Murder at Queen's Landing

by Andrea Penrose

  Charlotte didn’t dare look up from her lap, for fear of what she might see in Alison’s expression. “I was good at it, too. Not just the art, but the ideas behind the lines and colors. I felt I could help make sure that the rich and powerful were held accountable for their actions. I also wanted to be a voice for those who had no one else to speak for them, and focus attention on social injustices.”

  She knotted her hands together. “No doubt I’ve made more than my share of mistakes, but I have always tried to do what was right, not merely to pander to what the public might want to hear.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Charlotte hastily. “But—”

  “I doubt it,” responded Alison, finally rousing herself to speech. “I am still searching for the words to articulate my . . . my . . .”

  Charlotte steeled herself. A tongue-lashing from family had always been painful. But coming from the dowager, it would cut to the quick.

  “My profound admiration and respect for your talents and passions,” said Alison. “And how you have worked against all odds to use them for the Higher Good.”

  “I-I feared you might think I had no right to throw stones when I myself am so flawed.”

  “My dear Charley, none of us are perfect, but you . . . you have always demanded more of yourself than anyone else has.” The dowager reached out and took her hand. “So strong, so capable,” she murmured, brushing a soft caress to Charlotte’s ink-stained fingers and palm. “I’ve never been prouder of you than I am at this moment.”

  A tear fell from Charlotte’s lashes, and then another, and another. “Lud, I never cry,” she murmured, blotting her cheeks with her sleeve.

  After composing herself with a watery sniff, she quickly went on. “I was hoping you would accept me for who I am. Your unwavering support is the reason I dared to follow my heart all those years ago, no matter where it led. And now that we’ve come together again, I don’t wish for there to be any secrets between us. You’re too dear to me.”

  “I should hope you know you can trust me,” replied Alison stoutly.

  “I would trust you with my life.” Charlotte gave a wry smile. “In fact, I just have—that is, my life as I know it. If I had to give up my pen . . .” A chill seized the nape of her neck at the thought of it.

  “Thank you, my dear. I’m so glad you decided you could confide in me.” An impish glint flashed in the dowager’s sapphirine eyes. “I confess, I’m relieved to learn why I never drew A. J. Quill’s notice. It made me feel quite low to think that I was losing my fire.”

  Alison regripped her cane. “But never mind that right now. You said that you wished to ask me a favor.” She leaned forward. “How can I help?”

  CHAPTER 13

  Paper crackled as Wrexford refolded the banking list Was the knife yet another black mark against Woodbridge? Or . . .

  He drew in a pensive breath. And released it in a low snort. “Is it just me, or do you also smell a rat?”

  Tyler took a sip of his brandy. “The odor is definitely teasing at the nostrils.” He turned the glass in his hands. “But if it was planted, who did it? And why?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted the earl. “And yet why would Woodbridge be so stupid as to leave such a distinctive weapon at the scene of the crime?”

  “Perhaps he simply panicked.”

  “Perhaps,” agreed Wrexford. “Especially if he didn’t come to the rendezvous with the intention of committing murder. He and Peabody might have quarreled and it turned ugly, or the clerk might have threatened him.” His brows drew together in thought. “Or perhaps the highborn gentleman seen arguing with the clerk is David Mather, not Woodbridge, and the knife belongs to him.”

  “You think Mather might have murdered his cousin?” Tyler raised a skeptical brow. “Over a woman?”

  “Lady Charlotte witnessed an ugly incident involving Mather, which seems to indicate he has secrets to hide.” The earl recounted what she had told him. “There are any number of reasons why two relatives—one born to aristocratic privilege and one born to modest means—might quarrel.”

  The valet pursed his lips, in thought. For several long moments, the only sound in the room was the muted hiss of the burning coals. “Very well. I’ll check on whether Mather’s family crest includes a lion rampant.”

  Wrexford closed his eyes, trying to force the amorphous clues into sharper focus. “Something just doesn’t strike me as right about the murder being a matter of jealousy. I keep coming back to the connection between Woodbridge, Mather, Peabody. There has to be something other than a woman tying them together.”

