Deadly Engagement: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance)

by Lucinda Brant

  “Bravo!” the old man declared. “The man’s a marvel! It took him an hour to figure out what we did in five minutes! If it pleases your lordship I’m off to my bed before the lackeys start settin’ the table for breakfast.”

  “Sir! I hold you in contempt!” announced Lord Gervais. “Stand where you are!”

  Plantagenet Halsey waved a hand at him and left the room, saying a pointed good night to his nephew and Sir Cosmo. Tam quietly followed to ready his master’s bedchamber. Lord Gervais was left to stare wild-eyed at Alec.

  “I warn you, Halsey, your uncle has not heard the last of this!” he spluttered. “I hold him in contempt and I intend to prosecute him to the full extent of the law! He is nothing but a menace and has thwarted me at every turn!”

  “Now, steady on, Gervais,” interjected Sir Cosmo. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he hasn’t done you an ounce of harm. In fact, he put it rather well, if you ask me.”

  “Mahon! Are you, the son of a baron, the nephew to a ducal house, supporting the likes of that usurper? That republican—”

  “Gervais, you cannot but forgive my uncle his outspokenness,” Alec said with cold politeness. “As son of an earl, indeed uncle to another, not to mention his connection by birth to most of the governing families in the kingdom, my uncle is naturally used to speaking his mind and doing just as he pleases. Is that not the way with those of noble birth?”

  “Well! If your put-down didn’t ruffle old Gervais’ feathers!” Sir Cosmo laughed, leaning on the landing rail just outside Alec’s bedchamber. “Pity your uncle wasn’t there to hear it!”

  “It was a despicable thing to throw at a man like Gervais, whose raison d’être is his slim connection to the nobility.”

  “Here! Before you go,” Sir Cosmo whispered, looking about the darkened landing. “What happens now? Gervais can’t leave it there, can he? A man’s been murdered!”

  “There’s nothing else he can do. Until someone comes forward and makes an accusation of murder against another our judge can’t proceed. He may get the Runners onto the matter, to have an ear to gossip and rumors, just in case there is something to be gleaned of relevance from the guests, although I doubt the Duchess would approve of her home being overrun.”

  “Devil! I can’t say I’m sorry Tremarton’s gone, but it ain’t right his murderer gets off just like that! From what you say it seems unlikely we’ll ever know who put that bullet in him. Well,” Sir Cosmo corrected, “we know, but it ain’t going to be public knowledge, is it?”

  “Not unless one of us is prepared to bring an accusation before Lord Gervais. And from my understanding of the law, there’s nothing to say an accusation can’t be brought against a person for lack of evidence.”

  Sir Cosmo breathed deeply. “Thing is, how can we be absolutely certain?”

  “Yes. How can we?” said Alec with a grim smile and turned the door handle.

  “Wait! The envelope! You looked? Did you find it?”

  “I searched his frockcoat pockets and the pocket of his waistcoat.”

  “And?”

  “There was an envelope—”

  “There was? I thought—”

  “—the murderer would have absconded with it? Had it contained anything of interest I dare say he would have.”

  “Must’ve been a damned bloody business.”

  “Excessively bloody, Cosmo. Good night.”

  “What if the murderer took whatever was in the envelope, replaced it in Tremarton’s pocket to look as if he’d never touched it, shot him, and was off? Perhaps he shot him first, then took the letter from the envelope. Wait a minute! What if he—”

  Alec laughed. “Good night, Cosmo,” and slipped into his bedchamber, the smile wiped from his face the moment the door closed on his back.

  Tam was using the warming pan to take the chill off his master’s bed sheets when Alec strode through from the sitting room, struggling out of his black velvet frockcoat. Tam said something but such was Alec’s preoccupation that he went through to the closet without a word or a look. He sat down before the dressing table and absently removed the diamond headed pin from the folds of fine white lace about his throat. From a pocket of his silver threaded waistcoat he removed a creased and yellowed envelope he had found on Simon Tremarton’s bloodied body.

