The Secrets of Scorton Hall: An Historical Regency Romance Mystery

by Kate Carteret

  “Here, you will be better at this than I.” Lady Barton handed him the letter.

  “I see you would have me be the villain, Lady Barton.” He said and laughed.

  Felicia could have wept with joy to see the briefest look of amusement on his careworn face; it felt like a return to what once was.

  “You will be handsomely rewarded with the finest plum cake in all of Oxfordshire, my dear Lord Beaumont.”

  “You do drive a very hard bargain, Lady Barton.” He said, retrieving a pocket knife from his waistcoat and immediately setting about levering up the small piece of wax. “Even if the paper is a little torn, we can hide it with a larger drop of wax, can we not?”

  “Goodness, have you done this before?” Felicia said teasingly, feeling a great need for their old easiness.

  “Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies, my dear lady.” He gave her a somewhat lopsided and roguish smile and Felicia felt her heart begin to pound.

  He was so wonderful, so handsome and capable, and suffering so very much. She wanted more than anything to be in his arms once again, to have him hold her tightly as he did that night in the summerhouse and to have him kiss her gently as he had done in Stirling.

  In no time at all, he had the wax removed and the paper open on his lap. He surveyed the contents briefly before reading it aloud.

  “My Dear Meredith,

  How long it has been since I have heard a word from you, and I grow worried day by day. I have been so fortunate as to meet a very kind lady, one who knows you and who has promised to hand you this letter herself. In my heart, I know you would not have abandoned me so thoroughly and can only think that I have been making a mistake in my addressing of the letter. My handwriting is poor and I daresay it would be an easy thing for it to be unreadable to a learned person.

  But it is not unreadable to you, my dove.

  I hope that everything goes well with your handsome Duke and I would ask you to give him my fondest regards. He is such a good man, so kind, and I will always hold a place in my heart for him for the place he has held in his heart for you.

  Who would have thought it, my little Meredith a Duchess? I know you have always thought yourself plain, unlovable, but I always knew different. I will be pleased to know that your locket has been returned to you, you always sparkled the brightest when you wore it. It gave you spirit, my dear, it straightened your spine and made you look at the world head-on as you always had a right to, if you had but known it.

  Didn’t I always tell you that mark of yours was not a mole? Didn’t I always tell you that it was the biggest beauty spot and that was all? And I was right, wasn’t I? Like a dream come true, your handsome Prince saw your beauty and knew that he couldn’t live without it.

  I live in hopes that you will come back to me one day, if only for a little visit. I would give anything to see you again, my dove, and it breaks my heart to think that I may not. If you do not respond to this letter, I suppose I will have my answer.

  But whatever happens, whatever you decide, you will always be in my heart. I will always love you like a daughter, and my wish for your happy life will be my last thought on this earth.

  With much love,

  Agnes McDonald.”

  Felicia’s tears came without warning and she was so embarrassed by them that she rose to her feet and hurried over to the window. She drew out her handkerchief and dried her eyes in vain, for the tears would not stop falling.

  “Felicia?” Suddenly Lord Beaumont was at her side, his towering presence a source of strength and security.

  “Forgive me, but it is all so sad. Poor Mrs. Macdonald, her heart will be truly broken.”

  “I know.” He said and took her gently into his arms as she wept.

  They remained so for some time and Lady Barton, still in her seat, remained discreetly silent.

  “Come.” He said finally, taking her hand and leading her back to her seat.

  “So, Meredith Mulholland is dead.” Lady Barton finally spoke.

  “Yes, so it would seem.” Lord Beaumont nodded sadly.

  “But why on earth was a woman of such means working as a maid in Scorton Hall?” She said with confusion.

  “Lady Barton, Meredith Mulholland never worked as a maid in that house.” Lord Beaumont rose to his feet. “You must excuse me, ladies, the time has come for me to get at the truth.” He began to make for the door.

  “I am coming with you.” Felicia said, her tears dried and her determination riding high.

  “No, I must go alone.”

  “Then you will have to throw me bodily from your carriage, Lord Beaumont, for I am most determined.” Felicia was definitely back.

