“Connell’s death,” she said without the slightest tinge of regret in her words.
“Lord Kendrick’s death?” I asked, perplexed. “Oh, I am sorry. I fail to see why that changed—”
“It changes everything,” Miss Cranworth said fervently, a flush rising to her cheeks.
I raised my right eyebrow.
She drank some champagne. “Ariana will have a husband. It is what I have always wanted: for Roger to marry Ariana.”
“I am happy for you, then. I do confess to being surprised at your brother’s engagement.”
Miss Cranworth swallowed a bite of poppyseed cake before answering. “I think he was surprised himself it happened so fast.” She shrugged. “It is too late now, though. When he said he would marry Ariana, it was in front of Lady Crecy, so he cannot go back on his word.”
“Do you think he wishes to retract his proposal?”
“It does not matter. They will wed. Ariana will be my sister.”
“And what of you?” I asked. “Doctor Wendell has asked me to write and let him know how you are going on in Town.”
Miss Cranworth’s lips tilted into a smile. “You need not go to the trouble. Curtis will be arriving in London at any time. It is all arranged.” She rose.
I stood. “I did not know Doctor Wendell would come to London so soon.”
“Oh, yes. Everything is going to turn out just as I planned, Mr. Brummell. You have been good, but you need not worry about me any more.”
With that mystifying remark, Miss Cranworth left me.
Lord Kendrick’s death did not seem to have had an adverse affect on either of the siblings’ lives. In fact, just the opposite was true. Miss Cranworth seemed to be supremely confident that she would wed Doctor Wendell. Had Roger’s threat of marrying her off to Squire Oxberry passed? Matters had certainly turned to Miss Cranworth’s advantage.
After Lord Kendrick’s death.
I made my way back to the ballroom. Though I looked for her, Miss Cranworth had disappeared. Her brother remained in the card room, though.
The rules and customs of Society dictated that I must dance with some of the ladies present. I could not simply arrive at a ball, conduct a few conversations, then leave without causing comment.
Thus I spent the next two hours dancing with various eligible misses. I partnered Lady Deidre, the Duke of Derehurst’s daughter, and found her singularly unconcerned about Lord Kendrick’s death. When I mentioned it, a tiny frown between her thin brows told me she had to think for a moment which one of her many admirers he had been.
I found Lady Penelope and wished her the best on her forthcoming marriage. Her fine grey eyes glowed with anticipation as she thanked me. I was happy for her.
But it was her mother whom I particularly wished to speak with before I took my leave of Lady Salisbury. I had to wait quite a while before I could extract Lady Crecy from where she held a group of older matrons enthralled in conversation. No doubt she was describing every step she had taken to secure Lord Wrayburn for her daughter.
Holding a glass of champagne high, I caught Lady Crecy’s gaze and she came to me. “Oh, dear Mr. Brummell, this is the most wonderful night of my life.”
“Take this then and drink to your daughter’s future as a countess.”
She tittered. “You know I should not, I have drunk so many glasses already.”
“You deserve to celebrate tonight.” I pressed the glass into her hand. “Tell me, how does your other charge go on?”
She accepted the glass and looked at me. “Lady Ariana?”
“Yes. I understand you kindly opened your home to her after her tragic loss.”
“Yes. The poor girl had nowhere else to go. My maid, Marcelline—an excellent creature, I assure you—has been looking after her. Lady Ariana will not go about, of course, as she is in mourning, but the girl is happy enough to have Cecily and Roger visiting her.”
“With Roger Cranworth’s visits being the most welcome,” I ventured.
Lady Crecy’s grey curls bounced in excitement. “I should have known that you, Mr. Brummell, would not miss a thing! The two are engaged. That will all work out most satisfactorily. I cannot help but feel Lady Ariana could have looked higher for a husband, but under the circumstances, it is for the best.”
“Curious, that. I never noticed any partiality on Mr. Cranworth’s part towards Lady Ariana during our stay at Oatlands,” I said in a contemplative tone. “You are very observant yourself, Lady Crecy, and may have been aware of something I was not. I am afraid my thoughts on the betrothal have not been ... charitable in regard to Mr. Cranworth.”