  He propped the envelope before the looking glass and stared at it, as if it was possible to read the contents without actually removing the folded parchment from its cover. Alec wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to read what was written on that sheet of parchment. Opening the letter was likely to change his life forever and he wasn’t entirely sure it would be for the better. The tall elegant handwriting on the envelope’s face was not unknown to Alec. It belonged to his mother, Helen, Countess of Delvin. And the envelope was addressed to Lady Margaret Belsay, Cavendish Square, Westminster.

  Evans placed the tray on the little table by the fireplace and silently went about her duties in the bedchamber, an ear to the conversation in the sitting room where Selina and Emily sat close on the chaise longue, their feet to the warmth of the fire. The hot chocolate would also help warm them after the cold night air of the balcony, but Selina thought something stronger was in order after such an evening and, putting a finger to her lips so Emily would not speak, she removed a couple of tasseled cushions from one end of the chaise and found the monogrammed silver flask where she had hidden it earlier that afternoon. She added a generous nip of the flask’s contents to each mug and gave one over to Emily.

  “It will help us sleep,” she assured her when Emily sniffed tentatively at the curls of steam. “Better than laudanum and no headache in the morning.”

  Emily smiled and drank up and found that the additive to the chocolate gave it a smooth, velvety finish. “Why do you hide it?” she asked, indicating the flask that Selina returned behind the cushions.

  “Oh, I don’t. But it would be no fun for Evans if I left it in full view. It gives her occupation. Better for her to save me from the evils of drink than let her mind run on to other things. She’s a disciple of Methodism y’know.”

  “Has she been with you a good many years?” Emily asked, preferring to talk about anything and anyone than what was on her mind.

  “Since I left the schoolroom,” Selina answered lightly, yet her dark eyes watched Emily closely. “My parents thought very highly of her; little did they suspect Evans of a romantic disposition! She’d have been banished to the wilds of the Welsh border country from whence she came.” She sipped at her chocolate and said with a smile, “Dear dour Evans was heartbroken when my parents arranged a perfectly respectable marriage for me.”

  “I’m not surprised. You allowed yourself to be married off to Jamison-Lewis when you were in love with Alec,” Emily said fiercely, showing animation for the first time since she and Selina escaped up the back stairs to Selina’s rooms rather than attend the supper in the Saloon. “I just don’t understand it!”

  “You know as I do that heiresses do not choose their husbands, my dear,” Selina said matter-of-factly. She shrugged a shoulder, making light of it for Emily’s benefit. “All my parents cared about was J-L’s ancestry; that he was grandson of a Duke and worth twelve thousand a year. You are lucky indeed that Olivia wants for your happiness above all other considerations.”

  “Yes. Yes she does, doesn’t she?” Emily said in a small voice and felt the tears at the back of her eyes. “I want her to be happy for me.”

  “Then you must be happy,” said Selina and touched Emily’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Are you happy, Emily?”

  Emily shook her head as she stared into the empty mug. “I thought I was. I know I was—yesterday. But today… I’m not so certain.”

  Selina put aside their mugs and curled up on the end of the chaise to face Emily, her black petticoats billowing around her like a cloud. “Then you must not marry until you are completely happy with your decision.”

  “Oh, but I can’t postpone the wedding
. Grandmamma and Edward, our friends, they all expect the wedding to be—”

  “Nonsense! Olivia has given you the gift of choice and you must use it wisely. If you are unhappy, if you have a single doubt about marriage to Delvin now is the time to exercise your gift. Your mother’s marriage was a disaster; my marriage was a disaster. But it is a simple thing for us to blame parental ambition. You, however, can blame no one but yourself if you make a mistake.” Selina smiled reassuringly. “Olivia gave you a gift but with it comes a huge responsibility.”

  Emily swallowed. She had never thought of her decision to marry the nobleman of her choice in this way before and it seemed to add weight to her already burdened shoulders. Yesterday she wouldn’t have given Selina’s advice a second thought but after finding herself an unwilling audience to the sordid scene played out between Lord and Lady Gervais her faith in her betrothed had been shaken to its core. She stood and shook out her petticoats and stared into the burning logs in the grate.