  She had set aside her insecurities and worries; Lord Beaumont needed her, and she would not leave his side.

  “Better to just go along with it, my dear.” Lady Barton smiled up at him warmly. “She is a true force to be reckoned with when she has her mind set on something.”

  “It must be hereditary.” He smiled back.

  “Oh, it is. That is what makes it so impossible to shift.” She rose to her feet and crossed the room, taking Lord Beaumont’s hands in her own. “As fine and as sturdy as you are, my dear, we all need the support of a good friend in this world from time to time.” She looked pointedly at Felicia.

  “Yes, of course.” He said and nodded at Felicia.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  They made the journey in silence, saying nothing at all, even as they approached the great wooden door of Scorton Hall.

  Chester looked surprised to see them, but hurriedly secured them both an audience with the Duke and Duchess.

  Felicia could feel her heart pounding with fear as they were shown into the drawing room. The Duke rose to his feet immediately, smiling brightly even though Felicia could see a flash of concern in his eyes. But as the two men greeted one another, Felicia’s attention was drawn to the Duchess, her cool blue eyes surveying them both as she kept to her seat on the couch.

  What woman of true breeding would forget her manners so easily?

  “What a wonderful surprise.” The Duke said warmly. “My dear Jonathan, you should have let me know you were coming, I could have arranged a good dinner for us all.” He looked at Felicia and smiled, although the concern was growing. “Lady Felicia, I hope you are well?”

  “Thank you.” She said simply, knowing that the world was going to become a different place in the next few minutes.

  “Well, do take a seat.” He waved them down onto the couch. “So, what news?”

  “No news, Clarence, just a question.”

  “Oh?” The Duke looked flustered and Felicia’s heart pounded all the harder.

  Poor Jonathan.

  “Who killed Meredith Mulholland?”

  “I beg your… Jonathan? What nonsense is this?” The Duke laughed, but it was a dreadful, nervous sound.

  “Meredith Mulholland is dead. Felicia and I discovered her body on the floor of your morning room.”

  “For heaven’s sake, man, that was Daisy Marlow. You recognized her yourself on the very day!” He was shouting but smiling garishly; it was unsettling in the extreme, he looked like a rat in a trap.

  “How could any human being be truly recognized when their face is so tortured?” Lord Beaumont turned to Felicia. “I should have listened to you on that day. Did you not say that such disfigurement seemed personal?”

  Felicia said nothing, she merely nodded.

  “Jonathan, I do not know what madness this is, but it is madness all the same. Daisy Marlow was an unfortunate woman in every respect, never more unfortunate than when she surprised a burglar in my home. You know that I will never truly recover from it and I cannot believe that you are here today to accuse me of some knowledge of this most dreadful thing.”

  “Did you do it yourself, Clarence? Did you beat that poor woman to death?” Lord Beaumont paused for a moment and Felicia felt her heart ache; she knew he was struggling. “For I cannot quite b
elieve that your wife was capable of it. Or perhaps it was Irene.” For the first time, the Duchess made the smallest movement.

  Felicia stared at her, unable to account for her apparent calm, despite the little shock she had just received.

  “Irene? Who on earth is Irene?” The Duke went on and Felicia could feel her anger beginning to rise.

  Even now, he was going to lie shamelessly to the best friend he had ever had. It wasn’t fair; it needed to be over and Lord Beaumont needed to be set free from the emotional torture.

  “A Welsh actress who was with the Lambeth Players. You spent so much time in London watching them perform that I would think you would be on first name terms with the woman.”

  “What has a Welsh actress to do with all of this?”

  “Welsh she may be, but she does a very fair Scottish accent.”

  “If a little too determined.” Felicia added and was treated to a hateful glare from the Duchess.

  “She was never your companion, was she? Or at least I should say she was never a companion to Meredith Mulholland. The only companion that poor young woman had was her housekeeper, Mrs. MacDonald.” Lord Beaumont was beginning to look frustrated.

