The Dark Enquiry

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  “There, there,” I soothed, patting his arm. “We will think of something.”

  Brisbane slanted me a curious look. “What precisely will we think of?”

  “Some way to restore the Mortlake reputation.”

  “Julia, there is no way to recover it,” Plum argued. “I handed back the jewels in the most public way. The insurers will hear of it, and Lord Mortlake will be forced to put his town properties up for sale to cover the payment. Society will speculate and put the worst possible construction upon the matter. They will whisper and gossip and chatter about Lord Mortlake, and his family will be disgraced.”

  Before I could respond, there came a tap at the door and Mrs. Lawson entered, brimming with disapproval. She ignored me and went straight to Brisbane.

  “A lady to see you, sir. Here is her card.”

  She handed over the calling card and Brisbane’s brows rose at the sight of it. “Indeed? Send her up, please. And I think the lady might like tea.”

  Mrs. Lawson bustled out, pursing her lips, but as soon as Brisbane passed me the calling card I understood her displeasure. Mrs. Lawson never liked it when unmarried ladies called upon Brisbane without an escort. She thought it indecent.

  I handed the card to Plum. “It seems you will have a chance to apologise to the lady herself,” I observed.

  His colour rose. “Lady Felicity is here?” Unconsciously he smoothed his turquoise striped waistcoat and shot his cuffs.

  A moment later, Felicity entered wearing a pale blue costume of last year’s mode. It might have made a charming effect were it not for the furrow upon her white brow. She looked distracted, and at the sight of Plum her colour rose.

  “Mr. March! I did not know for certain that you would be here. I am so glad,” she burst out. Then, recovering herself, she bit her lip prettily. “I mean, Mr. Brisbane, thank you for seeing me without prior arrangement. Lady Julia, how nice to see you again. It has been quite a long time, I think.”

  Brisbane, who had risen from behind his desk, bowed from the neck, and I went to shake her hand. “Lady Felicity, what an unexpected pleasure. Do sit. Brisbane has ordered tea, and we can have a nice chat whilst we wait.”

  Plum had started forward to shake hands, but then thought better of it, and resumed his chair with a little less than his usual grace.

  Felicity took the chair next to his and perched on the edge, twisting a handkerchief in her gloved hands. On a good day, Felicity’s looks might have been described as arresting. This was not a good day. She was blonde, but darkly so, with sooty lashes and brows framing startling blue eyes. Her skin was good, but she had the sort of pale complexion that could look sickly if she were tired or worried, both of which appeared to be the case at present. There were soft violet shadows under her eyes, but the blue gaze was steady and unflinching as she looked from my husband to my brother.

  “I have come to thank you,” she said simply.

  Brisbane quirked a brow. “Indeed?”

  If Plum was thinking of the rather more intimate demonstration of her gratitude she had given him, he was gentleman enough not to betray it.

  “Yes,” she went on earnestly, collecting me with her gaze. “You see, I have been very worried about Father. It is no secret that we have not got along very well since Mama died,” she said, her expression touched with wistfulness. “The new Lady Mortlake was my governess when Mama was alive. He married her within the year, and I am afraid I was not as understanding as I ought to have been. And then when the boys came along,” she broke off, giving a hard sniff, and I felt my heart go out to her. To have lost her mother would have been difficult enough; to be thrust into the heart of her father’s new family would have been unendurable.

  She touched her nose with her handkerchief and went on. “The match has not always been a happy one. They put up a good front in public, and Father is very glad to have an heir at last,” she added with a self-deprecating little smile, “but he is unhappy. I can see it. And it breaks my heart. I wish that he could confide in me, but it is too much to ask. So we seldom speak, and when we do, it always seems to end in cross words.”

  I could not imagine such a thing. My own father was the most maddening man I had ever met, but I could not imagine any quarrel so great it would divide us.

