The Body in the Garden

by Katharine Schellman

  “There is a third option,” Lily said, her mind working quickly, hoping she could see another course of action. Before that moment, she hadn’t wanted to think about what it meant that Lord Walter had bribed the magistrate. But though there were several conclusions she could draw—none of them good—there was only one clear path forward, and she had known that as soon as she left the magistrate’s office. “Do you know where he was staying, Miss Oswald?”

  “Where he was …” The girl looked wary. “What do you plan to do?”

  “The only thing I can do. I shall find his murderer myself. Did Mr. Finch say where he was lodging?”

  “He did.”

  “Excellent. His room is likely still undisturbed, since no one was able to identify him. I shall see what I can find there.”

  “I want to come with you.”

  Lily’s eyebrows climbed in surprise. “Miss Oswald, you are trying to make a place for yourself in London society. I hardly think chasing a murderer is the wisest choice for you.” Lily could have given herself the same advice, but she chose to ignore that fact.

  “I shan’t … I shan’t tell you where Augustus was staying unless you agree to take me with you.” Miss Oswald swallowed nervously as she spoke, but she raised her chin. “Unless you give me your word. There are hundreds of places where he could have been living. You could never narrow it down without my help.”

  Lily, who hadn’t expected the girl to show so much backbone, was caught off guard. “Are you refusing to help me?”

  “No, Mrs. Adler.” Miss Oswald’s voice trembled only a little. “I am, in fact, offering my help. It simply comes on certain terms.”

  Lily could not help it: in spite of the grim situation, in spite of her doubt that Miss Oswald had told her everything, in spite of her worry that she was getting in over her head, she was impressed. But she still shook her head. “Miss Oswald, it might be very difficult for you …” Lily hesitated. “He was your friend …”

  “And that is why I must go. Please, Mrs. Adler.” Miss Oswald swallowed again, blinking rapidly. “I had thought of going, to look through his things … I have to write to his mother, you see, and send her something of his, and how on earth I shall tell her … ” More tears slipped down her cheeks, but she took a deep breath and ignored them. “I could not go by myself, of course. But perhaps I could be of some use to you, once we are there.”

  Lily wanted to say no. But Miss Oswald was right—it would be impossible to figure out where Mr. Finch had been staying. And given the desperate look in the young heiress’s eye, Lily did not want to think what she might attempt on her own. Besides, keeping an eye on the girl might well be the safest course of action, particularly until she knew whether Miss Oswald was telling the whole truth about Augustus Finch. “Very well. Where do we begin our search?”

  Miss Oswald wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, then lifted her chin, determined once more. “The George Inn, on Borough High Street. In Southwark.” She took a deep breath. “I am ready to go there immediately.”

  “Immediately is hardly an option,” Lily said. “Unless you want all of London to be gossiping about you by sunset. We will go tomorrow afternoon.”

  Miss Oswald said something in reply, but Lily wasn’t listening closely, her thoughts already racing ahead. She had no idea how to investigate a murder, but given what she knew, and did not know, of Lord Walter’s involvement, she couldn’t see another choice. Her stomach twisted at the idea that Lord Walter—kind, friendly Lord Walter, who was such a good husband to her friend, who had understood her so well—could be involved in a murder. She would not be comfortable around him or Serena until she knew what had happened.

  “Mrs. Adler, what … how did you know to come here?” Miss Oswald asked.

  “I saw you two in the garden last night,” Lily answered absently, still preoccupied.

  “You saw us … alone?”

  “Yes. That was quite a slap you gave him.” Lily eyed the girl in front of her, who looked horrified. “I wondered, of course, if you had killed him,” she said bluntly, and Miss Oswald’s eyes grew wide. “But as it would have made more sense to do it then, before you went back into the ballroom, I decided it was unlikely. Besides, I heard him trying to blackmail someone. Now, if you would be quiet for two minutes, I should be grateful.”

