A Hanging at Lotus Hall

by Corrina Lawson

  “Not for me to say, miss, but I’m sure the family is glad to have him back, with his connection to the late duke.”

  No open censure of the bastard brother, apparently. Or Phyllis Dale, for that matter, since Agnes had put her in with members of the family.

  “It’s also good to have them all home, especially with the duchess so near her time,” Agnes said with more conviction.

  The Duchess of Bennington was with child? Joan wondered why Agnes had supplied that information and decided it was a hint that the duchess should not be taxed with anything unpleasant. Agnes was intelligent and observant. It would not do to underestimate her.

  “I know Headmaster Moriarty and Mr. Cooper are here from the Isca School and as representatives of the Metaphysical Society. And Sir August Milverton as well. Are there any other guests in residence that I’ll encounter at dinner?”

  “A Mr. Reginald Benedict, from Chicago, Lord Nicholas’s friend.”

  No one had mentioned him yet. “When did Mr. Benedict arrive?”

  Agnes’s voice became more laced with formality. “He’s Lord Nicholas’s guest. They met in America. That was just three months ago. Mr. Benedict has been in residence at Lotus Hall since Lord Nicholas’s return.”

  By Agnes’s tone, she disapproved of Lord Nicholas spending so much time away from his home, or she disliked his friend, or both.

  “Mr. Benedict hasn’t…bothered…any of the staff, has he?”

  Agnes laughed quietly. “Ah, no, miss, he’s fine. And the duke would toss him out if he did. It’s just that, well, Mr. Benedict insists on doing many things himself. Doesn’t let us do our jobs.”

  “Many Americans are like that.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Agnes said.

  So long as her disapproval wasn’t based on unwelcome attention, Joan was fine with letting that inquiry go until she could meet the man herself. Still, he’d been here for months. Could he be a mage? Could he have been responsible for the trap inside the teapot? All questions that needed answers.

  “And the duke himself? Anything I should know about him?” Joan asked.

  “Oh, he fusses over the duchess, of course, and he’s been keeping late hours, which wears on him, but he’s lovely with Lady Anne. He’s a fine employer,” Agnes said.

  Jared was good to his wife and daughter, and “fine employer” meant the servants were paid and treated well. Indeed, Agnes had outright volunteered that the duke would not tolerate any abuse of his staff.

  But, another mention of the duke under unusual pressure.

  “The duke must have been pleased to have Lord Nicholas home,” Joan ventured.

  “Aye, though he’s working so late that he and Lord Nicholas haven’t spent much time catching up. Shall I help you dress, miss?” Agnes asked.

  “That would be lovely.” She could dress herself but why not develop a rapport with this clever girl.

  Assuming Agnes was an ally. Despite Vai’s faith in the girl, Joan remained wary. Someone tried to kill her this morning and the potential killer could be here. Perhaps she’d even already met them.

  Joan checked the mirror before leaving the room.

  She’d worn something traditional, to Agnes’s relief. The family was already making a leap, seating the common lover of their half-brother at a family meal. But times, Joan hoped, were changing, and this was part of it.

  Her plaid silk brocade dress with the hoop skirt, made of iridescent brownish gray taupe and woven with a holly leaf print design, carried just the right amount of somber. The silk taffeta accent of blue, green, black, and red plaid added the right amount of color. It was formal enough and the dress had the advantage, for her, of being easy to wear.

  Later, if needed, she could change into her regular wool day clothing.

  As she closed the autoclothe, Joan vowed to install one in her own house and in her sewing room. So handy, and it prevented crinkling or other problems with dresses.

  She drew in the drawstring of the dress at the waist and shook out the tiered sleeves. Agnes helped her with the buttons all the way down the front. Bonus, this dress contained side pockets. She slipped a tiny multitool, one of Gregor’s designs, inside one of them. One never knew.

  Now she was properly armed for dinner.

  The maid directed her to the east side of the house through a covered corridor that connected east and west wings. Interesting. There was a way for guests and family to mingle without going all the way down to the entrance foyer. Eventually, on the ground floor, they ended at dining area bigger than the first floor of her new home.

