A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Murder

by Dianne Freeman

  George stilled as if he’d stopped breathing for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “Jamie, a gangly, tow-headed lad. I’d say he suffered more punishment than his father. As a consequence of the man’s imprisonment, the family was ruined. They lost not only his ill-gotten gains but his legitimate earnings.”

  “Neat little operation, from what I understand.” Bradmore had relaxed by now and leaned back in his chair. “It’s not unusual when a police officer is called to a burglary that he eventually files his report as ‘lost goods.’”

  “Lost, as opposed to stolen goods?”

  “Exactly,” George said. “Petty thieves, pickpockets, and crime rings abound in London. The police could search for stolen goods for years and never find them. When something is stolen from a wealthy household, it’s even more difficult because the culprit could be a family member or a servant with light fingers.”

  “But Bracken had a massive number of cases that were filed immediately as lost goods, with no investigation at all. It might have gone on longer if he hadn’t run one of his sham investigations for the wrong person. Someone working for Special Branch called Bracken’s division after a break-in. The victim knew the general procedure, so when Bracken and his constable didn’t bother to interview the staff or the other members of the household, he knew something was wrong.”

  George took up the story. “The officer from Special Branch notified Bracken’s superiors and caused quite a stir. That’s when they looked through his cases. Bracken had been with the Metropolitan Police for fifteen years and had distinguished himself enough to gain his promotion. They suspected this wasn’t just a case of poor police work. Something was up.”

  “That’s where Hazelton came in.”

  I turned to George. “This was the case where you acted as a police officer. You must be quite an actor, George. What made him think he could trust you?”

  “I was young and willing, still wet behind the ears as far as he could tell. Remember, I didn’t know he was at the head of this crime ring. I assumed some crime boss had him in his power. He was a likable man. I was a new recruit. He invited me home for meals. I became part of the family.”

  “And you became close with his son.” I could see it all now.

  “Jamie was about twelve. Wanted to be part of everything, and his father involved him far more than he should have. In fact, it was Jamie who provided the last piece of evidence I needed to prove the case.”

  “And now he wants to kill you,” Bradmore said dryly.

  George came to his feet and rounded the desk to open the hidden panel and retrieve the decanter of brandy. Bradmore brightened at the sight. “Happy to join you in that, old man.”

  I stepped over to join the two men. “You may as well pour one for me as well.”

  He filled the glasses to the break and handed them round. Taking a deep drink, he leaned back against the desk and gestured to Bradmore with his glass.

  “Just what makes you so certain young Jamie wants to kill me?”

  “Newgate keeps a close eye on the prisoners and their visitors. Jamie, who by the way isn’t so young any longer, used to visit his father three or four times a year. Those visits came to an end about six months ago, to be replaced by letters. When you reported the threat, we asked the guards about his correspondence. Sure enough, Jamie and his father mentioned a chap named Hazelton. The letters would have been read as a matter of course, and the prisoners know that, so there was nothing overt marking you for death, but combined with the threat you received—” He waved a hand. “Well, the department likes to watch out for their own.”

  “If the guards read the prisoners’ letters, how was he able to send a threatening letter to Mr. Hazelton?”

  Bradmore gave me a shrug. “Guards aren’t impervious to bribery.”

  George pushed away from the desk. “I have a difficult time seeing the lad as a killer. And I doubt he sees himself that way. I expect he’s after revenge. Maybe he even calls it justice. I’m sure he considers me as some sort of traitor. Bracken’s partners in crime worried he would give them away to the authorities and threatened the family. If I remember correctly, they left London immediately.”

  Bradmore nodded. “Moved to Birmingham to live with the wife’s relations. But they definitely came down in the world. It’s his father’s own fault, but I can see why a twelve-year-old might blame you.”

  “And now he wants to settle the score with me.”

  “Whatever his motives may be, his intent is murder. And he’s hiding somewhere in the village or even right here on the estate.”

