goodness me, no, I understand there is to be something of a party tonight and I have not been invited. Nor do I wish for an invitation. I have engaged a room in the local town and tomorrow I will return home. I wished only to see the place where she ... and speak to you, and thank you for your solicitations. You took such care of her while I was away during her youth and I never did make the time to thank you in person. It is a dreadful business, dreadful, but we do what we can and the rest is in the Lord’s hands.”
“Sir, might I accompany you to your lodgings?” Theodore asked as the attendant helped Doctor Hardy to his feet. He felt a dragging reluctance to let the man go. There was still so much that Theodore wanted to tell him; it burned a hole in him, this flame which had been fanned up again from a smoulder of many long years.
“Of course, that would be –”
But Doctor Hardy did not finish his sentence. The door burst open and Smith was there, but this time her usually placid and benign face was stretched, and her skin was pale.
“My lord – come at once. It is Mary!”
Theodore ran to the door and stopped and turned to face Doctor Hardy.
The old man rested on his cane, his attendant holding his master’s elbow.
“My daughter,” said Theodore. “But...”
“Go to her,” Doctor Hardy said. “You know what’s important; you should have learned that by now. Show me that you have.”
Theodore gulped, nodded, and raced off after Smith once more.
ADELIA WAS ALREADY there, of course. She looked up as Theodore entered the room. Cecil was hovering alongside the couch where Mary was lying, her skin clammy and her lips blue. She said, “Oh, I am gathering quite the audience!” in a voice that was faint and slow, punctuated by too many breaths.
“You have overtaxed your heart,” Theodore said at once.
“Well, all of you crowding in won’t help,” she managed to reply with archness even in her weakened state. “I only need to rest; you know nothing else will do.”
Cecil nodded. “She had fainted but she is much revived now. I am sorry to have alarmed you all. As she says, all she needs now is a little rest.”
Theodore took her pulse. It was slow and weak, but it was regular. Adelia twisted her fingers together and he knew she was remembering all the illnesses and attacks that Mary had suffered throughout her whole life.
“This has happened before, of course,” Theodore said. “And you have never died before so I doubt you will this time.”
Mary started to laugh, and after a pause, so did Adelia.
Adelia said, “I have never been so happy to hear your blunt bedside manner before.”
“You see?” he replied, almost crossly. “The patient always deserves the truth.”
He still had hold of Mary’s hand. She squeezed it. “Go and enjoy the party – is it not about to start?” He glanced at Adelia, who nodded.
Cecil said, “I shall stay with her and we shall be most content.”
“Call me at any sign, however small, of a change.”
Cecil assured Theodore that he would. Adelia left, saying there was something important to do involving artichokes, and Theodore followed.
When he got back to the receiving room downstairs, it was empty.
Twenty-six
And then more disaster struck.
It was now two in the afternoon and all the guests had arrived. Theodore hadn’t seen Adelia since leaving Mary’s rooms, either. She was busy with helping Dido attend to the last-minute preparations for the event. However efficient and experienced the household staff were, there were still always a slew of late disasters to deal with.
People began to mill around the gardens, admiring the roses, gathering in the large marquee to listen to a string quartet, and already the champagne was flowing.
And by half past two, torrential rain had forced everyone out of the garden and into the great hall as even the marquee could not cope in the heavy downpour.
The guests wandered around in confused chaos but the staff, who had prepared for all eventualities, calmly worked like a well-trained army to bring the food and drink inside. Musicians dashed past trying to hold their precious instruments under their clothes, preferring to risk indecency than allow the wood to get wet. Theodore stayed out of the way as his offers of help had been refused. He caught snatches of conversation as the throng ebbed and flowed around him.
“...dress was quite transparent in the rain, most shocking! Did you see her?”
“...thought that he looked rather ill, if I’m honest; Geneva cannot have suited him at all...”
“...into Mondial’s wine cellar, wouldn’t you?”
And then came the snippets of gossip about the more serious matter.
“Yes, the pair of them, both shot at close range, but just what were they doing together in the garden, that’s what enquiring minds want to know.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting...?
“Of course not! He is always above reproach. That girl, however, well, she should have been married a long time ago. Don’t you find it strange that she was still unwed?”
Theodore bristled at the insinuations being thrown at the memory of poor Philippa Lamb. But of course no such scandal would attach to Lord Mondial. It was easier to slander a woman, and one who could no longer defend herself was even easier.
It was time for him to act. He scanned the room, aware that he was rudely ignoring the overtures towards initiating a conversation that other people were making towards him. After a brief hunt through the open reception rooms of the main part of the castle, he finally spotted Judge Anderson standing by a window, alongside another man. Both were looking out at the rain. This room was a small and unremarkable receiving room, generally unused in day to day life. There was a smell in the air of dust and wet wool. A few other people were gathered in small knots around the room, including a pair of ladies who had taken over a long couch by a screen and whose heads were bent together in deep conversation. There were three sets of double doors opening into the room and all were flung open to allow the free movement of the guests.
Theodore had been introduced to the judge on a few previous occasions and they knew one another well enough to nod if they passed in the corridors of a club. Theodore wasn’t sure enough of the man’s character, however, to be able to guess how he was going to predict when he was rudely interrupted. And how close were Mondial and the judge, exactly? If Mondial were to be believed, they were in one another’s pockets.
But it was not wise to trust to what Mondial claimed was the truth.
Theodore realised that he was stalling by sinking into reflection. He shook himself and surged towards the pair before he could convince himself not to.
Judge Anderson turned and greeted him with a brief smile. He was not
, generally, a jovial character. He was tall and broad, as well built as a village blacksmith, and though he was older than Theodore he looked as capable as a man of twenty. He would not have let a headstrong stallion pick his own route for a ride, Theodore thought. And that gave him hope that the judge was unlikely to be unduly influenced by Mondial, whatever the Marquis might believe.
The other man was introduced as a local landowner, someone of the minor gentry. He seemed perfectly respectable and soon melted away when he realised that Theodore needed to speak to the judge.
“Sir,” said Theodore urgently. “I shall not prevaricate or beat about the bush. I need to outline a most serious crime which has occurred here. I am going to make some shocking allegations and I beg your indulgence for just ten minutes. Please will you listen?”
Judge Anderson’s deep black brows drew down in a frown, making him look even more like a pugilist about to enter the ring. “Is this to do with the attack that occurred in these grounds?”
“It is, sir. I have a great deal of actual evidence, not just eyewitness accounts and speculation, to demonstrate beyond reasonable doubt that the murder was planned from within this very house – although the intended victim was never Miss Lamb.”
Judge Anderson did not comment or make any other facial expression except displeasure. Theodore could not read what that expression might have meant. So he ploughed on with his recount, regardless.
“Sir, is the county commissioner of the police here this afternoon? I intend to lay it all out before you both and my information must then be acted upon immediately.”
“As to any action, that will be for us to decide. But yes, Sir Michael Tennyson is here. Are you absolutely convinced we must listen to this now? You are welcome to call upon me in my lodgings at any convenient date as I would rather attend to professional matters in a professional space; I am here to enjoy myself.”
