“That has never been the case. The one kiss you saw was the only time, and it was not supposed to happen. But why, Ulga, why did you feel you had to kill Lord Kendrick?”
“He vas an evil man! I heard in the neighbourhood that he had killed his own father. Once that man had her letter to you, I knew he vould never leave my little Duchess alone. I vas vorried that night and could not sleep. I looked out my vindow and saw him staggering near the dogs’ cemetery. He had been up all night drinking. Celebrating my mistress’s sorrow and planning how to use her.” Ulga’s eyes glittered. “I dressed, I don’t know vhat I thought I vould do. I vent outside and tried to talk to him, but he laughed at me. He said he had no use of another maid that night and that I vas too old anyway, as if I had offered myself to him.”
“He had forced himself on Cook’s niece.”
She nodded. “An evil man, I tell you. I hated him so much in that moment. I thrust my hands into the pocket of my dress and discovered the hair ornaments that Signor Tallarico had given the Royal Duchess. She had left them in the drawing room. I had picked them up and meant to put them away, but forgot.”
The Prussian maid was growing more agitated. I guided her over to a display of Herculanean armour. “I wager it happened very fast.”
“I hardly remember doing it. My hand grasped the sharp length of jet. I struck out at him. He made a terrible sound in his throat, then fell to the ground.”
I offered her my handkerchief. She efficiently dried her eyes. “The sun vas coming up. I tried to dig a grave. I had the thought in my mind that no one vould find him. I vent inside and put the other hair ornament back in the drawing room.”
“But then Phanor died and Old Dawe went out to the dogs’ cemetery.”
“Yes. I never meant to give Mr. Dawe such a shock.”
“No.” I drew a deep breath. God help me but I felt sorry for Ulga.
“I thought it vould all be over. But, the Royal Duchess hired Mr. Lavender, and you could not find the letter. Instead, that other evil man, Roger Cranworth, sends my mistress a message telling her he has something that belonged to her. He vas going to take up vhere the marquess left off!” Ulga’s face was the picture of outrage.
“So down in the servants’ hall at Syon House, you prepared a special drink for him. You waited outside the passageway for him to come by, looking for Freddie. When he passed you, you stepped forward and offered him a glass of wine.”
She cried silent tears. “Yes. I told him I vould take a message to the Royal Duchess about vhere to meet him. He said he had already sent a footman. But he took the glass and drank the contents in front of me. Stupid man. Only I turned out to be the stupid one. I thought he vould die immediately, but the poison did not vork right avay.” Ulga’s face twisted with horror. “My poor little lady, having that man die in front of her. I failed to protect her, Mr. Brummell. Even after everything I did, the vhispers had started. I have not kept my promise to the old King. How can I keep my lady from ruin now?”
“Listen to me, Ulga,” I said urgently, my eyes intent on hers. “This is what we are going to do. You must return to Prussia. I have money and will book you passage on the next ship. I have already written a letter for you to carry to Freddie’s brother, the new King of Prussia. I have told him what you have done, and that you acted in extraordinary circumstances to protect his sister. He will have to decide your fate. I have begged for his leniency.”
“But vhat vill you tell that Mr. Lavender?”
“I have written another letter. I copied Roger Cranworth’s handwriting. When Roger’s body was found, Victor Tallarico raised the question of suicide, giving me the idea. In the letter I wrote in Roger’s handwriting, Roger confesses to killing Lord Kendrick, then taking poison himself. He says he intends to enjoy one last evening of revelry then the poison will act and he will die. Everyone will assume he misjudged the timing of the drug. Roger Cranworth is guilty of another murder, his accomplice, Neal, so I do not feel it wrong of me to make him take the blame for Lord Kendrick’s death.”
Ulga thought hard. “Vhat about the letter the Royal Duchess vrote you?”
“I obtained it after I left the Palace,” I lied, wanting to get her out of England without delay. I would have it soon enough.
Ulga breathed a sigh of intense relief. “So my Royal Duchess vill not have the scandal.”
