A Poisoned Season

by Tasha Alexander

  I smiled weakly. “What’s in the package?” He opened it carefully, revealing a small box and another note.

  “‘A pink for you and a pink for another. Please return this to the rightful owner.’” Inside the box was a pink gemstone.

  “It must be Mr. Francis’s Marie Antoinette diamond,” I said.

  “I think you’re right.”

  “So my admirer is the cat burglar.”

  “He cut a circle of glass from your window and unlocked it. Have you sent for the police?”

  “No. I only wanted you.”

  He took me in his arms. “You’re trembling.”

  “This isn’t like when he broke in before, Colin. He came for me this time,” I said, making no effort to stop the tears flowing down my cheeks. “He could have returned the diamond to Mrs. Francis himself. I cannot believe there is no connection between this stone and the murder. And if there is a connection, it is I who am culpable—” I stopped at the sound of a forced cough from my butler as he entered the room. Colin stepped away from me.

  “It doesn’t appear that anything in the house has been disturbed,” Davis said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Colin said.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, madam? Shall I summon the police?”

  “Must we?” I asked Colin.

  “You will have to talk to them in the morning, but there’s nothing they can do now that I can’t take care of myself.”

  “I’m quite all right, Davis. Thank you for your assistance.” The butler left, leaving the door partly open behind him. Colin opened it the rest of the way.

  “I don’t want to compromise your reputation.” He looked at the letter again. “Have you received any other similar notes?”

  “Just the one you saw me open some weeks ago.” I was suddenly aware that I was wearing nothing but my nightgown and a flimsy lace robe, and that Colin, who had dressed in a great hurry, had only partly buttoned the wrinkled shirt that he had neglected to tuck into his trousers. “I am most grateful that you came so quickly,” I said quietly, tears filling my eyes. “I want to believe that I could face any situation head-on, with no assistance, but find myself more vulnerable than I expected.”

  “No one should have to face every situation alone, Emily.”

  “Having you here is an enormous comfort.”

  “I am loath to leave you at all tonight,” he said. “But you know I cannot stay.” He picked me up and carried me across the room, placing me gently on the bed. “Try to sleep.” Tracing my lips with a finger, he smiled. “I suppose this is inappropriate, but I can’t resist pointing out that, were we married, you would not have to spend this night alone.”

  And then he was gone, but he did not return to his house on Park Lane. Davis informed me the next morning that, after conducting a thorough search of the house and grounds, Colin had stayed in the garden, pacing beneath my window, for the remainder of the night.

  6

  INSPECTOR MANNING ARRIVED AT MY HOUSE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, just as Cécile and I were sitting down at the breakfast table. The cheerful room, filled with sunshine and freshly cut flowers, belied the sullen mood of its occupants. The inspector questioned me about the events of the previous evening but admitted to having no leads as to the identity of the intruder. There seemed little hope that he would ever be caught.

  “Please eat something, Inspector,” I said. “I really must insist. There’s no point letting all this food go to waste, and I’ve no appetite this morning.”

  “Thank you, Lady Ashton.” He hesitated for a moment, but the temptation of the dishes on the sideboard was too great. He picked up a plate and began to fill it.

  “So this intruder left no clues?” Cécile asked.

  “Not that we can find. He’s a skilled thief.” He dove into his eggs and smiled gratefully when the maid gave him a steaming cup of coffee. “I would like to assure you that we’ll be able to keep news of this from reaching the papers, but I’m afraid that would be a false promise.”

  I sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Have you any objection to my returning the diamond to Mrs. Francis?”

  “Not in the least. So far, the local constabulary has handled the case in Richmond, but I am hoping that now we may be able to transfer it to Scotland Yard.”

  “Do you think there’s a connection between the thefts and the murders?”

  “Not necessarily,” the detective said. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. Mr. Hargreaves has asked that I once again increase the patrols near your house, something I will do gladly. I’ve also arranged to have an undercover policeman stationed in Berkeley Square overnight.”

  “Thank you. I will rest easier knowing that.”

  “Do you think she is in danger?” Cécile asked.