  Lady Felicity went on. “The unhappiness in his marriage causes him to gamble—with disastrous results. There is very little money left, and Father is always haring off on schemes to restore the family fortunes. The trouble is that his hands are tied by the entailment. He cannot sell the house or the jewels or the paintings, nothing of real value. I fear he struck upon this latest bit of foolishness out of desperation, and I am so very grateful to you, to you both,” she said, darting a glance from Brisbane to Plum, “that the scandal of it will not become public.”

  Doubt shaded her voice, and I realised the real reason for her visit. She might have intended to thank Brisbane and Plum, but she also craved reassurance that her father would not be made a laughingstock. She wanted to secure our discretion, and on this point, I hastened to reassure her.

  “Be at ease, Lady Felicity. No one will know of what transpired. I presume the other guests merely thought the emeralds mislaid?”

  “Yes,” she said. “They were very happy the emeralds had been found. I do not think they guessed for a moment that Father had been so foolish.”

  “Then all will soon be forgot,” I promised her.

  “Not entirely,” Brisbane put in softly.

  Lady Felicity’s head jerked up as if he had struck her. “What do you mean?”

  His voice was deliberately gentle, but there was no soft way to deliver the blow. “We were discussing this very point when you arrived, Lady Felicity. It will soon become apparent that your father has lost his fortune. It simply will not be possible for him to conceal it.”

  She looked from him to me, to Plum, and back again, the colour ebbing slowly from her face. “Ruin,” she murmured. “There can be no hope for any of us. The boys will have no education and I will have no dowry.”

  “Something must be done,” Plum said with surprising fierceness.

  “What?” she demanded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “How will the boys manage if they are never properly educated? And what man will have me with no money?”

  The demand hovered sharply in the air between them, and I thought of our youngest brother’s impetuous proposal of marriage to a girl he barely knew. It had been rejected, mercifully, but if Plum proved equally irrational, Lady Felicity might well accept him. I held my breath as Plum spoke.

  “Something must be done,” he murmured again.

  Lady Felicity looked away quickly, embarrassed, I think, and we fell silent for a moment as she collected herself.

  “We were talking earlier of the London properties,” I began. “Lord Mortlake does own rather a lot of real estate in town.”

  “A public sale would expose the loss of his fortune,” Brisbane reminded me.

  “Not if the properties are sold privately,” I corrected.

  Brisbane canted his head at me. “Come again?”

  I folded my hands in my lap. “It is very simple, my love. You are responsible for Lord Mortlake’s ruin.”

  “I?” He fairly choked upon the word, and Felicity gasped aloud.

  “You,” I repeated with some firmness. “Plum is in your employ and was acting as your agent when he discovered the emeralds and presented them publicly to Lord Mortlake.”

  “That is entirely beside the point,” Brisbane began, but I carried on as if I had not heard him.

  “What Lord Mortlake did was very wrong. But his entire family should not be made to pay for it. Lady Mortlake has a pack of young sons, whose inheritance must not be stripped away from them. And Lady Felicity must have her marriage portion. Surely you do not wish to be responsible for the ruination of an entire family of quite innocent and very nice people?”

  Felicity put up her hands. “No, really, Lady Julia! They
were simply acting for the best, and I am grateful. How much worse would this affair be if Father were prosecuted for defrauding the insurers? You must not lay the blame at their feet.”

  I smiled at her. “Do not trouble yourself, my dear. They must accept that there are consequences to their actions.”

  Brisbane was shaking his head, dazed. “This cannot possibly be made to be my fault.”

  “Yours and Plum’s,” I corrected. “He ought to have had more discretion than to hand over the jewels so indiscreetly.” I shot my brother a repressive look. “Really, Plum. What were you thinking?”

  He gaped at me, then at Brisbane. “She cannot be serious.”

  “You have known her longer than I,” Brisbane returned bitterly. “You ought to be accustomed to it by now.”

  “Gentlemen,” I recalled them, “we were speaking of the Mortlakes. Now, Lord Mortlake has been very foolish indeed, but I think we all agree his family must not be made to pay the price for his silliness.”

  “Silliness? Julia, the man has committed a serious crime,” Plum put in. He darted a look at Felicity and flushed painfully. She looked at the handkerchief in her hands and would not meet his gaze.

