The Body in the Garden

by Katharine Schellman

  “Hardly a fool,” Lily said. “Merely wrong.”

  “Ah yes, a state of being which any gentleman greatly enjoys,” he said dryly. “No, I’ll not argue with her, Miss Oswald. And in any case, thinking things over often produces better insights than hours of discussion.”

  Pleased that he agreed with her on at least one thing, Lily let the matter drop and turned to watch their progress through London’s crowded streets. It was slow going, but eventually the hired carriage rattled to a halt. “Here we are. Put off your thoughtful face, Miss Oswald; it will never do to look so serious for a shopping trip. I suggest at least two pairs of gloves, and perhaps a new hat as well.”

  “I thought you were joking about that bit.” Jack suddenly looked horrified.

  Lily raised an eyebrow at him. “I would never joke about gloves.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Jack lasted through two new hats that Miss Oswald purchased on her father’s account and a trip to the circulating library. But when the girl mentioned the dress waiting at the modiste for her to try on, he gave up and said he would return for them in half an hour.

  Lily did not mind. As Miss Oswald disappeared into the back room for her fitting, she settled down on one of the shop’s comfortable chaises. While waiting in the library, she had carefully copied out Augustus Finch’s letter onto a new piece of paper; she pulled that out of her reticule now, angling her body so she could study it without any of the store’s other patrons looking over her shoulder.

  Dear Sir, the letter began, politely and maddeningly. Why did he not address the gentleman by name? It would have saved, Lily thought with grim amusement, a great deal of effort on her part. The object of Mr. Finch’s blackmail must have been one of Serena’s guests; otherwise, why choose the Walters’ garden as a meeting place? But there had been two hundred people attending the soiree.

  The ladies could be discounted—that Dear Sir was plain enough, and Lily had distinctly heard two male voices. But that left dozens of gentlemen to consider, and first among them was Lord Walter.

  Lily frowned. Her friend’s doting husband was the last person she would have suspected had she not witnessed him bribing the investigating magistrate. The members of London’s upper class had been known to interfere with the new Bow Street police force simply to keep the constables away from their homes. But a bribe of three hundred pounds seemed too substantial to be due merely to dislike of the new police force, however conservative a man’s opinions and politics. There had to be something more going on, something to make Lord Walter wary of having an investigation too near his family.

  It should have been impossible for quiet, gentle John Walter to be a murderer. But blackmail could do strange things to a man.

  She needed to know if he was involved, preferably that he was not, for Serena’s sake and her own peace of mind. The best way to do that would be to prove that Augustus Finch’s murderer was someone else.

  Though I am cur … tly unkn … n to you … Currently unknown, Lily decided, which meant the man Mr. Finch was blackmailing had either never met him before or was a social superior and would not have taken note of him. Who then, had given the poor young man his information?

  … which I … will be of grt int … est & mutual benefit … certain facts concer … the wa … ffort … activities on the Continent … favor of a meet … so that I may present my offer to you in person—As a sample of my knowledge … firm of Lac … est, & a certain clever method of communication involving …

  Something there caught her attention, but Lily had to read through the scattered paragraph two more times before she realized what it was.… certain facts concer … the wa … ffort … activities on the Continent …

  War effort. There was nothing else that fit. Mr. Finch’s certain facts must concern the war with France. It had been years since any Englishman’s Continental activities were about anything else. Had Mr. Finch attempted to blackmail someone in Parliament? Or perhaps someone in the military?

  The next part was the key. Mr. Finch had offered a sample of his knowledge.… firm of Lac … est, & a certain clever method of communication involving … A law firm, or perhaps a financial firm? She did not know London businesses well enough to guess. It began with Lac, but that was all she had to go on.

  Lily sighed in frustration. The writing had been too light, too scrawling. There was too much missing for her to determine any other details from the letter. “Mr. Finch,” she muttered, “it is a sign of poor character to write in a hand so lacking in firmness.” She considered, then added, “And also to blackmail someone.”