“No.”
“Except from vhat I have done.”
“No, because you will go to Prussia and allow the King to decide your fate there. That is our best chance of keeping what you have done from being made public here in England. Now, I have brought paper and pen so you can write Freddie a letter. Tell her you have been dreadfully homesick and must return to Prussia. Tell her you could not bear to part with her in person. Afterwards, I shall escort you straight to the docks.” I opened my coat to extract the needed items. My fingers were shaking, though, for despite my sympathy for Ulga, she was guilty of murder. I hoped I was doing the right thing by sending her back to Prussia where she would have to accept responsibility for her actions.
The paper and pen finally in hand, I looked up.
Ulga was no longer at my side.
Instead, she stood by one of the tall, open windows by a statue of Caesar.
Her eyes met mine. In a flash I knew her intentions.
“No!” I yelled, bumping a museum guard in my haste to get to Ulga, and bolting across the room.
Too late. Pretending to slip, Ulga let her body fall from the open window to the stone pavement below.
People screamed. I ran through the horrified museum-goers, down the stairs and outside where a crowd had already gathered around the older woman’s body. I pushed through to where she laid, a miniature of Freddie as a young girl clasped in one fist, my handkerchief in the other.
Slowly, with great regret, I removed the items from her hands.
The constables came in due course, along with a wagon to remove Ulga’s body. The museum guard told the constables how I had dashed across the room and tried to save the woman. When I identified Ulga as maid to the Royal Duchess, one of the constables said that, in that case, Mr. Lavender must be notified.
That would make my task of getting the letter easier, but how I wished it had not turned out this way.
* * * *
Standing at the back, private entrance to Mr. Lavender’s lodgings above Kint’s Chop House, I used my dog’s head stick to knock on the door. As I suspected and, indeed, hoped for, no one answered. Miss Lavender would be at her shelter at this time of day. I had thought Mr. Lavender would be somewhere going about Bow Street work. Now I knew he was most likely at the British Museum asking questions. He would seek me out soon enough.
You may be wondering why I was so sure that Mr. Lavender would have Freddie’s letter at his house. Well, my reasoning went like this: By now, the Scotsman had most likely discerned that Freddie’s letter had been the cause of two deaths. A wise man would not carry such a deadly piece of paper on his person. That left him with two choices, either Bow Street or his residence. Because of the depth of scandal that letter could cause, I was banking on the latter.
For someone who worked against criminals, Mr. Lavender had a remarkably flimsy lock on his door. Either that, or I was getting better at breaking into people’s rooms. Unfortunately I was not that good and ended up breaking off a bit of wood and a tiny piece of metal. Mr. Lavender would have to have the lock replaced.
I entered silently and scanned the room. Prior visits to the premises told me there was a small parlor, kitchen, and probably two bedrooms.
I moved in the direction of the nearest bedroom. All of a sudden Miss Lavender appeared in front of me, clad only in her shift, a pistol in her hand.
I could not have been more surprised if Prinny announced his intention of becoming a monk. “Good God, Miss Lavender! Are you going to shoot me?”
She tossed her dark red hair which hung down her back. “Should I? You’ve broken in here like a crimin
al.”
“I beg your pardon. I did knock first.”
She put the gun down on a table and rubbed her temples. “That’s your excuse? Oh, don’t bother to lie. I’ve had a terrible headache. Father came home in a rare temper last night, waving a letter and ranting about you. He gave me a severe set-down over my appearance at the Grand Masquerade and demanded that I never see you again.”
“Ah, as to that letter—”
She crossed her arms in front of her, seeming to realise for the first time the state of her undress. “Father didn’t let me see it, but I read it after he left for Bow Street this morning.”
“Of course you did.”
“Are you her Royal Highness’s lover?”
“You are an impertinent girl.”
“A girl waiting for an answer.”
“No, I am not. Nor have I ever been,” I added, anticipating her next question. “And that is all the explanation I shall give.”