  I waved a hand again. “We have all done stupid things from time to time,” I reminded him. “But luckily for Lord Mortlake, he has us to retrieve the situation.”

  Brisbane levelled his gaze at me. “I know I will regret this, very likely for the rest of my life, but precisely how do you intend we should retrieve the situation?”

  “We will buy Lord Mortlake’s London properties.”

  Felicity jumped like a scalded cat and Plum choked, but Brisbane merely sat in perfect stillness.

  Felicity recovered her wits first. “Lady Julia, you cannot mean it,” she said, just as Plum spluttered, “Julia, you are jesting.”

  “Not a bit of it. The three of us will contribute the funds and we will purchase his properties privately. It is not a bad investment,” I added. “Most of them could be let for income with the exception of the Belgravia house. The family will have to remain there to avoid gossip. We might expect a peppercorn rent for it, just until Lord Mortlake manages to retrench his finances. The other properties we could sell at a tidy profit. Although,” I put in, frowning, “it occurs to me that Plum might like to keep the property in Golden Square. It is a very fine house and would suit him well should he choose to take a wife in due course.”

  “A wife?” Plum choked again, this time so deeply that I was forced to strike him hard several times upon the back before he recovered. Lady Felicity looked deeply embarrassed, but her breathing had quickened and she darted a glance at Plum from beneath her lashes.

  “You seem quite determined,” Brisbane said to me at last.

  “I am. Each of us has contributed to Lord Mortlake’s predicament, and we ought to help him out of it. He really is a decent fellow, you know. He has been a member of Father’s Shakespearean society for decades. Father would want us to help him.”

  “What Father would want is bloody well not the point!” Plum spluttered.

  I clucked at him. “Language, Plum. And it is the point.” I turned to Brisbane. “You have held forth many times upon the subject of justice, my dear. I know it is the principle that guides your every action. If we destroy Lord Mortlake for a momentary weakness and in doing so ruin his entire family, where is the justice in that?”

  Brisbane knew I had the right of him. He did not answer my question. He merely folded his arms over his chest and posed one of his own. “And—begging your pardon, Lady Felicity—if we save him, he might just as easily go off and do it again. Who will save him then?”

  Felicity leaned forward towards me, her expression earnestly sweet. “Mr. Brisbane is quite right. It is entirely possible that Father will do something foolish again. You cannot be expected to rescue us a second time.”

  I pondered this a moment, then brightened. “We will give him the chance to save himself! We will have him sign a statement, a confession of sorts that he instigated this, and shall assure him that should he ever gamble again, we will proceed directly to the authorities with the evidence.”

  “That is blackmail!” Plum exclaimed.

  I furrowed my brow. “Really? I thought it was extortion. Brisbane, you will have to explain the difference one of these days.”

  “It is practical,” Felicity said slowly. “And it isn’t as though Father has many alternatives left.”

  Brisbane covered his face with his hands for a long moment, then dropped them, and to my astonishment, he was smiling. “One woman in a thousand,” he murmured. He cleared his throat. “Very well, wife. You, Plum and I will put up equal shares and purchase the Mortlake town properties. I will summon Mortlake this afternoon to explain the situation and offer us up as his saviours.”

  I would have flown to him to offer my thanks, but the presence of Plum and Lady Felicity was rather chilling in that regard. Instead, I blew him a kiss and hoped that would suffice as both a thanks and a promise.

  Lady Felicity sat, shaking her head as if to clear away a waking dream. “I cannot believe it is all going to come right. I feel as if I have just walked through a whirlwind.”

  “The Marches tend to have that effect,” Brisbane agreed. “You will grow accustomed to it in time.”

  Mrs. Lawson appeared then with the tea tray and it took ages to pour and hand round the sandwiches and cakes, but I noticed as I offered Lady Felicity her cup, she was still pleasantly pink from Brisbane’s last remark. The implication that her association with the Marches might be one of long duration had clearly made her very happy. She was conversing softly with Plum, their heads close together, his so dark, hers so fair. They made a pretty picture, and I saw a sudden smile soften her features. She was rather smitten with my brother, I decided, and for Plum’s part, he seemed cautiously attracted. I wanted him happy. His heart had been broken long enough over a woman he could not have, and if he could make up his mind to love Felicity Mortlake, matters might indeed come right in the end.