  “Mrs. MacDonald was only ever my housekeeper, not my companion.” Finally, the Duchess spoke, her ramrod straight back and perfect posture not letting her down for a moment.

  Suddenly, Felicia had an idea. She deftly dug into her wristlet and retrieved the locket, careful to keep it hidden in her hand as she crossed the room and showed it to the Duchess.

  “Yours, I believe?” She said and could see that the woman had no idea how to answer.

  “I have never seen it before in my life.” She said angrily, clearly defending herself against what she thought to be a trap.

  “Of course, you have not, for it belonged to Meredith Mulholland.” Felicia turned just enough that the Duke could see what was in her hand. “And if you look closely, you will see that the Mulholland family crest is engraved upon it. A portcullis made of flowers.”

  “This is ridiculous.” The Duchess said coolly. “And I will not put up with very much more impertinence from you.”

  “Really, Your Grace?” Felicia said with determined sarcasm before resuming her seat.

  “This is too much, Jonathan. It is bad enough that you insult me, but that woman of yours insulting my wife is insufferable.”

  Felicia bit her bottom lip; Aunt Agatha would have been highly amused to hear her described as Lord Beaumont’s woman.

  “So much destruction, Clarence, but still I cannot see to what end? One woman beaten to death, another almost losing her life at the hands of an impostor on my own estate. Oh yes, Kitty Foster recognized the paid companion.” Lord Beaumont said and did not flinch. Felicia was greatly impressed; he had bent the truth just enough so that he might use it as leverage.

  “Well, perhaps this woman is an impostor of sorts, who knows? If you believe you have some sort of grounds to have charges laid against Mary Morehead for an assault of some kind, then that is your business. As for anything else, I cannot begin to see how you would prove your disjointed and somewhat ludicrous claims. It pains me, Jonathan, it really does, to think that our great friendship has come to this.”

  “The woman who sits here is also an impostor, Clarence. Mary Mulholland is dead, beaten to death in the summerhouse on these grounds.” Lord Beaumont continued cleverly, and Felicia saw a flinch of recognition when the summerhouse was mentioned. “I cannot believe that such a dreadful thing happened here without you having some part in it, Clarence. At the very least, you must have carried the dead body of Meredith Mulholland from your summerhouse to your morning room.”

  “And you have a witness to this, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I really do not think that we have anything further to discuss, Jonathan. Not now, not ever.”

  “There are so many questions which must be answered, Clarence.” Lord Beaumont said and looked devastated not to have the truth finally from his friend.

  “Please forgive me, I think I need a little air.” Felicia said as a sudden flash of inspiration hit her with full force.

  “I will come with you.” Lord Beaumont said, already beginning to rise to his feet.

  “No, I will be quite all right. You stay with the Duke, your friend, and see if you cannot solve this between you.” She waved him back down into his seat and was already making for the drawing-room door.

  “Perhaps Meredith ought to come with you.” The Duke said, feigning concern.

  “I would rather go alone.” Felicia glared at the Duchess who looked entirely disinterested in her physical welfare.

  “As you wish.” The Duke said and turned back to Jonathan. “Well, where do we go from here, my old friend? What road shall we take when all you have are twisted stories and hateful suspicions?”

  With the door closed behind her, Felicia leaned against the frame for a moment and took a few deep and steadying breaths. She looked all about her for any sign of a maid or a footman before setting off silently and at some speed for the wide, sweeping staircase.

  She lifted the hem of her gown and raced to the top, breathless by the time she reached the first-floor corridor. She knew the Duke's chamber had not been in the same part of the building as the one she had stayed in as a guest. Felicia turned in the other direction altogether, silently speeding along the corridor, tentatively opening doors and peering in as she went.

  She might not know where the Duke's chamber was, but she was certain she would know it when she saw it.

  In the end, her determination paid off. At the very far end of the corridor, a closed door faced her, and she knew, with certainty, that it was the chamber she sought. She opened it and tentatively peered in, seeing that the room was larger than any she had looked into previously. She hurried in and closed the door softly behind her, leaning against it for a moment while she got her breath back.