  “Damn!” George shook his head. “Everything does seem to point to Jamie, right down to the amateur execution of the accidents. At least we have that in our favor. He’s clearly no professional.”

  The young man’s lack of professionalism gave me no comfort. “I’d say he’s gaining experience by the day, George. I wouldn’t count on his ineptitude to keep you alive. If he’s responsible for all the accidents—Michael O’Brien, Gibbs, Evingdon, Clara, and Leo—that means he’s been in the house. He’s either very stealthy or someone we’d expect to see here. Heavens, he may even have been at the train station.” I turned to Bradmore. “Do you know what he looks like? How long he’s been in the area? Where he’s likely to be hiding?”

  “No to all three. That’s why I’ve basically been shadowing Hazelton, hoping to be on hand when he strikes. I suspect he’s holing up somewhere on the estate, but all I can tell you with any certainty is that he was in those woods today. I caught a glimpse of a man in the woods, and might have had him if you hadn’t tackled me.”

  George made a noise of disgust. “If the Home Office had alerted me, I wouldn’t have had to tackle you.”

  “You know how they like secrecy.”

  I took a healthy sip of my brandy. “What do we do now?”

  “I’d prefer you do nothing until after I stop by the constabulary and tell them what’s what. Once I have, I’d like to return here and make this my base of operation. I’ll need to keep a close eye on you.”

  George nodded. “We should have no problem finding a room for you as everyone else will be leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  He faced me, his expression drawn, eyes filled with regret.

  “I’ve already risked the lives of everyone here, Frances. We must send them away to safety.”

  Chapter 20

  “Can’t blame yourself, Hazelton.” Bradmore came to his feet and slapped George on the shoulder in a show of male camaraderie. “How were you to know the threat was serious?”

  I gaped at the man. Was he joking? “I’d have thought you’d take any threat to your life seriously.”

  Bradmore swung around to face me, his hands raised, palms out. “Don’t be too hard on him, Lady Harleigh. The letter did come from a man in prison after all.”

  George held up a hand to stop the other man. “Don’t defend me. Frances is right. It wasn’t hindsight I needed but some foresight. I should have considered Bracken might be behind the accidents. Now look what’s happened. Because of me, one man is dead, and several more are injured.”

  Goodness, both men had completely misunderstood me. “I’m not saying you’re to blame for young Mr. Bracken’s mayhem.”

  “Perhaps not, but it’s true, nonetheless. If I’d paid more attention to the threat, all of those people would be fine right now.”

  “Stop it.” I stepped to his side and took his arm. “Your life is precious to me. When someone threatens you, you cannot simply shrug it off. Nor will you ever again hide such a threat from me. I shan’t allow it. Perhaps I am a bit hysterical at the moment, but all I can think of right now is what I’d have done if the man had killed you.”

  “Instead he managed to hurt others. That’s my fault.”

  “You’re wrong. As much as I want to throttle you right now for lying to me about that letter, even I can see this is not your fault.”

  He blinked. “I don’t recall lying to y
ou about the letter.”

  “You used your customary evasiveness, saying you couldn’t tell me about it, but we can discuss that later.” I dropped his arm and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Right now, I want you to understand that you are not the one to blame for Jamie Bracken’s actions, George. Both he and his father made their own choices.”

  Bradmore stood apart, one hand stroking his chin. “Frances and George, hmm? Like that, is it? You two have been very sly.”

  We both ignored the remark. I gazed into George’s eyes and felt his pain. “You cannot exonerate me from all guilt, Frances, though I love you for trying. This was a mistake, one with tragic consequences. But the tragedy stops here. I want all innocent bystanders removed to safety at once. And that includes you.”

  “If you think I’m leaving you now, you had best think again. Someone needs to be here to make sure you have a care for your own life.”

  “Ahem.”

  We both turned to Bradmore. “That’s all very well and good, but in the matter of who stays and who goes, moving everyone out of the house might pose some problems. At least one or two of your guests are injured.”