  Could it have been Lord Walter that Mr. Finch was blackmailing? Lily rose, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace for several minutes, only a little aware of the way the girl’s eyes followed her. That second voice had been lower, older, and somehow familiar, but maddeningly, she could not recall the exact sound. Shock, or perhaps fear, had driven it from her mind, and without a clear memory … But what secrets could Lord Walter have that were worth killing over? On the other hand, if he was not involved, why bribe the magistrate?

  She looked up to find Miss Oswald staring at her with an expression somewhere between awe and confusion. “What is it?”

  “You.” Miss Oswald shook her head. “I can almost feel you thinking from all the way over here. Are you always so intense?”

  “Are you always so direct?”

  “Hardly ever. It is not exactly a trait that is encouraged in young ladies.” Miss Oswald shrugged. “But I suspect that you prefer direct.”

  “You suspect correctly.” Lily’s lips quirked. “And to answer your question, yes, often. Now, for tomorrow, we shall have to tell your aunt I am taking you shopping. Do you think she will object?”

  “Far from it,” Miss Oswald answered with a little toss of her head. “Above all things, my aunt likes not having to chaperone me about.”

  Lily frowned. “I had not thought her so elderly as that. But perhaps she is unwell?”

  “Neither old nor sick.” Miss Oswald’s voice was grim. “She does not care to have me living with her, or to have anything to do with me if she can possibly avoid it. Unfortunately for her, my father made it clear that my London season is one of those things she cannot avoid.”

  “Oh, I am sure that is not true,” Lily said, and instantly hated herself for it. She recognized Miss Oswald’s bitter tone; she had used it often enough growing up and had always despised the empty reassurances of well-meaning neighbors that her father surely cared for her a great deal. To be parroting such nonsense herself made her feel worse than foolish.

  “She sponsors me, Mrs. Adler, because otherwise my father will cut off the very generous allowance that he provides, and she will have to admit to the world that her husband left her penniless when he died.” Miss Oswald shrugged. “Pretending not to be embarrassed by me ranks above that, though I imagine just barely.”

  Lily nodded. Their circumstances were very different, of course, but they both knew how it felt to be unwanted. “I am sorry,” she said simply.

  Miss Oswald shrugged again. “When my father told his aunt that he was sending me to England under her care, she advised him instead to hide away all evidence of his indiscretion and return to England himself. She was kind enough to tell me so the first night I arrived in London. I am not naïve enough to believe her sponsorship indicates any affection.”

  “Were your parents unmarried, then? Or was the objection solely to your mother?” Lily asked. These were not polite questions, but the conversation had strayed far past the bounds of politeness already.

  Miss Oswald looked away. “She was not of his class. But Papa always told me how dearly he loved my mother, and how he refused to marry another after she died.” She hesitated, then said quietly, “It is kind of you to ask about my mother.”

  “Was it?” Lily’s brows rose. “I thought it was abominably rude.”

  “But not cruelly meant. And after pretending so long that she did not exist, even rude questions are welcome,” said Miss Oswald, and the forlorn expression on her face made Lily’s stomach lurch in sympathy.

  “Surely your father talked of her?”

  Miss Oswald smiled sadly. “He told me she died when I was born, but beyond that
, he did not much like to mention her. Easier, that way, for everyone to pretend I was like any other Englishman’s daughter. Which I suppose I should be more grateful for, since it is the reason I am here, an heiress who never lacks for a partner on the dance floor, and with a father who raised me with his love.”

  “That is more than many girls can say of their fathers, though I imagine the rest of it is very hard.” Lily did not press any further, though she noticed that Miss Oswald had not truly answered her question. If her father had been so reluctant to speak of it, most likely the girl herself did not know whether her parents had ever married. Either way, her father had raised her as if she was his legitimate offspring—and she wouldn’t be the first natural child to inherit the wealth of a parent with no other heirs.

  “It can be. But I don’t really mind my aunt’s disapproval.” Miss Oswald shrugged. “Think how trying it would be to have a chaperone who watched my comings and goings.”

  “Much harder to sneak off, I imagine.”

