by Alec, Joyce
“But we cannot speak of what we know without pushing guilt onto Lady Chaucer’s shoulders,” Francis reminded him, glancing at Lady Chaucer and seeing her face pale all the more. “Perhaps whomever it was that set Lady Chaucer up to take the responsibility for her husband’s death was frustrated that he had been foiled in the attempt.”
Lord Wickton frowned. “But why move the body, if that is the case?”
Francis could not come up with an immediate answer, suddenly feeling more uncertain than ever before. Their plan to ensure Lady Chaucer’s safety and protection by having her move to Miss James and Lord Wickton’s townhouse for a short time had seemed quite the idea, but if the body was no longer present, then everything went awry. There was no reason for Lady Chaucer to remove herself from the house, which meant that she could still be in some sort of danger.
“Aha!”
Francis smacked himself on the forehead as he let out an exclamation, suddenly realizing what it was he remembered.
“Newton?” Lord Wickton looked puzzled. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
“I have just now recalled,” Francis explained, feeling a little burst of hope. “Lord Chaucer was not lying on the carpet but rather on a thick rug. A rug that could have been used to either mop up the blood or to, mayhap, remove the body.”
Lord Wickton considered this for a moment, before nodding slowly. “It could very well be.” He began to remove his jacket, begging his apologies as he did so. “Although I still cannot see how one man alone could remove the body of Lord Chaucer from this house. It is quite impossible, Newton.”
“I am aware of that,” Francis murmured quietly, his sharp eyes watching Lord Wickton remove his jacket and Miss James remove her shawl. The room was fairly warm for a summer’s evening, for the blaze in the grate would be much better suited to a winter’s night than a summer’s day.
And then, it hit him.
“Wait!” Dashing forward, he picked up the poker and began to sift through the coals that still burned merrily beneath something else, something heavier and thicker that did not seem to want to move. “Look, Wickton. Look!”
Lord Wickton was beside him in a moment. “What is it?”
“There. Do you see?” Francis poked at the fire yet again, only to hear Lord Wickton catch his breath.
“Newton?”
He turned to look over his shoulder and saw Lady Chaucer watching him, her fingers gripping tightly to the arms of the chair.
“What is it, sir?” Lady Chaucer asked, perhaps feeling a little too weak to remove herself from her seat. “It is something of pertinence?”
Francis nodded and handed the poker to Lord Wickton, who continued to poke around the flames. Miss James joined him, obviously very interested in what he had discovered.
“It is the rug, Lady Chaucer,” Francis stated quietly. “That was what I had forgot. Your husband was lying on the rug that was situated close to the fire. I did not take a good deal of notice as I was greatly concerned for your wellbeing, but I do recall that he was on that rug. The rug that is now burning in the fireplace.”
Lady Chaucer gasped, her eyes flaring as one hand pressed against her mouth.
“And the floor here,” Miss James added, making Francis turn around to see her pressing her hand against the plush carpet. “It is damp. It would suggest that someone has attempted to remove a stain, and from the looks of it, been rather successful.”
Francis sighed heavily, returning his gaze to Lady Chaucer. “Someone has done all they can to pretend that your husband was never present in this room, Lady Chaucer,” he declared, seeing her other hand reaching out towards him and grasping it at once. She was shaking violently now, the shock becoming all the greater as she stared at him in horror. “I do not understand how such a thing was done, but there will no longer be any need for you to discover this grisly scene, as we had planned.”
“Then what am I to do?” Lady Chaucer’s eyes were welling up with tears, her fright becoming all the more apparent. “I cannot remain here alone, not when my husband will not be returning to me and certainly not when there may be another seeking to bring about my ruin!” Tears began to drip onto her cheeks and Francis could do nothing other than to squeeze her hand, not quite certain what to say.
“I have something.”
Miss James appeared by Francis’ side, looking down fondly at Lady Chaucer.
“I think, Lady Chaucer, that we shall all delay our departure from this house until sunup,” she began, as Lady Chaucer continued to grip Francis’ hand tightly. “Thereafter, you will lock your bedchamber door and rest, just as you are required to.”