  “Is this the largest of the dining rooms?” Joan asked.

  “Oh, no, miss, this is for small gatherings,” Agnes said. “Intimate.”

  Intimate. As if a cavernous room with a table setting for ten, a separate sitting area, plus floor-to-ceiling windows to let in light (these windows must be part of the renovations), could be considered intimate. Forget her house. She could fit the entire living quarters of what had been Krieger & Sims into this room.

  Agnes slipped away, as unobtrusive as Gregor could be.

  Joan eyed the crowd, wondering how to begin. At the windows stood the duke and the duchess, or so she presumed by the duke’s resemblance to Gregor, especially around the jaw, and the duchess’s delicate condition. Several others had gathered around them for polite conversation. She recognized Moriarty and Cooper but not the young black man with curly hair shot through with red. The American?

  “They are people, like any other, and you are garbed as finely as them,” Gregor whispered into her ear.

  She turned to him with a smile. “Ah, they’re not like any other. They are all mages, are they not? And they wield political power.”

  And one of them might have tried to kill her.

  “Jared and Nick are mages, though Nick is an indifferent one. Victoria has some power but defers to Jared.” Gregor stepped to her side. “And you’ve met my mother,” he said drily, staring at the dowager duchess, now deep in conversation with Sir August Milverton, of all people.

  Joan could only conclude that Milverton seemed drawn to powerful women. He’d once wanted to marry Joan, to pass her mage gift on to their children.

  Another man who’d wanted to control her. The world seemed full of them.

  “Careful,” Joan said. “Milverton could be paying suit to her.”

  “Ah, he should take care. Those who come too close to the fire are likely to get burned.”

  And Gregor’s gaze alighted on a slight figure in a chair in the corner, as far away from the others as he could be. The white-haired man gripped a cane tightly in his hand. His clean-shaven but gaunt face carried a scar that began at his chin and presumably continued up the side of his face that she could not see. The width of his shoulders and the powerful hands that held the cane hinted at the man he used to be.

  “Mr. Dale, I presume. Was he too close to your father’s fire?”

  Gregor only nodded. “We had a most frustrating conversation. He was once gregarious. Now he’s…withdrawn. His story of survival makes sense, but it’s not the full story.”

  Ominous. “Could he have sent the teapot?”

  A frown. “No evidence as to why he would.”

  A hand clapped Gregor on the back.

  “There you are, little brother, finally back in the fold.” The new arrival came around to study her, a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

  Gregor’s features often seemed as finely sculpted as works by the masters. But his brother Nicholas—so it must be—seemed to have stepped directly out of heaven. His dark suit emphasized his blond hair, while the cravat of white and blue stripes matched his sky-blue eyes. And his face?

  An angel’s visage. Lucifer?

  “Ah, this must be your Jewess.” Lord Nicholas lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. An elegant gesture from an elegant man but she heard mockery in it.

  “And you must be Lord Nicholas.” She used the polite, blank tone she’d
perfected from years of serving nobility.

  “My ‘Jewess’ has a name, brother, as you well know,” Gregor snapped. “Miss Joan Krieger of London, I present my brother, Lord Nicholas Sherringford, lately of Chicago, New Orleans, and New York. Did I miss any of your travels, Nick?”

  Gregor’s tone had teasing and mockery in it as well. So this was how it went between them.

  “You missed Boston,” “Nick” answered.

  “Harvard in Cambridge, to be precise.”

  He tilted his head, a mannerism in common with his brother and Joan decided the name “Nick” suited the man well.

  “I’ve never realized you had such fine taste in women, Greg. However did you manage to pull your nose out of your investigations long enough to notice her?”

  “I’ve never realized how lords can talk around a person, even when she is standing right in front of them,” Joan said.

  Nick choked on his drink. That drew the attention of the group near the window, particularly the black gentleman, who narrowed his eyes.

  “Point taken, Miss Krieger. Now let’s get you introduced to the lord of the manor. Maybe you’ll distract him from his disapproval of me.” Nick crushed out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray and offered his arm.