  Trust your intuition. Charlotte’s frequent exhortation teased at his conscious thought. And suddenly another idea popped to mind.

  “Money,” he muttered. “Perhaps Peabody had learned something from Mather about Woodbridge’s finances and was using it to blackmail him.”

  Tyler’s brows drew together. “An interesting possibility.”

  “Or perhaps the two of them were in league on the blackmail scheme and then quarreled over the money . . .” The earl rose and began to pace.

  The coals crackled.

  “I think you should track down Griffin and see if he’ll consent to let us borrow the knife for a short time. Apparently, he had Henning look at Peabody’s corpse right after the murder to see if the killer had left any telltale clues as to his identity.” Basil Henning, an irascible surgeon and longtime friend, ran a clinic for the poor in the slums of Seven Dials. His skills at healing were matched by his uncanny ability to make the dead give up their secrets. “Now that we have a weapon, Henning may be able to tell us whether it was the one used to kill Peabody.”

  Tyler set down his glass with a martyred sigh. “Alas, no rest for the weary, I see.”

  “Indeed not.” Wrexford turned abruptly to retrieve his coat. “Damnation, I need to pay a visit to Lady Charlotte and inform her of these latest twists. She sensed that Annie Wright was holding something back. If the barmaid knows something, be it the jealous rivalry or the blackmail scheme, we need to speak with her—and quickly.”

  “You think she might be in danger?” asked the valet softly. “From whom? Woodbridge?”

  “The threat of having one’s nefarious schemes exposed is certainly a motive for murder,” he answered. “And one man is already dead.”

  * * *

  A rush of gratitude welled up in Charlotte’s throat. To once again have her great-aunt as a confidante made all the uncertainties she was facing seem a little less daunting. “Wrexford needs to visit Cambridge, and I wish to go as well,” she explained. “And short of locking him in some deep, dark dungeon, Raven will likely find a way to follow us. You see, we fear that Lady Cordelia and her brother have become enmeshed in something dangerous . . .”

  The dowager listened in rapt silence as Charlotte explained about her friend’s disappearance and the unsettling clues discovered at Woodbridge’s townhouse.

  “Wrexford and Sheffield intend to stay at the earl’s estate while they seek to locate the elusive professor,” continued Charlotte. “It occurred to me that if the boys and I travel with you, it would be perfectly proper for us to pay them a visit. A country house party of sorts, though sleuthing would take precedence over frivolous entertainments.”

  “An excellent plan,” said Alison. “The tabbies of the ton won’t dare to gossip if I’m part of the party.” She paused. “Though come to think of it, there has been some talk about Wrexford, and how attentive he’s been to you.” A cough. “Er, is he . . . that is, are you . . .”

  Charlotte drew in a shaky breath. “We are . . .”

  Friends? She couldn’t bring herself to reduce their relationship to such a lame platitude. It was far more nuanced, with richly textured layers, shaded with subtle colors—and here and there a hint of shadow.

  “We are special to each other, in ways that defy any words I can muster,” she said softly. “For now, I’m afraid that’s the
best answer I can give you.”

  The dowager nodded sagely, but a hint of a smile curled at the corners of her lips. “Like the Weasels, the heart doesn’t always choose to speak the King’s English.”

  They sat for a long moment, holding hands in companionable silence. The universe, mused Charlotte, worked in mysterious ways. It was because of her cousin’s shocking murder that she had been reunited with the dowager. Life was capricious. It was, she supposed, a stark reminder that things could change in the blink of an eye.

  Carpe diem. Seize the day.

  Perhaps she and Wrexford needed to—

  An urgent knock on the parlor door chased the thought from her head. “Forgive me for interrupting,” said McClellan. “But Lord Wrexford is here, and he says it’s urgent.”

  The earl’s dark silhouette was already looming behind the maid. “Well, don’t just stand there, milord. Do come in,” said Alison. “What dark mischief is afoot?”

  Wrexford hesitated and darted a questioning look at Charlotte.