Just as I had hoped, Lady Crecy could not resist this lure. “Well,” she confided, “I did not see anything at all between them until after Lady Ariana’s cousin, uh, um, oh dear—”
“Died?”
“Exactly,” the older woman agreed, the word “murdered” evidently absent from her vocabulary. “I must say, Mr. Brummell, that I have wondered if Mr. Cranworth believes that the title and the estates will now pass through Lady Ariana. That would make any son of their marriage a marquess.”
“Roger Cranworth knows that for a certainty?”
Lady Crecy shook her head. “That is the problem. I do not think he does. But his sort, you know, handsome, dashing, reckless—”
“In need of money.”
“No doubt of it.” Lady Crecy lowered her voice to a whisper, causing me to incline my head toward her. “I fear Mr. Cranworth is making the biggest gamble of his life, assuming that Lady Ariana will inherit. Presently, there is a band of solicitors going over the original papers creating the title to see how the inheritance passes.”
“Surely, though, even if the papers did not specify male heirs only, a trustee would be set up. If Mr. Cranworth were hoping for Lord Kendrick’s money and property, he would have to deal with them.”
“That is precisely what that man from Bow Street said when he came to the house earlier.”
“Mr. Lavender?” I exclaimed in a voice louder than I had intended.
“Yes, that was his name.”
“Did he question Lady Ariana?”
“He did, but the girl is rather scatterbrained, if I do say so. She only talked about her engagement, no matter what Mr. Lavender said. I think she thought he was from Bond Street, instead of Bow Street, as she kept asking him about the shops.”
I held back a smile. I could imagine the child-like Lady Ariana weaving rosy dreams of her wedding dress, and the bluff Scotsman trying in vain to sort out facts which would lead him to a murderer.
“Where are the Cranworths staying?”
“Curzon Street. They took rooms above a confectioner’s. Hardly appropriate for a gentleman engaged to Lady Ariana, but what could he expect to find in the middle of the Season?” Lady Crecy said.
“Indeed.”
Our conversation at an end, Lady Crecy was called back to her group of friends. I bowed to her and secured permission to pay a visit to Lady Ariana.
I took my leave of the ball shortly thereafter. Ned and Ted carried me in my sedan-chair through the lamplit Mayfair streets. Inside the luxurious chair, I contemplated various possibilities.
First I imagined Lady Ariana absent-mindedly taking one of Freddie’s sharp jet hair ornaments. On the morning of the marquess’s murder, Lord Kendrick and Lady Ariana would have been once again near the ornamental pool, arguing. The marquess repeated his threat to have his cousin clapped into a lunatic asylum. This time, Lady Ariana takes the length of jet and plunges it into Lord Kendrick’s neck. Perhaps when the girl had shot that arrow into her cousin’s back it had not been an accident after all.
Possible. The girl was unbalanced.
Then there were the Cranworths. Miss Cranworth hated Lord Kendrick. That had been made clear the night he forced his kisses upon her. They had been childhood friends at one time, secretly promised to one another. Even though Roger Cranworth refused to accept it, everything had changed when Connell had come into the ti
tle. Miss Cranworth could just as easily have found the hair ornaments in the drawing room. Perhaps she had seen Lord Kendrick go out for a morning stroll—or more likely, a late night stroll— and followed him.
Hmmm. That just did not seem right. I did not feel Miss Cranworth could carry out such a deed unless ... unless, she had a partner. Someone who would know precisely where to stab the sharp jet into the victim’s neck. Someone loyal, like Doctor Wendell, who so wanted to free the woman he loved from the possibility of marrying the contemptible marquess.