  “Heavens, that’s right. I’ve forgotten all about Leo’s injury. We don’t even know how badly he’s been hurt.”

  George was once again all business. “The doctor must have come and gone by now. If his injury is serious and we must make some other provision for his safety, so be it, but everyone who can leave should do so. We don’t know where this man is, what he looks like, or where he’ll attack next.”

  Bradford consulted his pocket watch. “I need to check in with the constabulary but I’ll return this afternoon to see your guests safely to the station.”

  George nodded. “I’ll see to organizing their transport.”

  “I suppose I’ll go check on Leo and let everyone know they must leave at once.”

  “That includes you, Frances.”

  I made no reply as he followed me to the door. We could argue about this later, but with his life in danger, I was not about to run away to safety.

  * * *

  Since the guests would have to depart as soon as possible, George left to check with Mr. Crocker and Mr. Winnie to ensure everyone’s belongings would be packed up, a train schedule consulted, and both guests and bags transported to the station in time to depart.

  I headed up to Leo’s room in the bachelors’ quarters. For all I knew his life may have been hanging in the balance all this time, while the three of us had been downstairs, arguing over who was to blame for this tragedy. Anne answered my tap on Leo’s door and beckoned me inside. The doctor had already left. Lily looked up from her station by Leo’s bed. His chest rose and fell in a reassuring rhythm under the coverlet, but his skin looked as white as parchment against his dark hair. His lashes rested against dark circles beneath his eyes.

  He didn’t stir when Lily released his hand and, placing a finger against her lips, drew me to the opposite side of the room. I nearly wept to see my sister’s eyes rimmed with red and shining with unshed tears. This was worse than I’d anticipated.

  She shook her head, noting my anxiety and took my hand. “The doctor’s given him laudanum for the pain, but he’s likely to be fine, though he’ll have a rather nasty dent in his shoulder.”

  “His shoulder?”

  At my look of confusion, she continued. “Where the doctor removed the bullet. It caught him right in the muscle just below his shoulder.” She tapped her own arm to show me the location.

  “To think it almost missed him.” She released a little huff of frustration and dabbed her nose with a handkerchief. “Though I suppose if it had, it just would have hit whoever was behind him.” She raised her hands to her cheeks. “That might have been me.”

  “A bullet, you say? Not shot?”

  “Not shot, so it wasn’t Bradmore or any of the other gentlemen on the shoot.”

  I didn’t bother pointing out any of the other gentlemen could have concealed a pistol in a coat pocket or somewhere else on their person. It just didn’t signify at this point. We knew the shooter was Bracken’s son, and though we had no idea what he looked like, he couldn’t be Durant or Treadwell, and certainly not Bradmore.

  “George and Bradmore are convinced the shot came from the woods, not the field. Bradmore was certain he saw someone running away.”

  Lily’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “I take it Bradmore is no longer a suspect?”

  What to tell her? “As it happens, he is out here hunting for the very man causing all this trouble. We now know he isn’t any of our party but he is on the loose somewhere on the estate, and George and I feel it’s safest if everyone returns to London as soon as possible.”

  Anne had heard the last part of the conversation and joined us. “Are you saying some lunatic has been attacking the guests here? Is that what happened to Mr. Evingdon and Leo? What about Clara? Did she really slip in the hallway?”

  Why did I never settle on a story before being confronted with questions? Especially now when I wondered how the young Mr. Bracken had managed to enter the house to set the trap that caught Clara—and poison the sherry. Did we have a second assassin? I dare not even begin to consider that possibility. Bracken must have found a way inside the house. Could he be posing as a servant? After interviewing the staff with Sergeant Fisk, I knew most of them had been here for years. O’Brien had been the most recent addition to the household staff. Ben was roughly the same age as Jamie Bracken, but he grew up in the village and had been employed at the house for years.