  “What was that, Lily?”

  Lily started, quickly folding the paper over as she looked up. “Margaret!” She stood, hoping she didn’t look too flustered, to give her friend a quick kiss on the cheek. “And Miss Harper, what brings the two of you here?”

  “Margaret very kindly invited me out this afternoon. And when I saw you through the window, we thought we would stop in to say hello,” Miss Harper said. Smiling solicitously, she added, “How is your ankle today?”

  For a moment, Lily could only stare blankly. “My ankle?”

  “The one you twisted.” Miss Harper frowned.

  Silently, Lily called herself ten kinds of stupid as she managed a weak smile. “Oh, much improved, I thank you. It was not serious.”

  “It was, perhaps, a fortunate injury,” Miss Harper said. “To take you back inside at that moment.”

  “The poor man, you mean?” Lily asked, mentally scrambling for a way to divert the conversation.

  “Of course!” Miss Harper’s eyes grew wide. “Why, if you had been out on the terrace much longer, you might have come face-to-face with a murderer.”

  “Heavens, what a thought!” Margaret shuddered. “I hadn’t realized you came so close to disaster, Lily.”

  “Then I suppose I must be grateful for my clumsiness.” Lily hoped she sounded sufficiently unconcerned. “I should write our old deportment teacher and tell her.”

  Miss Harper looked as though she might have pursued the topic further, but Lily was saved by Margaret exclaiming, “Isobel, is that not the shade of silk you were inquiring about last week? You should pounce immediately; yellow always disappears so quickly in the spring.”

  As Miss Harper excused herself to examine the fabric, Margaret lowered her voice. “I am glad she is taking an interest in these things again. Poor dear, she never recovered after that army fellow jilted her. All because it turned out she had a smaller dowry than he expected! I am still amazed her uncle did not pursue action against the man.”

  “Perhaps General Harper did not approve the match in the first place.” Lily glanced after Miss Harper’s proper, upright form, feeling sympathetic. It had taken years for Lily’s father to agree to her own marriage with Freddy. Had it been Freddy’s elder brother, Lily suspected her father’s pride would have been mollified much sooner, even though the Adlers’ baronetcy was barely three generations old. But it had been the second son she had fallen in love with, and though Freddy’s older brother had provided for him, George Pierce had refused to approve of a younger son of modest income joining his family. It was not until Lily had come into an inheritance left by her mother and had the means to marry without his approval that Mr. Pierce had reluctantly agreed to the match and settled a dowry on his daughter.

  Poor Miss Harper, though, had never had that chance.

  “Perhaps. She’s not sought to leave her uncle’s home since, not to my knowledge.” Margaret dropped her voice even further. “In fact, Isobel barely came into society at all in the past four years. Then all of a sudden …” She lifted her brows suggestively. “A lady of seven and twenty may still find a husband, and what are old school friends for if not to help when it is needed?”

  Lily sighed as Margaret gave her a sly glance. “Well, this lady is uninterested in matrimony,” she said. “In case your mind was straying along those lines.”

  “Oh, you are no fun,” Margaret laughed.
“Will you join us for ices? Isobel suggested I ask you. I think she is trying to widen her circle of acquaintances, now that … well, you know.”

  Lily did know. Isobel Harper had been too self-satisfied and aloof for close friendships when they were in school. Back then, she would have looked down on a woman like Margaret, whose family connections were impeccable but whose husband was the younger son of a country squire, and who supported his family with a profession. But it seemed that sense of superiority had disappeared with the years and disappointments that followed. “That is very kind, but I’m afraid my time is spoken for this afternoon,” Lily said as Miss Harper rejoined them. “I promised a friend I would stay to give my opinion on her new gown.”

  “You do have excellent taste,” Margaret agreed. “And it looks as though you have some engrossing reading to keep you occupied while you wait,” she added, glancing at the folded paper Lily still held.