  “And why would His Grace disapprove of you?” Joan asked.

  “Let’s just say my brother was happier when I was out of sight.”

  “I need to speak to Mr. Dale again,” Gregor announced.

  “I’ll come with you,” she said.

  “No, sorry, Miss Krieger, we must get you properly introduced to the lord of the manor. Don’t want to anger the duke. He’s touchy lately.” But Nick smiled.

  Gregor shrugged. Fine, let that be for now. But she was past tired of having to prod Gregor for information that should be offered freely.

  Joan and Nick strolled over to the duke’s party.

  “So the duke disapproves of both his brothers?” Joan whispered.

  “To be fair, Jared has responsibilities. He’s important.” Nick shrugged, an excellent echo of Gregor. “If pressed, Jared might admit he admires what Gregor does and the freedom it provides him.”

  “And what would he say about you, Lord Nicholas, if pressed?”

  “That I should stop my wastrel ways and marry, and that I’m not a fit heir for his dukedom. That I waste my mage gift.” Nick’s smile was chilling. “Sometimes all at once.”

  “Are you a wastrel?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “That rather depends on your definition of the word.”

  Before Joan could follow up that intriguing statement, they reached the duke and the crowd around him. It was a quick round of introductions, with Nick doing the honors for her. The duke’s features were less defined than Lord Nicholas’s and his hair darker, but he was still handsome. All formal politeness, the duke offered a quick bow and a “welcome” to her.

  “We have my stepmother to thank for your presence,” the duke said, nodding toward Vai, still in discussion with Milverton.

  Was there disapproval in the duke’s tone?

  “I’m honored, Your Grace,” Joan said.

  Vai wafted over, Milverton in her wake. “My home is always your home. Did you not always say that to me, Jared?” asked the dowager duchess.

  “So I did.” The duke sipped his drink, never taking his eyes from Joan.

  There were undercurrents here, like in the conversation with Nick, that Joan could not fathom yet. Jared seemed, if not unhappy, uncertain about her presence.

  Jared’s duchess’s welcome was warmer. A woman with soft brown eyes, though the lines around them hinted of tiredness. Her hair was pulled back and emeralds gleamed at her throat. The absolute picture of an English lady, though even the carefully tailored dress she wore could not disguise her current state.

  “Miss Krieger. I’ve heard a great deal about you. Good to see you in person,” she said.

  “Thank you, Your Grace, for hosting me.”

  Joan simply nodded to Moriarty and Cooper.

  The pair didn’t give away that they’d met Joan the previous day. Interesting. Why keep that a secret?

  The last to be introduced was the black man, Mr. Benedict, “just call me Reg,” of Chicago, who’d met Nick in Boston. He shook her hand, equal to equal, and she liked him instantly.

  The head butler appeared in the doorway and announced that the meal was ready.

  The duke, at the head of the table, helped his wife into a chair at his right, while shooing away a footman’s offer of assistance. Lord Nicholas was at the duke’s left, with Vai beside him, while Joan was led to the other seat beside Vai. Across from her sat Gregor, right next to the current duchess. Sir August Milverton was to Joan’s left, with Moriarty across from them. Cooper sat beyond Milverton, while Reg was across from the dean. Mr. Dale, the longtime friend and ostensible family member, took the seat at the foot of the table.

  Joan realized she’d been given a spot of honor, the closest to the family, while the others had been neatly sorted according to rank, except Mr. Dale, who seemed a rule unto himself.

  The duke stood but motioned the rest of them to remain in their seats. “To our family, gathered together for the first time in a long while.” He paused to stare at Edward Dale.

  They toasted with a sparkling wine that Joan suspected was champagne.

  Mostly enthusiastic assent greeted the toast, especially Reg’s American “Good show!” Gregor said nothing and sipped from his glass, looking as wary as Joan felt.

  The duke sat down and the meal commenced. It began with small talk until Reg Benedict brought them to reality with a sharp comment in response to a question from Cooper about his time at Lotus Hall.