  “Aunt Charlotte says Grandmamma will be heartbroken if I don’t marry Edward,” she explained in a tiny voice. “Aunt Charlotte says that marriage to Edward will right the wrongs of my mother.”

  Selina interrupted her with a huff of disbelief. “What rot! Charlotte’s opinion of your mother is corrupted by her jealousy. Charlotte was passed over by Beauly in favor of your mother; not the done thing for a younger sister to wed before the eldest is safely married off. Macara finally offered for her because he was bought off by your grandparents and really didn’t give a fig who fathered his legitimate children provided the mother had a pedigree, and that Charlotte has in abundance, and she gave him an heir.” When Emily turned and regarded Selina with surprise she added, “I’m sure Olivia will excuse me for telling you your uncle has another family. In fact he set up house with this common law wife about twenty years ago and she has given him eight brats. Everyone knows about this other family but of course no one is going to mention it in polite circles. Can you wonder then at Charlotte’s bitter disposition when she keeps up the façade of the contented married lady and castigates your mother’s lifestyle when it is Madeleine who is happier married to her Italian Count! You will hurt Olivia far more by going through with this marriage if it is not what you truly want.”

  Emily sighed, her head hurt, and she turned back to the flames frowning because she was determined to overcome the last hurdle of doubt. “Is that woman—Is Lady Gervais Edward’s mistress?”

  “I have heard it said so.”

  Emily nodded in a detached way, as if they were talking about someone unconnected to her and not her betrothed. “Thank you for telling me. I didn’t know. I found out tonight. Plenty of noblemen have mistresses, common law wives it seems! But—”

  “—it is an entirely different matter when it is the man you love who is lavishing his attentions on another?” Selina joined her in front of the fire and took hold of her hands. “Believe me, Emily, that is the hardest hurt of all to bear. To be so in love with someone that they merely have to look another’s way for you to feel such a stab of pain that your heart aches…” There came a knock on the outer door and Evans was heard speaking to someone before she came to the doorway. Selina nodded to her maid and said to Emily softly, “Peeble is here for you. Talk to Olivia in the morning. I know you will find her remarkably responsive to your request for a postponement. Six months will go very quickly. Delvin will understand if he loves you—”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Selina kissed her forehead and hugged her. “Oh, I am sure he loves you in his way, dearest Emily. But ask yourself this,” she whispered in her ear, for Peeble had come to stand beside Evans in the doorway, “are you prepared to share him?”

  “Poor lost lamb,” Evans said with a heavy sigh when the door had shut on Peeble’s back, yet subconsciously she was humming a tune and walked as if on air. “Forced to marry that philanderer I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “No, you shouldn’t wonder,” said Selina, giving her a suspicious sidelong glance as she went through to the bedchamber. “It’s behind the smaller of the three cushions,” she called out. “And it needs refilling!” She heard the maid grumble under her breath and smiled to herself as she began to undress behind the ornately carved dressing screen in the corner of the room. Evans soon joined her and by the look on her face she was going to be difficult about the flask so Selina held her tongue until she was made ready for bed. “I didn’t dance, if you were wondering about that,” she said, another glance at Evans who was folding Selina’s stockings with a light touch and small smile on her usually prim mouth. “But I didn’t behave myself either.” Which had the maid fast on her heels, face full of expectation as Selina crossed to the small table under the window. “I know you are only thinking of my mental health but it is no use hiding the account books from me. I need to check an entry. It’s been bothering me all evening. Evans?”

  “I know, my lady,” Evans confessed almost with a squeak of excitement. “We saw you together, through the window.”

  Selina brought her head up out of one of the drawers of the tallboy and frowned. “Saw us? Through the window? We? Dear me!” She turned away with a telltale blush. “Have—have you put the account books in one of the trunks?”

  Evans regarded her with a silly sentimental smile. “Miss Peeble and I stole a look in at the ballroom from the gallery just as the final dance was coming to a close. We were on our way to the roof with the other upper servants to view the skyrockets. Such a spectacle! I’ve never seen the like before.”