  “If the intruder had wanted to harm her, he had ample opportunity to do so last night. It seems that his interest in Lady Ashton is of a…er…romantic nature. Still, I wouldn’t like to see you have another run-in with him. Difficult to guess what the criminal mind might try next.”

  “I think we ought to go to Richmond at once,” I said, rising from the table. Inspector Manning pushed his plate away and stood up quickly, almost knocking over his coffee. “There’s no need to stop eating, Inspector,” I said. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

  “I couldn’t, madam,” he said, but I would have none of it. I rang for the maid and instructed her to see to it that he had whatever he wanted, and then I left him there, embarrassed but obviously pleased with his breakfast.

  The drive to Richmond was a short one. Mrs. Francis herself opened the door for us, was delighted to meet Cécile, and welcomed us into her house, which, though modest, had been beautifully furnished by someone with excellent taste. We followed her into a small sitting room that was bathed in darkness and extremely hot, the curtains closed as demanded by the customs of mourning. Before I could launch into the story of my extraordinary night, Mrs. Francis announced her own surprising news.

  “The police have just left—they’ve arrested my maid. She’s poor Stilleman’s widow. They’d been married less than a year.”

  “Stilleman?” I asked.

  “David’s valet.”

  “What evidence do they have against her?” I sat down and pulled off my gloves.

  “Apparently she was having an affair with the gardener and David caught them.”

  “So why isn’t the gardener arrested?” Cécile asked. “His motive would be as strong as hers.”

  “Thomkins was away visiting his sister when David died, so they don’t consider him a suspect.”

  “Have they determined the cause of death?” I asked.

  “Nicotine poisoning, but they don’t yet know how it was administered.”

  “Is there no possibility that Thomkins planted it before leaving to visit his sister?”

  “That I do not know. But I am convinced that Jane is being wrongly accused. I know this girl well—she would never have killed my husband, let alone hers. You must help me, Lady Ashton.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know what I could do.”

  “Find the truth, as you did when your husband was killed. Please. I’ve no one else to turn to.”

  “I’m sure that the police—”

  “As far as they are concerned, the case is closed as of this morning.”

  “We would never leave an innocent woman to sit in jail,” Cécile said, giving me a pointed look. “Waiting to hang. C’est horrible. The guillotine is far less barbaric.”

  “Having one’s head severed is less barbaric?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “It is quicker, chérie. Much quicker.”

  “This is all too awful. Please, Lady Ashton. I cannot bear to see her wrongly accused, or to think that the person who killed David will not be punished.”

  How could I deny her? “I shall try, Mrs. Francis.”

  “That is all I can ask. Where will you begin?”

  “
Before we go any further, I need to give you this.” I handed her the box that contained the pink diamond.

  “Is this David’s?” I nodded. “But how—”

  “Last night someone broke into my house and left it with a note asking that I return it to you.”

  “It is stunning, though I don’t understand why it was returned to you.” She fingered it carefully, then walked over to a window and opened the curtains to examine the stone in the light. Her pleasure was so evident that I could not help but wonder why her husband had not given it to her himself. Her smile disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and she started to cry. “I’m so glad you’re both here. David didn’t like to entertain and guarded his privacy fiercely. Now that he’s gone, I find myself quite without friends.”

  Cécile took her by the arm and marched her back to a chair. “You have us. What is your Christian name, Madame Francis? I cannot abide formality.”

  “Beatrice,” she said, drying her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. du Lac.” Cécile shook her head. “Cécile. Thank you. I never pictured myself without him, you know. Foolish, isn’t it? Never to have considered what I was doing when I buried myself here? All I cared about was being with him, with no regret for all that I left behind.”

  “We will find out who killed him,” I said, hoping my voice did not betray the lack of confidence I felt. “I’ll need you to tell me everything the police have shared with you.” This, unfortunately, turned out to be very little. From what I could gather, they had interviewed everyone in the household, and as soon as they discovered Jane’s affair, their attention focused solely on her. Unable to provide an alibi, she had no defense against their charges.