  “Yes, the sneaking would be far more difficult.” Miss Oswald’s expression grew distant and, Lily noted sharply, a little sly.

  But she did not ask about the odd comment, which she wasn’t sure the girl even realized had been made loudly enough to be heard. Instead, she merely replied, “You are not quite the unassuming debutante that you seem, are you, Miss Oswald?”

  “No.” The girl smiled, her face open and guileless once more. “But I hope you shan’t tell anyone.”

  “I am glad of it. If you were, I could not take you to a public inn in Southwark.”

  Miss Oswald was suddenly quivering with tension. “You promise you will take me?”

  Lily was about to take offense at the suggestion that she would go back on her word, but a look at Miss Oswald’s wide eyes and clenched jaw made her reconsider. Instead, she nodded. “I promise. Be ready at one o’clock tomorrow, and we shall see what we can discover.”

  * * *

  As soon as Lily returned home, she settled at her writing desk.

  In spite of blackmail, murder, bribery, and the possibility that her oldest friend’s husband was involved in all three, Lily was not afraid—more, she had a plan in mind. She did not know how good a plan it was, but it didn’t seem possible for her to make things much worse than they already were. The thought was comforting as she began her missive.

  Captain Hartley, she wrote, then paused, wondering how to explain what she wanted. In the end, she decided, as usual, that blunt was best.

  Would you be so good as to accompany me to the George Inn in Southwark tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock? I have a murder to solve.

  * * *

  Lily didn’t have to wait long for an answer from Jack.

  Worn out from the repeated shocks of the last twenty-four hours, she spent the evening in her small book-room. Situated in the back of the town house, it was separated from the front parlor by a narrow hallway and looked out over the postage stamp–sized garden. Filled with a collection of books that were mostly Freddy’s, but to which she had begun adding as well, the room’s best feature was its large fireplace. Outside, there was pouring rain and a chill wind; inside, everything was cozy. Wrapped in an oversized shawl and curled up in her favorite reading chair, a plate of tea and toast at her elbow, Lily dozed in front of the fire, trying to decide whether it was worth bothering Mrs. Carstairs for a real supper.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the jangle of the front bell and a commotion in the hall. Lily frowned, sitting up. Carstairs had strict orders to deny her to any visitors that evening, and she could hear him attempting to remonstrate with whoever had come calling.

  “The devil she is not at home!”

  Lily twisted just enough so that she was looking over the back of the chair as Jack stormed into the room, Carstairs still on his heels and protesting.

  Lily fixed her visitor with a disapproving stare, then turned to Carstairs, whose displeasure she could feel even if his face was politely blank. “Please ask Mrs. Carstairs to send up sandwiches for two.” Eyeing Jack’s damp, disheveled appearance—had he walked from his lodgings?—she added, “And several towels.” Lily turned back to her tea as the butler withdrew. “I do not want to see watermarks on any of my chairs, so you may not sit until the towels arrive.”

  “What the devil do you mean, you have a murder to solve?” Some of Jack’s anger had subsided once he realized she wouldn’t have him thrown him out, but he still looked outraged as he stood steaming in front of the fire. “If this is a joke, Mrs. Adler, it is a poor one.”

  “If it were a joke, I should say it was rather a successful one, as it prompted you to charge over here in the middle of a rainstorm.” She eyed him over the rim of her teacup, brows raised. “Really, Captain, could you not have waited until morning? I would prefer not to set my neighbors gossiping about late-night visitors. Beside which, your coat looks thoroughly ruined.”

  “Navy men do not melt when they get damp, Mrs. Adler.” Jack crossed his arms and glared at her. “Explain yourself.”

  Lily bristled at the demand, but of course he had a right to an explanation if she wanted his assistance. “I finally remembered why I recognized the man who was murdered. I saw him the night of the party, arguing in the gardens with a Miss Oswald, who is—”

  “The Oswald heiress,” Jack broke in. “I know something of her. From the West Indies?”