  Selina closed the lid of the traveling trunk. “Was it a spectacle? I—I missed it I’m afraid. Do tell me where you’ve stashed the ledgers, Mary.”

  Evans looked across at Selina standing in her white chemise and bare feet with her hair down her back and thought her so absurdly youthful that it brought a lump to her throat. She could barely keep herself from throwing her arms around the girl with joy; instead she sniffed and said stridently, “If you know what’s good for you, my lady, you won’t let him go a second time!”

  Selina suppressed a smile. “Your advice is noted, Evans. Now where did you put the ledgers?”

  “Ledgers? They were on the table there when I left to view the skyrockets,” said Evans, who went over to the table and put a hand on the spot where she had last seen the three account books, as if physical contact with the wooden surface would satisfy her that the books had indeed vanished. “I remember it precisely because I thought about putting them out of the way but then Miss Peeble arrived.”

  Selina sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “But how did he find the time to steal the ledgers if he was on the terrace with Emily and the hordes watching the fireworks…?” she wondered to herself and looked across at Evans. “You didn’t embark on a cleaning crusade today and annoy the chambermaids to remake the bed, did you?”

  Evans was affronted. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

  Selina smiled and hopped off the bed so she could push aside the pillows that rested against the carved headboard. “Then may I beg your pardon, Evans.” She tossed her long curls back over a shoulder and reached a hand down into the tight space between the mattress and the headboard, and with an effort extracted a thick parcel wrapped in a pillowcase. This she placed on the coverlet. From within the pillowcase she removed one of the three ledgers that had been left on the table. “He thinks he’s been very clever but thankfully I’ve outsmarted him,” she said with a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Tomorrow I mean to prove it.” She placed the ledger under the covers and climbed into the bed. “Evans, you may think what you like but M’sieur Livre de Comptes and I are spending the night together. And in the morning we will need an hour undisturbed. Good night.”

  Evans said nothing. Privately she was of the opinion that the sooner her dear girl remarried the sooner her head could be cleared of this obsession for mathematical nonsense. She extinguished the candle and went out, making a mental note to refill the silver flask with lemon water.


  “Mayhap I will take up your offer of a few weeks in the wilds of the Mendips,” Sir Cosmo said gloomily upon entering Selina’s small sitting room off the bedchamber. He saw the tray of breakfast things and was about to make his way to the chaise longue by the fire but Selina had disappeared into the bedchamber and called him to come through. He did so gingerly, aware that the ever present Evans must be lurking about in a cupboard and it wouldn’t do to be discovered in her mistress’s bedchamber. Attending an open toilette with hovering maids and visitors while madam sat at her dressing table being coiffured was one thing but to be alone in a lady’s bedchamber with her clad only in chemise and dressing gown, and, he stifled a gasp, bare feet, was being a mite too familiar. Still, he obeyed and came to stand by Selina at the small table by the window. “Gorges and waterfalls and limestone,” he added and shuddered, still feeling seedy after the night before. “But thankfully there won’t be any dead bodies to stumble upon…”

  Selina had collected the ledger from the bed where she had left it under a pillow and opened it out on the small table by the window. “He didn’t manage to say anything to you, did he?” she asked casually, flicking through pages filled with rows and rows of figures entered in neat heavy handwriting.

  Sir Cosmo shook his head, peering over her shoulder. “Nothing. In shock I’d say. Hole in his side and bleeding all over the place.”

  She frowned thoughtfully. “Shame. Simon Tremarton was an opportunistic weasel but he didn’t deserve a violent end.” She pulled Sir Cosmo by his silk sleeve so that he stood beside her and pointed to a series of scrawled notations made in the left hand margin. “See these. They’ve been bothering me. For most of the payments the amounts vary, which you’d expect for items such as food, wax, coal and what-not, but two payments are constant in timing and amount. And what is even more puzzling is that all incoming monies are notated with the letters GC and correspond to an identical amount taken from the estate ledger but not noted. I’m surprised Andrews never inquired; but perhaps he did and J-L fobbed him off…?