  “I hope there was nothing alarming in your letter,” Miss Harper added. “Your expression was most serious as we came in.”

  “News from home,” Lily lied, slipping the paper back into her reticule and hoping neither of them asked for details. News was entertainment, and not offering to share an amusing letter ran the risk of raising eyebrows. But she could not have anyone find out what she was up to, not even as close a friend as Margaret.

  Luckily Margaret knew about Lily’s strained relationship with her father. “Reason enough to look serious, I’m sure,” she said sympathetically. “Did you sort out your silk, Isobel? Then let us be off. I am famished, and Gunter’s has the most delightful little apple pastries …”

  Lily watched them go, wondering if she was making a huge mistake. If anyone in her social circle found out what she was doing, the gossip would label her eccentric, unwomanly, and perhaps even unstable before two days had passed. That was how upper-class society in London worked, and Lily, for all she could be unconventional from time to time, had no desire to lose her place in society. Was it really worth risking so much?

  “Mrs. Adler?” The voice made Lily start; lost in her thoughts, she had not noticed Miss Oswald rejoin her. The girl stood in front of her, fiddling with her gloves in an ineffective attempt to hide her agitation. “Have we stayed long enough? The mantua-maker kept asking about lace for the sleeves, and I’ve pretended to care as long as I was able. But I cannot make myself think about clothes or shopping anymore.”

  Seeing Miss Oswald turned Lily’s thoughts to Augustus Finch: a man—a boy, really—who had made a stupid decision in order to impress the girl he loved. A boy who was now lying dead, his murderer wandering free. He deserved justice, and she, it seemed, was the only person willing to find it for him.

  And despite the obstacles in her path, she had made progress. Already she had learned not only the victim’s name and where he had been staying, but what had brought him to London and led to his death.

  No, she could not abandon her self-appointed task now, no matter the risks to her own reputation. Some things mattered more than the scandal they might cause.

  “Mrs. Adler?” The young heiress was frowning at her.

  Lily stood. “We need to find the captain. I’ve something to share with you both.”

  * * *

  When they finally returned to number thirteen, Lily briskly ordered a fire made up in her parlor and asked Mrs. Carstairs to bring tea—and, with a glance at Jack, a measure of brandy.

  “Miss Oswald, would you pour? I shall return in a moment. No, Captain, you wait here.” Lily gestured him back when he would have followed her. “I shall call you if I need anything fetched from a high shelf. And do try to make friends with each other.”

  Jack sighed as Lily left the room, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, I am likely to wring her neck before this is done.”

  Miss Oswald looked indignant. “I think she’s marvelous. I’ve never before met anyone so … so charming about ordering everyone around.”

  That made Jack laugh, though he didn’t want to find Miss Oswald amusing. “I never would have thought to put it that way, but she is rather a force of nature.”

  “Were you a relation of her husband’s, Captain Hartley?”

  The question took him by surprise. “No, what makes you ask that?”

  “You seem quite friendly, but I hadn’t heard that Hartley was her family name. And you don’t at all act like lovers.”

  “We don’t act like …” Jack stared at her. “Good Lord, are you even supposed to know about such things at your age?”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, though she didn’t look contrite at all. “Once you accused me of murder, I assumed there was no need to worry about polite conversation.”

  “No wonder she likes you.” Jack shook his head. “You’re as bad as she is.”

  “I shall take that as a high compliment, given what I have seen of Mrs. Adler.” Miss Oswald stood abruptly. Walking over to the fire, she said without looking at him, “She doesn’t treat me differently, unlike so many here—and so many back home! Why is that?”

  Jack shrugged uncomfortably, since the question touched close to home for him as well. “She likes clever people, I think, and the devil knows there are few enough of them in Mayfair. Somehow she pegged you as one. Perhaps that was enough for her.”

  “She is very different from most people here, then,” the girl said. Her smile was unreadable as she fixed her eyes back on him. “And you, Captain Hartley?”