Then there was Roger Cranworth. Out of the suspects I considered him to be the one whose character would most run to drastic measures. He was reckless, a bully, and underneath his boyish good-looks, he was a conniver of the first order. He was angry that the marquess would not marry his sister. Freddie had reported hearing the two men quarrel in the drawing room at Oatlands. There was the issue of a possible breach of promise suit. There was that cryptic remark Lord Kendrick made about how if Roger put up a fuss or went against him in any matter, the marquess would go to Squire Oxberry. Freddie had repeated the conversation to me. It followed then that the marquess felt he had some sort of hold over Roger. What that was, I did not know. Where had Roger been when Lord Kendrick had been murdered? And what of his reaction at the make-shift grave? “I never thought that smirk could be wiped from his face.” That is what Roger had said.
Had he been the one to erase it forever?
Our arrival in Bruton Street put a stop to my deductions. I alighted from the conveyance and opened the front door.
A single candle on the hall table provided a dim light.
Ned and Ted walked past me to put the chair away into a large cupboard towards the rear of the hall.
Thus I was alone when I turned to close the door and out of the shadows, a crouched figure leapt in front of me.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Lionel!” I admonished. “Do not jump out of the shrubbery at people like that.”
“Sorry, sir,” the boy said, cowering under my reproach. “I been waitin’ for you. I expect I fells asleep.”
His demeanor brought to mind another boy. Myself. I well remember the times I squirmed under my father’s baleful gaze. I had never been able to please him, no matter what I did. Even though he has been dead since I was fifteen, I sometimes feel he lives by way of a nagging voice in my head, always critical. He did not live to see me rise in Society. I often wonder what he would think of me now.
I softened my voice. “You should not be out at this late hour, halfling.” At that moment the watchman called, “Two of the clock and a clear night” as if to underline my point.
The boy grinned. “Now there’s where you’re wrong, sir. This time ‘o night is exactly when folks ‘ave been takin’ in lots of gin. Makes it easier to get whatever you want from them.”
I motioned for him to enter the hall. “What did you find out?”
Lionel did not answer at once. Even though the light in the hall was low, the boy’s awed gaze went over the black and white tiled floor, the polished mahogany table on which a vase containing fresh flowers rested, the unlit crystal chandelier, the gleaming banister which led upstairs.
“Lionel?” I prompted.
“Yes, sir,” he turned back to me, eager to tell all. “Man you’re lookin’ for goes by the name of Neal. ‘E don’t have no rooms, leastways not that anybody knows about. Spends time in the country for some reason.”
“He has business in the country upon occasion,” I explained.
“But when ‘e is in London, ‘e sleeps on the floor of The Jolly Cow tavern in Little White Lion Street,” the boy said naming a road in the Seven Dials area. He lowered his voice, “Word is, Neal’s an opium eater. Best have a care, iffen you’re gonna’ have dealings with the likes of ‘im.”
Lionel was right about that, I thought grimly. I pulled coins out of my pocket, an amount exceeding the sum I had given the boy earlier. “Here now, you have earned this extra. I am proud of you. Even in this dim light I can see that you have come to no harm over this night’s adventures.”
Lionel’s eyes gleamed at the coins. “Thank you, Mr. Brummell!”
“However, I shall not have you running back to Covent Garden alone at this time of night.”
“I’ll be bloody fine! Don’t you worry about me none.”
“Best not let Miss Lavender hear you use the word ‘bloody’. Most gentlemen do not, you know. Now wait here while I find Ned and Ted. They will carry you in my sedan-chair back to the Haven of Hope.”
The boy’s mouth dropped open.
A few minutes later when I returned with the twins and they pulled the chair from its cupboard, Lionel was the very picture of astonishment. “Odsbodikins! I’m to ride in that grand thing?”
“Yes,” I told him, smiling.
He entered the vehicle reverently, running his hands over the white satin seat and reaching down to touch the white fur that covered the floor. When he looked back at me, his eyes shone.
I gave instructions to Ned and Ted, commanding them to return without dallying about with Molly.
Before I closed the door, I studied Lionel. “You have been very brave tonight, prowling through the streets of Seven Dials for me. Why, now that I think of it, you remind me of a lion. Even the way you crouched in the shrubbery waiting for me makes me think you more a Lion then a Lionel. Do you care for the nickname?”
The boy’s face split into a wide grin. “I likes it!”
I nodded. “Very well. I shall call you Lion, henceforth.”