“And I shall remain watching just outside the townhouse,” Francis added, seeing Lady Chaucer’s eyes widen just a fraction more, before tears fell onto her cheeks. “Miss James is correct. You will need to rest and recover and will be able to do so in safety.”
“Tomorrow,” Miss James continued, throwing Francis a grateful smile, “you shall begin to question the staff as to where your husband might be. They will think that he has simply gone into town for an evening’s entertainment and will try to reassure you that he will return presently. You may wish to write me a note to visit with you, so I shall return in the afternoon to await Lord Chaucer’s arrival. When he does not return, you shall begin to become alarmed and rather frantic.”
Francis nodded slowly, seeing the wisdom in Miss James’ plan. “And thereafter, once the news is out that Lord Chaucer has gone missing from his townhouse, Miss James can invite you to reside with herself and her brother, until your husband is found.”
Miss James nodded. “The beau monde will think it nothing more than a kindness, for they will have more than enough to discuss amongst themselves without truly worrying about your wellbeing.” A look of disgust rippled over her face. “Then, you shall be able to reside with my brother and me for as long as you wish, Lady Chaucer. It is only one more night that you need to remain here, and, in fact, only a few hours of your time.”
Lady Chaucer was crying in earnest now, although she did not drag her eyes away from Francis, before returning them to Miss James.
“You are both very kind,” she whispered eventually. “I do not know what to think nor what to say. To expect to see my husband here is one thing, but to see his body gone from this place is quite another.” She squeezed Francis’ hand. “I trust every word that came from your lips as regards what you saw, sir. I do not doubt that for even a moment.”
Francis returned the pressure, seeing the way Lady Chaucer was beginning to crumble. She needed rest and a chance to recover herself, but she could not do so now, not when the staff would soon be visiting them with refreshments and the like.
“I must ask you, Lady Chaucer, to continue with the façade you began with the butler,” he urged kindly, pulling out a large handkerchief and handing it to her. “We must all take refreshments and play cards, just as we have stated. The staff must not think you to be false in any way. We must make sure to stay away from the fireplace, playing cards in another part of the room so that there is, in the staff’s eyes, no opportunity for us to question the damp carpet, nor what is burning in the grate.”
Lady Chaucer nodded, her throat working for a moment. “You think my husband’s staff may be involved in all of this?”
“I cannot say for certain, but it would appear so,” Francis replied gently. “I cannot see another way for a single living soul to remove a body from this room, particularly when Lord Chaucer was not exactly a gentleman with a light build.” He saw the understanding grow in Lady Chaucer’s eyes and felt his heart quicken yet again. She was struggling terribly but he could see the determination deep within her, as she fought to find her composure, to do what was required.
“Very well.”
Lady Chaucer let go of Francis’ hand and wiped her eyes once, then twice, before tucking the handkerchief away neatly. Then, she rose to her feet and, somewhat unsteadily, made her way to the corner of the room, where
a card table was already waiting.
“This is more than a trifle confusing, Newton,” Lord Wickton muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Why should someone remove Lord Chaucer’s body from this place? There was no particular evidence, aside from the knife, so why would they wish to do such a thing?”
“Perhaps because they did not manage to achieve all they had set out to do,” Francis replied darkly, as they made their way towards the card table. “They did not manage to force Lady Chaucer to shoulder the blame.”
“But she has not acquaintances,” Lord Wickton protested. “No one she would consider either a friend or an enemy. What can the reason be to discredit her in such a way? I cannot understand it.”
“Neither can I,” Francis agreed quietly. “But we must do all we can to protect her. As you said, she is without any other.”
Lord Wickton nodded, grimaced, and then moved to take his seat at one end of the card table. Francis made to do so also, only for a scratch to come at the door and then the door to open. The butler revealed himself, followed by two footmen who carried trays laden with a variety of finger sandwiches and sweets, which were set on the tables to Francis’ left.