  While my mind wandered, Anne still waited for an answer. Surely it wasn’t necessary to tell the truth about Clara’s accident and reveal she’d been visiting Alonzo? What happened to Leo and Charles should be enough to send everyone packing.

  “I can’t see how Clara’s accident had anything to do with this man,” I said. “We believe he shot the arrow at Mr. Evingdon and took a shot at Leo. It’s possible he caused Mr. Gibbs’s accident and perhaps poisoned the footman. He’s unidentified as yet and clearly unstable. I really think it’s safer for all of you to return home, and Mr. Hazelton insists upon it.”

  Lily let out a groan as I turned to her. “I’m afraid you must make other plans for your wedding.”

  I read in her eyes what she couldn’t say in front of Anne and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry, dear, but it’s just too dangerous to stay here.”

  “All this planning for nothing,” she said. Pushing away from me, she blotted her eyes and took a breath. “There’s nothing to be done for it, I suppose. But what about the lunatic? Have the authorities been notified?”

  “Bradmore is on his way to the constabulary as we speak. Mr. Hazelton is consulting with his steward to make sure everyone and their belongings make it to the station safely.”

  “I’ll have my maid start packing, but I won’t leave until Leo’s able to travel. He’ll likely sleep for the next couple of hours. We’ll see how he feels then.”

  “Of course. We’d like to get everyone to safety as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t dream of putting Leo on a train if it will cause him more harm.”

  “Is there something I can do to help?” Anne asked.

  “Would you inform your sisters? Is Clara able to travel?”

  “I believe she is, and yes, I’ll get everyone packing.” She gave me an encouraging smile and left to see about her task.

  I turned back to Lily. “You stay with Leo, dear. I’ll tell your maid the two of you will be leaving in the morning if not sooner.”

  “Will you tell Mother?”

  I felt my entire body sag. “I’d forgotten about her. Yes, I’ll tell her. With any luck, Aunt Hetty will be with her. I can’t imagine her reaction to another change to your wedding plans.”

  “Well, just don’t let her know you left me unchaperoned in Leo’s room. She insisted Anne stay with me as it’s unseemly for me to be here alone with my unconscious fiancé, you know.”

  “I’ll try to di
stract her with the fact of a killer running wild on the estate. Will that do?”

  It was good to see my sister smile again, even if it was rather sardonic. I left her with Leo and made my way through the gallery to the south wing, all the while thinking of the lunatic, as Lily had called him. Might he have slipped into the house to set the trip wire on the stairs? Was he so stealthy, or had he managed to steal a set of livery? Was he in the house now?

  The thought sent chills down my spine and quickened my steps. With a few backward glances, I arrived at my mother’s room within minutes only to learn from her maid that she was in the drawing room with Lady Fiona. I would have preferred Aunt Hetty, but any buffer was better than none.

  Back down the stairs, I arrived at the drawing room door just as my mother’s plaintive voice rang out. “But how did the boy get shot? Didn’t they all shoot into the air? You must explain yourself better, my dear.”

  To my surprise it was Hetty’s voice I heard in reply. “A hunter didn’t shoot him, Daisy. And it wasn’t an accident.”

  “Of course, it was an accident, Hetty. You’re speaking nonsense. People in the upper classes don’t go around shooting at each other. They are far above the petty grievances that would cause such a thing.”

  Clearly, my mother hadn’t paid much attention when meeting the members of the upper classes on her previous visit. I pushed through the door and took in the scene inside. Fiona appeared to be inching her way off the sofa as if waiting for any excuse to leave the room. My mother sat beside her, puffed up in her anger. Aunt Hetty, with her hands on her hips, loomed over Mother, ready to deliver a lecture.

  I saved her the trouble. “Aunt Hetty’s correct, Mother. It wasn’t an accident.”

  Hetty released a little humph of satisfaction. “I’d wager the shooter was that Mr. Bradmore. Lily tells me Hazelton ran after him as if he were going to tear the man limb from limb.”

  Fiona’s brows shot up. “Was it Bradmore, Frances?”