She considered this. “Father doesn’t really believe that you or the Royal Duchess had anything to do with those killings.”
“I am gratified to hear it.”
“Why have you gone to the extreme measure of breaking into a Bow Street investigator’s house? To steal the Royal Duchess’s letter?”
“I prefer to think of it as retrieving stolen, personal property. In point of fact, I have another letter which will explain all. I plan on giving it to your father at the first opportunity.”
Miss Lavender glanced at the clock. “That should be any minute now. Father told me he’d be home between five and half past.”
“I do not think so—” I broke off, the sound of footsteps coming up the outside stairs reaching my ears. My gaze flew to Miss Lavender’s.
She said, “Is the Royal Duchess’s letter necessary to a criminal investigation?”
“No,” I stated flatly.
She bit her lip, then said, “I’ve been asleep all afternoon. I never heard an intruder. Her letter is in the left-hand drawer of the desk. Meet me at the Opera House tonight.”
With that, she hurried back to the bedroom.
I darted over to the desk and opened the drawer.
There was Freddie’s letter.
I grabbed it and dashed to the other entrance of the lodgings, the one that led to the stairway of Kint’s Chop House. Just as I heard a Scottish curse coming from the back door, I opened the front door and raced down the steps to the eating establishment. I had never been inside there. I looked to see only dark wooden tables and a long, empty bar. At the opposite end of the chop house, miracle of miracles, a small fire burned.
I swept across the room, tossed the letter onto the fire and stood back watching the vellum become ash.
“I’ll thrash you for this, Mr. Brummell,” a voice with a Scottish burr came from behind me.
I turned with the hint of a smile on my face. “Why, Mr. Lavender, what a surprise. I was just going to step above stairs and ask you to join me for a drink. I have a letter I think you will find solves all your problems.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Two hours later in Bruton Street, I wearily sat down at my desk to write a message for Freddie. I wondered how much to tell her.
I thought back over the confrontation with Mr. Lavender. If you could have observed my meeting with the Scotsman, you might have compared it to two jugglers at a county fair. The Bow Street man studied the suicide letter from Roger Cranworth, a dubious expression on his face. I sensed he was not in the least bit convinced that all had transpired as I would have him believe. Nevertheless, he had no evidence to the contrary now that Freddie’s letter was ashes. Ulga’s death had been ruled an accident. The museum guard had told of my trying to prevent the Prussian woman’s fall. There was no more for Mr. Lavender to do then read me a lecture on muddling Bow Street affairs.
But what to tell Freddie? Ulga had acted out of love and loyalty. I believe she was a good person, but something inside her mind was not altogether right. That something had been provoked when Freddie had been threatened with ruin.
After long consideration, I decided I would never tell Freddie that Ulga had been the killer. Like everyone else, she would believe Roger Cranworth’s “suicide” note. I put pen to paper and in a few short lines, explained Mr. Lavender’s discovery of a suicide note on Roger Cranworth’s body. The mystery of the murder at Oatlands was solved. I went on to say that Freddie’s lost item had been found and destroyed. I consoled her on the loss of Ulga, saying that I had been with the maid when the terrible accident had occurred. Freddie might be suspicious, but I doubted she would ever ask me for details. I closed by assuring Freddie that I knew she would return to Oatlands shortly, and that I hoped I might soon be invited to join her for a weekend.
I just had time to change into evening clothes and travel by sedan-chair to the Royal Italian Opera House.
Ned and Ted were not speaking to one another, their competition over Molly having overtaken common sense. I had to endure their miming instructions to one another.
Inside, I knocked on the door to Lady Salisbury’s box, finding the marchioness there alone.
“My lady,” I said, bowing low. “I hoped to see you here.”
“Hmpf,” barked the gruff-voiced marchioness. “You wanted to hear the opera and hoped my box would be empty.”
“You wrong me!” I sat down, scanning the crowd for Miss Lavender. There she was, seated below amongst the lower orders, striking in a strawberry-coloured gown. She sat transfixed by the music. Onstage, the singer worked herself into a fury of emotion, poured out in song.