  There was an immense four-poster bed and such sumptuous bedding that it could only have been the private chamber of the Duke and Duchess of Scorton.

  Felicia knew she did not have long, and she hoped against all hope that she would find what she was looking for.

  She dropped to her knees, peering under the bed. Finding nothing there, she opened drawer after drawer in three large cabinets to no avail. Finally, she opened the wide doors of an enormous oak wardrobe. She dropped to her knees again, running her hands along the sturdy base of the wardrobe. There were boxes, small traveling chests, nothing of note. Finally, however, her hand fell upon some rough material in the very back corner of the wardrobe. She gripped it and pulled it towards her, hearing a clanking of metal against metal as she did so. It was a large sack, one which she set on the floor in front of her and opened, peering inside.

  If the Duke wanted some proof, then Lady Felicia Markham would let him have it.

  “So, let me see if I have this straight, Jonathan.” The Duke said and appeared to be regaining his old confidence. “You claim that Meredith Mulholland was the woman dressed as a maid and laying dead on the floor of my morning room. Of course, had my wife actually worked here as a maid, I think I would have noticed.”

  “Meredith Mulholland did not work here as a maid.” Lord Beaumont blew out along, exasperated breath.

  Felicia entered the room silently, hardly noticed by the two men as they continued to argue.

  “Then pray, do tell me, who was the poor unfortunate woman who was so nervous and clumsy as to drop a piece of fish into Lady Felicia’s lap the night before she died?”

  “Violet Smith,” Felicia announced loudly, and everybody turned to look at her. “Yes, that’s right, I know your name, my dear. I would say Your Grace, but I cannot begin to imagine that your marriage to the Duke is legal. After all, as far as the Reverend is aware, Clarence Tavistock married Meredith Mulholland. There was no mention of Violet Smith, not if I am remembering the ceremony as I believe I do.”

  The room fell silent as all t
hree continued to stare at her. Felicia advanced further into the room and set down the sack, crouching to reach inside.

  She held out her hand to show a small oval of soft buckskin fabric.

  “Stock in trade for an actress, I believe,” Felicia said accusingly as she stared at the Duchess. “Just the thing to have the world believe that the woman lying dead in the morning room was a simple maid, a clumsy maid, by the name of Daisy Marlow. But the Daisy Marlow we saw alive had no real mole to speak of. You needed us all to see it so that we would declare the murdered woman to be one and the same. You needed us to think that Meredith Mulholland was your fictitious maid.”

  “This is…” The Duchess began and finally looked afraid.

  “Violet Smith was an actress, one of the Lambeth Players, who disappeared more than a year ago. Truly disappeared, even her family does not know what has become of her.” Lord Beaumont took the reins of this tale. “I presume that’s where you first met her, Clarence? When you were carousing in London watching plays and chasing the women. So, one of them finally caught your eye good and proper, did she?” Lord Beaumont stared at the Duke, but the man said nothing in response. “How long did it take you to come up with your rotten plan? It was a clever one, I will say that much. To install your lover here masquerading as a hapless maid for weeks and weeks.” He went on as Felicia took a dark, dull brown wig from the sack and laid it on the rug in front of her. “A mousy woman who was meant to be noticed by all. You did your job well, Violet.” He said, turning to the Duchess. “You played your part well. Nobody seeing the timid, hunched maid with a nervous disposition and a disfiguring mole would ever look upon the tall and elegant beauty of the new Duchess of Scorton and think those two women were one and the same.”

  “Jonathan, please, stop this.” The Duke was beginning to show the first signs of defeat.

  “You set all of us up to believe it, Clarence. You carefully picked the sort of guests who would not only notice the clumsy maid but would talk about her and register her presence. Lord Harker, bleating on about how he would have had her dismissed. Colonel Wentworth, making his mean-minded assumptions about the poor woman the next day when she was found dead. A simple maid, you know what these sorts of girls are.” He said, mimicking the Colonel perfectly. “And then you planned to meet the woman who had fallen in love with you, the real Meredith Mulholland, in the summerhouse, where you took her into your arms before beating the life out of her.”