“Lady Chaucer,” the butler began, his voice a little strained, “it is my unfortunate duty to tell you that Lord Chaucer is not abed.”
Francis held his breath, turning to Lady Chaucer, but to his very great relief saw that she appeared most astonished. Her hand trembled slightly as she held the pack of cards, her eyes fixed on the butler.
“He is not?” she repeated, sounding both alarmed and confused. “Then where has he gone?”
The butler looked apologetic, spreading his hands. “I cannot say,” he said, obviously baffled. “The bed remains unslept in, and none of the staff have seen the master. He was most direct in his request that he remain undisturbed today and I have not wanted to deviate from his demands.”
Lady Chaucer nodded, although her eyes remained fixed on the butler. Francis wanted to applaud her fortitude and her acting, for she was doing both remarkably well.
“I can well understand your eagerness to do your master’s bidding,” she stated plainly. “But I can hardly think it the case that my husband would have left his residence without a single one of his staff being aware of his departure.” She arched an eyebrow. “But then again, I see that you did not know where I was gone to this morning, either. I was most displeased with the lack of staff present this morning.”
The butler paled a little. “My lady, the master gave instructions that the staff might take a leisurely morning, since neither he nor you were to be disturbed. You must understand that we did not know you had any intention of departing the house.”
Lady Chaucer sniffed a little disdainfully. “I see,” she said, placing the cards down on the table with great deliberation. “Then I suppose I have no other choice but to ask you where you think my husband might have gone?”
The butler did nothing but stare at Lady Chaucer, his eyes rounding like silver shillings.
“You believe he could have departed the house last evening, I presume,” Lady Chaucer said, after a moment or two. “Therefore, his whereabouts are entirely unknown.” She hesitated, glancing towards Francis, who saw the question in her eyes.
He stepped in at once, knowing precisely what it was she needed from him. It was as though their two minds were as one, already perfectly attuned. She did not even need to say a single word without him being fully aware of what she required.
“May I suggest, Lady Chaucer, that you send footmen to Lord Chaucer’s favorite haunts, to see if he resides there?” he said, sitting back in his chair with a casualness made to show the butler that he was not in a state of concern over Lord Chaucer’s disappearance. “Gentlemen are apt to disappear when there is a good deal of liquor involved, Lady Chaucer. I do not think there is a cause for alarm.”
“I quite agree,” Lord Wickton chimed in, with a quick smile in Lady Chaucer’s direction. “We shall remain with you for a good few hours in case he returns and my sister will call upon you as early as you can receive her, to ensure that Lord Chaucer is found and that you are not in a state of distress.”
Lady Chaucer gave them all a warm smile. “You are most kind,” she said, ignoring the butler’s presence. “I am sure you are correct in your suggestions.” She turned her head back towards the butler, giving him a slightly derisive look. “Why are you still standing here, may I ask? Has not Mr. Newton given you a wonderful suggestion as to what to do next?”
The butler stammered, shuffled his feet, and bowed.
“I do not know my husband’s usual places of interest, I am afraid,” Lady Chaucer called after him, as he quit the room. “I leave this entirely in your hands.”
The moment the door closed, Francis saw Lady Chaucer slump in her seat, her hands shaking terribly as she tried to hold them tightly in her lap.
“Brandy,” he said at once, getting out of his chair and marveling at just how well Lady Chaucer had been able to present such a front to her staff. “You have exceeded all expectations, Lady Chaucer. The butler is quite at a loss as to what to say to you.”
Lady Chaucer accepted the glass of brandy from him with a small, tremulous smile. “I was shaking every single moment he was present,” she admitted, as Miss James began to pour the tea. “I feel quite certain that someone will burst in and shout that they saw me do such a terrible act of wickedness that they cannot possibly remain silent.” She lifted the glass to her mouth and took a sip, her eyes closing as she swallowed.
“You need not worry,” Francis said again, sitting back down and handing Lord Wickton a brandy also. “I will admit there is a great mystery surrounding us at this very moment, but it is not something that you need face alone, Lady Chaucer.”