“You will be happy to know Lord Kendrick’s killer has been revealed,” I said to the marchioness. I knew I could count on Lady Salisbury to tell her friends what I was about to pass on to her. That way, the story I wanted told would be heard. I proceeded to whisper all about Roger and Lord Kendrick’s highwayman scheme, how they had fallen out, and how Roger had killed the marquess, then how he had killed himself in a fit of remorse.
Lady Salisbury listened while keeping her gaze on the stage.
“Roger Cranworth hardly seemed the type to take his own life,” she said when I was done.
“Yes, well, we never know what goes on in the minds of others, do we?” I replied casually, my gaze on Miss Lavender.
At that moment the Scottish girl turned her head, and made a sweep of the theatre. Her gaze met mine. With a little motion, she indicated I should meet her in the hall.
I looked back at Lady Salisbury, only to find her watching me closely. “You’re right, George, we never do know.”
“May I get you some champagne, my lady?”
“You may,” she nodded.
The idea that she had seen the exchange between Miss Lavender and me crossed my mind, but I dismissed it as fanciful.
Outside in the hall, few people milled about. I obtained Lady Salisbury’s champagne, then lingered, waiting for Miss Lavender to come upstairs.
All at once she was at my side. We moved towards the velvet draperies of an empty box which would afford us some privacy. “You are looking beautiful this evening, Miss Lavender,” I said. “No sign of any headache.”
“Thank you. I do feel better and am enjoying the music.”
I softened my voice. “I trust everything went well with your father this afternoon.”
She smiled. “He had to believe that I slept through your burglary. The alternative was too horrendous for him to consider. And since you provided him with evidence that helped him close a murder case and collect his fee from the Royal Duchess, he must be content.”
“Yes, well, I, er, must thank you for helping me with that letter. I am in your debt. I say, are you listening to me, Miss Lavender? You seem distracted.”
Suddenly, without any provocation on my part, the Scottish girl reached up, placed a hand on the back of my neck and tugged me towards her. She pressed her lips to mine, leaning her body into me. I held Lady Salisbury’s champagne to one side.
Now, w
hen a beautiful woman wants to kiss a man, a gentleman should give in and let her have her way. Some might call it wrong, but I am against that way of thinking.
I decided all this in the two seconds following my first taste of Miss Lavender’s mouth.
After I recovered from being stunned into inaction, I wrapped my free arm about her slim waist and puller her close to me, returning the pressure of her mouth with energy.
Then, just as abruptly as she had begun the kiss, Miss Lavender ended it. Just as surprised as I was when it started, I now stood looking down at her in the dim light.
Her breathing was a bit strained. “That should give Sylvester Fairingdale something to think about and squelch the nasty gossip about you and the Royal Duchess.”
“Eh, what?” I said, more than a little baffled.
I followed her gaze to a box directly opposite, only to see my nemesis gaping at the scene of my kissing Miss Lavender! The expression on Fairingdale’s face was priceless. I daresay Miss Lavender’s ploy had worked.
I turned to congratulate her, only to see the swirl of her long skirts as she hurried down the steps to rejoin the lower orders listening to the music.
I downed Lady Salisbury’s champagne.
* * * *
Though I entered the house in Bruton Street quietly enough, Robinson came hurrying from his rooms. “Sir, where have you been? I thought you said you were going to the opera and would be home after a visit to White’s. Here it is going on five in the morning. You have not been gambling all night, have you?”
“Robinson, I thought by now you would have learned not to ask me where I have been when I choose to stay out all night.”
And, no, I shall not tell you either.
Following me up the stairs, I could hear the valet clucking his disapproval.
To mollify him, while undressing I told him the whole sordid story—minus the exact contents of Freddie’s letter—about Lord Kendrick and Roger Cranworth and finally, about the true nature of Ulga’s demise.
The Bloodied Cravat Page 25