The door to the sedan-chair closed, and Ned and Ted went out carrying their charge.
I began climbing the stairs, only to see Robinson standing at the top, aghast at the scene he had witnessed. “Sir, you are not thinking of taking that urchin into our home, are you? We already have the feline and those two country yokels.”
“Ah, Robinson, as much as I think I would enjoy conversing with him, Lion belongs with Miss Lavender.”
“Very good, sir.”
From the inflection in his voice, he might as well have said, “Thank God in heaven, sir.” I ascended the stairs and strode past him into my bedchamber. The first thing I noticed was that Chakkri stood looking out the window into the darkness. His tail lashed back and forth. At my entrance, he turned with a “reow” and jumped on the bed.
“Good evening, old boy. Or should I say good morning?”
“Goodbye forever is even better,” Robinson muttered.
I swung around to face him. “Have you quite recovered from your earlier ailment?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, a touch of guilt in his voice. “I shall just get your nightclothes out of the wardrobe.”
Contrite, was he? Well, that was as it should be. Taking a tisane from his lady friend and then being unable to perform his duties. Bah!
The valet helped me ready myself for bed with exceptional care. His last act was to hand me a small glass of well-aged brandy. Wonderful stuff!
“Robinson,” I said after taking a sip. “When we were at Oatlands, did you ever hear about a man called Neal? He is known to have a reddish birthmark on his cheek.”
“Why, yes, sir,” Robinson said, replacing the brandy decanter on a side table. “Quite a bit of gossip about him ran through the servants’ hall.”
I eyed him sharply. “Tell me everything.”
“This Neal person worked for Doctor Wendell.”
“Doctor Wendell!” I exclaimed. My theory of the loyal doctor helping Miss Cranworth kill Lord Kendrick suddenly looked stronger, much to my dismay.
“Indeed, sir. Doctor Wendell employed him as a sort of messenger between Weybridge and the London apothecaries. I expect there were some medicines and compounds Doctor Wendell could not get locally.”
“Go on,” I said, thinking what a convenient job for an opium eater to work for a doctor.
“It seems Doctor Wendell found out Neal was stealing from him, though. He fired him over six months ago. Ta
lk at Oatlands was that no one could understand why Roger Cranworth then hired the thief as his man of all work.”
“Roger Cranworth? Are you absolutely certain, Robinson?”
“Yes, sir. I saw Neal several times around Oatlands. You must have as well, though no one ever notices servants much.” This last was said in a pious tone.
“What? Who is putting such ideas in your head? Is it that lady friend of yours?”
Robinson stood with a stubborn expression on his face.
“Never mind now. What else do you know about Neal?”
“Once, when I went to the kitchens, he was taking as much food as he could from the larder. Cook clucked her tongue, but Neal’s a mean-looking fellow. I gained the impression she was afraid of him.”
“As well she should be. Robinson, I have reason to believe Neal is the very one who held up your coach.”
“He is the highwayman?” Robinson gasped. “You said you thought Lord Kendrick had been responsible.”
“I am certain he was, but as we both know, he would hardly do the dirty work himself. Remember you told me it was no member of the nobility who held up your coach.”
“That is correct, sir. Do you think Lord Kendrick and Mr. Cranworth were partners?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Will this help you find her Royal Highness’s letter?”
“I believe it will. Leave me now, Robinson. I must think.”
“Very well. Good night, sir.”
I sat up in bed, my mind working furiously. Neal was the one Roger and Lord Kendrick had actually doing the thievery. Then, I imagined, Neal would bring the bounty back to his employers. Probably kept an item or two for himself to pay for his opium.
Chakkri moved across the bed to sit beside me. His dark blue eyes looked into mine.
“Let us think back now, Chakkri. The first night of the house party, which was the day Robinson was held up, I overheard that conversation between Cecily and Roger. At the end of it, Roger said he was going out for a walk. He might have pre-arranged a nightly meeting with Neal. The trio must have known many coaches would be coming to Oatlands for the house party and would be ripe for the plucking. Why had they not robbed anyone else?”
The Bloodied Cravat Page 17