  The Ninth Chapter

  Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive.

  —“The Rape of Lucrece”

  A few days later, Brisbane and I were enjoying a most delicious breakfast courtesy of our new cook. I gave a contented sigh at the properly shirred eggs and even spooned one into a saucer for Rook. He lapped delicately at it, and from over my shoulder Grim made a threatening quork.

  “Oh, very well. What about a nice bit of kedgeree?” I asked, preparing a small dish for him. He bobbed his head happily when I put the bowl into his cage. “Breakfast,” he said in his reedy little voice. I left him to it and resumed my chair just as Brisbane gave an exclamation, leaning forward swiftly in his chair as he focused intently upon his newspaper.

  “Brisbane?”

  He lowered the newspaper, a feline smile playing about his lips, and handed it to me.

  It was not difficult to discover what had captured his interest. The inquest into Madame’s death had made the newspapers. I skimmed the piece, brief as it was, and gave a gasp.

  “It was just as you said. Aconite poisoning.”

  “Keep reading,” he instructed, serving himself another plate of eggs and devilled kidneys. The new cook was proving rather too skilled, I thought. If Brisbane continued to eat so heartily, he soon would find himself paying a visit to his tailor.

  I surveyed the rest of the article until I came to the conclusion. “Accidental death! They have returned a verdict of accidental death,” I said, brandishing the newspaper. “Do you think it accidental?”

  “Not bloody likely.” His expression was grim. “It is entirely too coincidental that a woman such as Madame, who collected lovers and kept mementoes of her affaires, should have died accidentally.”

  I pursed my lips. “It says here that the Spirit Club’s cook is an elderly fellow and mistook the root of aconitum napellus for a horseradish. He has cataracts. It is supposed that the greengrocer’s boy, who brought t
he produce, must have inadvertently delivered the wrong root.”

  But Brisbane was not to be swayed. “I do not like coincidences. Besides, it is only a theory that the cook mistook the horseradish root. There was none left to test. It had been thrown out and the dish scoured by the time investigators thought to ask after it. A kitchen mishap is merely the simplest explanation, and a damned lazy one, in this case. And the greengrocer’s boy makes far too convenient a scapegoat. He swore under oath that the horseradish root was a proper horseradish root. His employer swore to the same, a man with forty years’ experience with vegetables. And yet the police are perfectly content to accept this nursery story about mistaken roots instead of pursuing where the aconite came from.”

  I put the paper aside and stirred my tea thoughtfully. “No one traced the root. If the greengrocer and his lad are telling the truth, the boy delivered horseradish, not aconite. So where did the aconite itself originate?” I sat back. “An interesting question, to be sure, and one that no one seems to be asking. I presume you believe the greengrocer is correct.”

  “I do.”

  “So you think the verdict in error. Do you mean to investigate?”

  “I detect a note of disapproval, my sweet. You want me to leave it alone?”

  I struggled to give voice to my thoughts. “It is simply that Madame is dead, and for better or worse, there is a verdict in the case. Her poor sister, Mademoiselle Agathe, has an answer—whether it is the correct one or not—and we do not know that it isn’t,” I reminded him. “There has not been a breath of trouble as far as Bellmont is concerned since Madame’s death.”

  “That we know of,” he corrected.

  “True. I daresay his last visit was so contentious that he might well hesitate to turn to you again, even if the devil himself were at his heels. Still, I saw Aunt Hermia yesterday and she mentioned that she had dinner with Bellmont the day before and his spirits were better than she had seen in some time. He has never been good at concealing his feelings. I think he has begun to put this entire unsavoury episode behind him. And perhaps you were right. Perhaps Madame did destroy the letters. She would not be the first woman to keep a memento of a love affair and then change her mind.”