  “There’s no need for prevarication,” she murmured. “Alison is now part of our inner circle. She knows all my secrets.” A pause. “All of them.”

  “I see.” His face was shrouded in shadows, making his expression impossible to read.

  “And I can be trusted to keep them.” The dowager fixed him with a challenging stare. “If you wish, I can write out a pledge in blood.”

  “I’ll accept your word. Especially as the alternative would involve crossing canes with you.” His mouth twitched. “I don’t fancy having my shins bruised.”

  “Please, let’s not waste time in sparring,” interjected Charlotte, noting the tension beneath the earl’s show of humor. “What’s wrong, sir?”

  Wrexford stepped into the room, and McClellan closed the parlor door behind him. Her steps echoed in the corridor as she discreetly withdrew.

  “I’ve just come from White’s,” he answered, “where I had a discussion with one of the directors of the East India Company about the clerk’s murder.” Without further preamble, the earl recounted his meeting with the admiral and Copley and then went on to explain about his valet’s discovery. “Peabody worked under Copley, and the baron had nothing but praise for his character and competence. He confided that Bow Street thinks the murder was a personal matter involving rivalry over a woman—”

  “Annie Wright?” interjected Charlotte. “I can’t believe that, given what she told me about her relationship with Peabody.” She made herself think back over the encounter. “My sense is, she wasn’t lying.”

  “I, too, feel this is about far more than jealousy,” he replied. “After further thought, Tyler and I are of the opinion that blackmail might have been the motive.”

  Wrexford shifted closer to the sofa. “The connection between Woodbridge, Mather, and Peabody seems too strong to ignore. Our guess is, Peabody might have learned some unsavory secret about Woodbridge’s finances from his cousin and decided to try to profit from it. I’ve asked Tyler to see if Griffin will allow us to have Henning look at the knife, to see whether he thinks it’s the actual murder weapon.”

  “Mather,” mused Charlotte. “His connection to Woodbridge is the bank, so perhaps the blackmail was his idea. He struck me as a fellow who yearns for more money than he has.” She pondered the possibilities. “From what we’ve heard, Peabody was an honorable man. But I can understand how the temptation might have been too great. And it would explain Annie Wright’s reluctance to talk. She may feel it’s better for her friend’s sins to remain buried with him.”

  “Forgive me for interrupting . . .” Alison cleared her throat. “But I find it hard to imagine Woodbridge being capable of killing another man.”

  “Fear and panic can push even the mildest of men to murder,” replied Charlotte. “Self-preservation is a very primal emotion.”

  “Yes, I’m old enough to have witnessed the vagaries of human nature,” replied the dowager. “Granted, he may not be as clever as his sister, but he’s known as a very sober, solid fellow. If anything, his reputation is for being good hearted to a fault. There’s no skeleton of scandal in his closet.” She regripped her cane. “Trust me, even the slightest rattle of bones, and I would know about it.”

  A glint of amusement flashed in the earl’s eyes. “It appears you’ve acquired yet another pair of very useful eyes and ears, Lady Charlotte,” he said. “Speaking of bones locked away in closets, Lady Peake, what do you know about the Honorable David Mather?”

  “Only that he holds a position at Hoare’s Bank and is considered a modest catch on the marriage mart on account of being the second son of a baron,” shot back the dowager. “However, I’m well acquainted with his grandmother. I can pay a morning call on her tomorrow, if that would help.”

  “Any information concerning Mather’s personal life would be useful,” he replied.

  Charlotte nodded. “As for Annie Wright, perhaps I had better pay another visit to her tonight—”

  “Alone?” exclaimed Alison. “And in such a dangerous, disreputable part of Town?”

  “You will have to get used to it, Lady Peake,” murmured the earl.

  The comment earned him a horrified look.

  “What Wrexford means is,” said Charlotte, “I’m experienced in this sort of foray, and I go in disguise.”

  “In disguise?” Despite her obvious concern, the dowager couldn’t help but sound a little intrigued.