  “This mansion is lovely, Mr. Cooper, but, yes, it seems a different world than where I come from,” Reg said.

  “I can well imagine,” Gregor said drily.

  “I bet you could,” Reg replied. “Am I right in guessing people see skin color first, even in London? Because, apologies, you don’t look any more white than I do, Lord Gregor.”

  That was impolite, even for an American. But Gregor took no offense.

  “It’s evident that people rarely look beyond the superficial,” Gregor said.

  Reg smiled. “That they do not.”

  “Reg is being modest. He’s not so different from us,” Nick said, cutting in. “His family has a successful shipping business in Chicago.”

  Nick had been quick to jump to Reg’s defense, even though it had been unnecessary.

  “What brought you to Boston then, from Chicago, Mr. Benedict?” Joan inquired. “I understand Boston is where you encountered Lord Nicholas.”

  “Oh, a need to see the world,” Nick answered for his friend.

  That was twice now he’d played protector for the man.

  “A need to see more than just Chicago, for certain,” Reg said. “Mr. Mark Twain was giving a lecture at Harvard that I attended. Nick was there. We fell to talking after.”

  The duke frowned, glancing from Nick to Reg. Did he not like a black man in his home? But the man was a guest in his house, not to mention the duke fully accepted Vai and his half-brother. If there was a problem, it was not racial.

  Something else, something connected to the duke’s disapproval of his brother. Perhaps Nick gambled with the family fortune and Reg urged him on in that endeavor. Or perhaps Reg was less benevolent than he seemed.

  There was something off about the American. His suit, unquestioningly of the finest fabric, had visible stitches at the cuffs, and the shoulders were slightly too big for him. It might be the jacket was secondhand, a good, frugal practice—perhaps he’d even borrowed it from Nick, but, in that case, the excellent tailors at Lotus Hall should not have left visible stitches. No, more likely Reg owned the jacket and the lack of tailoring pointed to something off in his story of family money.

  Clothes said so much about a man. Such as Moriarty, who favored more common fabrics with impeccable tailoring. However, his
cravat was fine silk, with a specific (and expensive) uncommon blue color. He wanted to hide his power but he couldn’t resist showing off a bit.

  “Mr. Benedict’s comment does bring me to the reason we accepted your invitation, Your Grace,” Moriarty said.

  “How so?” the duke asked.

  “Well, to the average person on the street, places like Lotus Hall might as well be a foreign country,” Cooper said, answering for his boss.

  Cooper, though, his clothes were steady and solid, no showiness. Hard to afford the best clothing on a dean’s wages. But what his clothes lacked in boldness, his personality made up for it.

  “Is that statement leading to something, Mr. Cooper?” asked the duke in the same mild tone that marked Gregor at his most dangerous.

  “Are you sure you want to hear all this, and in such company, Your Grace?” Cooper asked.

  “You wouldn’t be my guest if I didn’t value your opinion. Even if I disagree.”

  “But still, among mixed company?” Cooper persisted.

  Joan grimaced. Cooper, for all his charm, still viewed her as inferior. Vai coughed.

  “You may speak freely. The future of the mage gift concerns them as much as you or me,” the duke said.

  Again, the same mild tone. Joan looked over to the duchess, who hadn’t said a word. But now she nodded in agreement.

  “Then I’ll be blunt,” Cooper said. “Resentment of the nobility prompted the Mage Reform Act. Your insistence on holding it up for small changes is stoking that resentment. The Commons believes you’re standing in the way of progress.”

  Not one to be intimidated, was Cooper.

  “The proposed Mage Reform Act is not built on resentment or fear but the desire to help others achieve their potential,” the duke countered. “My family, starting with my father, has constantly been for the dissemination of knowledge to all. I wholeheartedly agree with that part of the proposed law.”

  “But you are not wholeheartedly in support of this reform,” Moriarty chided in his professor’s voice.

  “We cannot simply allow people to use their gifts willy-nilly.” The duke sat forward, intense, concentrating on Cooper and Moriarty. “You teach those unfamiliar with their talent. You should be well aware of the dangers of the untrained. You should share my views.”