Lady Chaucer smiled, her expression a little less strained than before. “I am no longer alone,” she repeated, looking from Francis, to Lord Wickton, to Miss James and then back to him again. “You cannot know just how much joy that brings me.”
Francis smiled back at her, his mind still pulling at all the different things that had occurred, making Lord Chaucer’s death so utterly confusing. There was so much he did not understand, so much that seemed to make very little sense. Forcing himself to put it to the back of his mind so that he could focus solely on Lady Chaucer to help her through the next few days, Francis let out a long breath. “We will not leave you to face this without support and aid, Lady Chaucer,” he stated firmly, seeing Lord Wickton and Miss James nod their agreement. “You are not without friends any longer.”
7
By the time mid-morning came around, Henrietta found herself in an increasingly agitated state. Lord Chaucer had not been found, according to the reports of the footmen, and each and every time she was given an update, she had been forced to pretend shock and dismay.
It was growing somewhat wearisome and, to top it off, she was a little upset that Miss James had not yet called upon her. The urgency to leave this house that she had only known for a few days was growing ever stronger, and she feared that there were eyes watching her from the nooks and crannies in the walls, that she was still under suspicion from someone.
Rising to her feet, Henrietta walked to the window and looked out, seeing the London streets below her. There was nothing of particular interest, but simply seeing the gentlemen and ladies making their way to wherever they were going brought her a sense of peace.
How often had she looked out onto these streets and felt herself grow distressed over what she could never have? How often had she longed for the freedoms that the passersby seemed to have embraced? She had never once been allowed to walk with either her sister or her mother through the streets of London, on their way to the dressmaker or a bookshop. She had spent hour after hour within the confines of her father’s house, doing as he said and wishing and dreaming for a life that held the precious freedom that was always just out of her reach.
Perhaps that was the stubbornness her fat
her had spoken of. Perhaps that was what he had seen in her that he had wanted to drive out. Yes, she had tried to do as he had asked and yes, she had learned very quickly that to disobey or to even be tardy brought about consequences—sometimes not on her own head but onto that of her mother—but she had never been able to rid herself of the urge to start life anew. Her father had hated that streak in her, she was sure, even though he had never put word to it. She had seen the glare in his eye and tried to do all she could to appease him, but it had never been enough.
Deep down, Henrietta knew that her father had been almost mad in his attempt to ensure both she and her sister showed no traits similar to their late grandmother and had often found herself weary over his long speeches over her never-ending failings. Sometimes, she had hoped that her father might come to care for her should she show that she was precisely as he wished her to be – but her hopes had never come to fruition. And now, she was wed to a gentleman who would continue her father’s tortures in much the same way… should he ever return to the house.
Without warning, her thoughts turned towards Francis Newton. They had only been acquainted for less than three days and yet he seemed to know her almost as well as she knew herself. The way he had encouraged her, the way he had spoken to her with both kindness and honesty had touched her heart. The smile in his eyes had softened her, the gentleness of his touch had shot flames all through her.
It was most inappropriate, of course, to be thinking of another gentleman in such a manner, but the truth was, Henrietta was too overcome with emotions to even try and stop herself from feeling this way. The relief that had come with knowing her husband was gone from this earth had torn at her with guilt, but it remained within her nonetheless. And now to find herself so drawn to another gentleman, for what was the first time in her life, was almost too much to bear.
Francis Newton had endured something so dreadful and yet had appeared to return to society with kindness and understanding in his heart instead of anger and distrust. He, who had known her but a few hours, trusted that she had not killed her husband and had taken her from the dreadful scene, preserving her reputation and, in fact, her very life. She could barely think of what might have occurred if one of the staff had found them both, and she shook visibly at the knowledge that she would have been left without excuse, without friend or kin, to help her. Her father would have not come to her aid, of that she was quite certain. Without the strength and support she needed, she would have crumbled to dust, given herself up to what was to be her fate.