  “Lady Charlotte looks very fetching dressed in breeches,” said the earl dryly. “However ill fitting.”

  “Enough teasing, Wrexford.” Charlotte hesitated, suddenly aware that a choice had to be made. “I will need to go ready myself. But before I do so, we need to discuss Woodbridge and Lady Cordelia. One of the reasons for my revelations to Aunt Alison was to enlist her help and make it possible for me to journey to Cambridge.”

  “With me as a chaperone, sir,” said the dowager, “it’s perfectly proper for our party to stay at your estate.”

  “Raven and Hawk will demand to come, too,” Charlotte quickly added. “If I try to leave them behind, Lord only knows what mischief they might wreak.”

  “It’s an excellent solution,” responded Wrexford. “As I said before, if we find Woodbridge and Lady Cordelia have taken refuge with Professor Sudler, your presence will be key, both in tempering Kit’s emotions and in coaxing the truth out of Lady Cordelia. She trusts your judgment.”

  “I know it’s important that we try to unravel the truth about Peabody’s murder,” mused Charlotte. “But it seems to me that it’s even more critical to find Woodbridge. After all, he—and his sister—lies at the very heart of this mystery. If we hurry our preparations, Alison and I, along with the boys and McClellan, could leave early in the morning and reach your estate by evening. However, if I spend the night hoping to cajole Annie Wright into further revelations . . .” She hesitated.

  But Wrexford merely waited, watching her intently. His silence was eloquent in its refusal to make the decision for her.

  “It would mean delaying our departure,” said Charlotte slowly. “And I don’t think we should do that. Raven and Sheffield are depending on us. They asked for our help, and we can’t let them down.”

  “Family and friends,” murmured Alison. “There’s a special loyalty that binds us together.”

  “I agree that it’s the right decision,” said Wrexford. “It’s unlikely the barmaid is in any imminent danger.”

  Silk rustled as the dowager gathered her skirts. “I’ll have my traveling carriage come around to fetch you at half past seven.”

  “I’ll have my unmarked carriage meet you at your townhouse. You’ll need a second vehicle for the baggage and your lady’s maid. McClellan can ride with her,” replied the earl. “Meanwhile, I’ll alert Kit, and the two of us will leave at first light.”

  For an instant, his lips thinned to a grim line. “However, I’m not sure that any of us are going to be happy with what we find.”

  The do
wager leaned forward, her eyes taking on a martial gleam. “Are we expecting trouble?”

  “As Wrexford is so fond of saying,” replied Charlotte, “even when we don’t go looking for trouble, it seems intent on finding us.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Twilight had long since given way to night. And yet Charlotte couldn’t help but venture a peek out the carriage window as the coachman called out that the journey was finally at an end and they were making the final turn through the gates of Wrexford’s country estate.

  Naught but shadows and amorphous shapes greeted her gaze as the graveled drive wound its way through a grove of ancient oaks.

  It had been a long trip. Leaning back, she cast a guilty glance at the dowager, who had dozed off some miles ago. However comfortable the well-padded and well-sprung coach, the hour upon hour of bumping over the uneven roads had been grueling, even for the boys, who were also slumped back against the squabs.

  Crunch-crunch. The carriage crested a gentle hill, and the wheels slowed, then lumbered to a halt. Light from the entrance lanterns illuminated a large courtyard. Several servants hurried out of the shadows to let down the carriage steps and open the door.

  “Have we arrived?” asked Alison, her voice muzzy with sleep.

  “You have, milady.” Wrexford appeared in the doorway, his breeze-ruffled hair and broad shoulders a black silhouette against the flickering lantern flames. He held out a hand to help Alison. “Allow me to assist you.”

  The dowager winced as she descended the steps. “My old bones are a trifle stiff,” she admitted.

  “Perhaps a glass of sherry will soothe their complaints,” he replied after helping Charlotte out of the carriage.

  “I think I’d prefer brandy,” said Alison, flexing her shoulders.

  The boys scrambled out on their own and stared up at the stately façade of the massive mansion, its honey-colored limestone glowing bronze in the night light.