  “Yes.” Lily filled him in on the rest of the details. “Miss Oswald informed me that Mr. Finch was staying at the George Inn in Southwark. And since two ladies cannot venture there unaccompanied …” She shrugged. “I should appreciate your escort.”

  They fell silent for a moment as Anna entered with a stack of fresh towels; the maid did not bother to hide her curious expression as she curtsied and left. Lily sighed. The last thing she needed was her servants knowing what she intended. It would be all over London within a day.

  “Two ladies?” Jack’s eyes narrowed once they were alone again.

  “Miss Oswald wishes to come with me. She has even more interest than I do in discovering who killed her friend.”

  “In discovering who did it? Or hiding her own involvement? If you saw them together only a short while before he died—”

  “After which I overheard Mr. Finch arguing with the man he was attempting to blackmail.” Lily raised her brows. “I think it far more likely that murder was committed by the victim of blackmail than by the victim of a marriage proposal. But if she was involved—I admit there is that chance—would it not be better for me to keep her close, where I can watch her?”

  “There is that.” Jack scowled. “But if she is so interested in discovering who did this, why did she not take what she knows to the magistrate? For that matter, why haven’t you?”

  Lily sighed. “She cannot, for the exact reasons that caused you to suspect her. And I cannot, for an equally good reason.” Quietly, she told him of Lord Walter’s bribe, and the magistrate’s subsequent disinterest in the murdered man’s case. “Once I recognized the magistrate, I went back to speak to Mr. Page, and …” Lily scowled in frustration, then shrugged. “They have no interest in investigating the matter. But I have to know how Serena’s husband is involved, and besides that … I have to do something, Jack.” Lily used his given name without thinking. “Can you stand to see a murderer go free for lack of anyone to care?”

  “Murderers go free all the time, Mrs. Adler.” Having dried off at last, he sat in the chair next to hers, his eyes very earnest, his usual charming air abandoned. “If this is just for a lark, something to occupy you when there are no balls or parties to attend—”

  Lily realized she was clenching her fists, nails biting into her palms, and it took several moments to force herself to relax.

  Was she fooling herself, playing at a magistrate’s work because she had nothing better to do? It was a struggle to push the thought aside. But … for the first time since Freddy’s death, she had looked at a task in front of her and seen someth
ing that mattered, something no one else seemed to care about.

  There was Mr. Finch to consider, lying cold and dead, and no matter what he had done, he did not deserve for his murderer to go free. And then there was Lord Walter—kind Lord Walter, who had always made her feel she had a place in his world—and Serena, whose husband might be involved in a murder. Didn’t she owe it to her friend to find out the truth?

  “Mrs. Adler?” Jack was watching her, lines of concern between his brows.

  She thought of Reggie Harper’s proposition to her at Serena’s ball, his instant confidence that she would welcome his attention, his angry confusion at her rejection. Was that all she was good for now? To be one man’s mistress until she could become another man’s wife?

  She refused to accept that.

  “This matters, Jack.” Trying to explain seemed inadequate; all she could do was hope he would understand. “It needs to be done. And I think I can do it.”

  Something of her resolution must have come through in her voice, because he stared at her for a long, considering moment. “I should lock you up instead of agreeing to anything so dangerous.”

  “I shan’t be in danger if no one knows what I am doing,” Lily pointed out. “If we do not find anything tomorrow, I promise I shall give it up. But I have to at least try.”

  “And if I do not agree?”

  “Then I shall go without an escort,” Lily said, with more confidence than she felt.

  Her bravado seemed to work; Jack ran a restless hand through his hair before sitting back and nodding. “Then I shall do it, God help me.” Casting a sideways glance at her, he added, with something more like his usual manner, “Impossible woman.”

  While Lily sighed in relief at his agreement, Jack glanced toward the door. “Now, where has that girl got to with the supper tray? That is the real reason I came dashing over here, you know. Not a bite to be had in my lodgings.”

  Lily snorted and pushed the tea tray toward him. “The dangers of bachelor living.”