  “I know something of being caught between worlds, Miss Oswald.” His normally charming smile grew a little mocking.

  Her brows rose. “I don’t think any of your ancestors were slaves, Captain Hartley.”

  “No, madam. But a good half of them were Mughals.” Miss Oswald’s eyes widened, and he scowled, the old mixture of defensiveness and exasperation rising in him. It had been years since he had needed to explain his parentage to anyone. At his parents’ home in Hertfordshire, the local population was so used to his mother that “the Indian lady” had ceased to be a topic of interest, and in London, he looked English enough that the question rarely came up. In the navy, his superior officers had raised a brow or two, and he knew some had written him off, but knowing the culture and language of the many Indian men who now sailed under the British flag had become more of an asset than a hindrance to his career. “You look shocked, but it has not been that uncommon. Colonel Kirkpatrick himself married an Indian wife, as did many men of the East India Company once upon a time.”

  “Your father had children with an Indian woman?” Her tone was still stunned.

  “My father had children with his wife,” Jack replied sharply. He had expected that she, at least, would be less surprised. “Who happens to be Indian.”

  “I did not mean … That is …” She looked away and fidgeted with her gloves, embarrassed. “You are fortunate to know your family and your parentage so clearly, Captain.”

  There was an awkward pause. In an effort to change what had become an intensely personal conversation, Jack cleared his throat and called out, “Mrs. Adler! You’ve not vanished, I hope?”

  “Of course not,” came the quick reply. There was a clatter on the other side of the door, and then Lily shouldered it open, carrying a large volume, which she dropped on the table with a flourish. “We shall need a London business directory shortly.”

  “Did you discover something? Was it in the letter?” Miss Oswald demanded, eyes wide. She clasped her trembling hands together. “Did you figure out what it said? Oh please—”

  “Miss Oswald,” Jack interrupted. If she had been one of his sailors, he would have given her a shake, but a firm tone worked just as well. “Perhaps you should sit down before you work yourself into a faint.”

  Miss Oswald glared at him. “I was merely asking a question, Captain.”

  “Then I suggest we pause for breath long enough to give Mrs. Adler a chance to answer.” He gave Lily a slight bow. “You were saying, ma’am?”

  Lily shook he
r head. “You two really must learn to get along if you wish me to keep you informed of my progress.”

  Miss Oswald turned to scowl at her too. “I feel no need to get along with someone who treats me like a silly girl.”

  “Then pull yourself together and prove him wrong,” Lily said. Jack managed to hold in a snort of laughter. “If we’ve finished squabbling, shall I tell you both what I found?”

  At that, Jack leaned forward eagerly. “You did discover something, then?”

  “About the letter, yes.” Lily shared her conclusions about the letter’s contents. Miss Oswald insisted on seeing the copy of the letter and bent over it to study the patchy contents. Jack could see Lily watching the girl’s shaking hands out of the corner of her eye; it seemed her high-strung swings between bravado and distress were worrying them both. To be fair to the girl, he thought grudgingly, that was perfectly normal behavior for someone who was grieving. And Miss Oswald, unable to publicly admit her relationship to the dead man, couldn’t hide her messy emotions behind the social conventions of mourning.

  “I have to admit that it is more like a conjecture than a discovery,” Lily continued, breaking through Jack’s thoughts. “But I believe it all fits together. Though as for activities on the Continent and something to do with the war …” She lifted her shoulders, then dropped them with a sigh. “There are dozens of possibilities.”

  “And with Bonaparte escaped from Elba and on the loose once more …” Miss Oswald shuddered. “A connection to nefarious activities on the Continent becomes even more dangerous. Stupid, stupid Augustus,” she added, her jaw tight. “But what has me puzzled is how Augustus could have found out something worth blackmail.” She looked from Lily to Jack, her brows drawn together in frustration. “I would have sworn he didn’t know a single other person in London besides me, and I certainly didn’t tell him anything. So who did?”