  There seemed little point in searching the house for clues; the police would have taken anything of note. Nonetheless, I wanted to look at Mr. Francis’s study. I knew not how to best conduct a murder investigation, but it seemed sensible to assume that a careful look at the victim’s personal possessions might reveal something about the crime. Beatrice led us through the dark house into a pleasant room with a series of French doors that opened into a garden. It would have been a lovely place in which to work. Neatly stacked books rested on the desk next to a mahogany box that held thick writing paper, wax, and a heavy seal.

  I looked through the desk, scrutinized the bookshelves, even pulled down volume after volume to see if anything was hidden behind them, but found nothing of note. I paced the room, trying my best to look authoritative. At last, my eyes came to rest on a pile of unopened mail laid haphazardly on a table behind the desk.

  “Is this recently delivered?” I asked, holding it up for Mrs. Francis to see.

  “Yes. It’s what has arrived since David’s death. I haven’t had the heart to open it. You may if you think it would be of some use.”

  Most of it was of little consequence—a bill from his tailor, a receipt for some books, several personal letters. But before I reached the bottom of the pile, my curiosity was rewarded as I opened a letter written on stationery from the Marlborough Club. I scanned it quickly, taken aback by its contents.

  Dear Mr. Francis,

  Many thanks for your kind letter. Unfortunately, my schedule at present does not allow for a visit to Richmond, so I’m afraid we will not be able to meet. I thank you for alerting me to the situation you mentioned, and assure you that I have the matter well in hand.

  Yrs., etc.

  C. Berry

  7

  I STOOD IMPATIENTLY ON THE STEPS OF THE MARLBOROUGH CLUB, twirling my parasol, wondering what could be delaying Mr. Berry. After leaving Richmond, where Cécile had stayed for tea with Beatrice, I had headed directly for the Savoy Hotel, carrying the letter with me. He was not in his room, but the man behind the desk said that, if the matter was of some importance, the gentleman could most likely be found at his club. I got the distinct impression that the staff at the Savoy were quite accustomed to unaccompanied ladies calling for Mr. Berry.

  “Lady Ashton, I am astonished you have come here,” he said, when at last he appeared before me.

  “You’ve kept me waiting nearly half an hour.”

  “Apologies, of course. I was lunching with the Prince of Wales.”

  I was not impressed. “I’d like to speak with you.”

  “So I see,” he said. “Shall we go to the Savoy? My rooms are quite comfortable.”

  “Really, Mr. Berry, I’m in no mood to be trifled with. Let’s go to the park.” The dress I was wearing was one of Mr. Worth’s creations, expertly cut from a lovely floral fabric. The neck was high, the sleeves slightly puffed, and lace wrapped tightly around the lower section of the bodice, making my waist look impossibly small with only a moderately laced corset. It flattered my figure and was elegant in a subtle, alluring way. I had selected it that morning in an attempt to improve my mood. It was not, however, a good choice when calling on a man like Mr. Berry, who was looking at me with a rather lecherous intensity.

  “Where is your carriage, Lady Ashton?”

  “I walked.”

  “Walked! How industrious you are. At Versailles, you know—”

  “No Versailles today, Mr. Berry.” I ignored the arm he offered, and we headed across the Mall into St. James’s Park. “I would like to talk to you about Mr. David Francis. I believe you have corresponded with him?”

  “The name is vaguely familiar.”

  “I imagine it would be,” I said, giving him the note. “Why did he want you to come to Richmond?”

  “Impossible to say. I’ve never actually met him, you know. I believe he had asked if I would dine with him.”

  “Strange to be invited to dine by a man you’ve never met, don’t you think?”

  “I find that my position generates many such invitations. People are likely to overlook formality in an attempt to meet me.”

  “You do know that he is dead, don’t you?”

  “Francis? How dreadful. I recall reading something about it in the papers.”

  “He was murdered, Mr. Berry.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, but I don’t see how it’s any concern of mine.” We came to a bench that stood between two groves of trees and provided a fine view of the canal. Mr. Berry sat down, not bothering to first offer me a seat.

  “What was the situation about which you thanked him for alerting you?”

  “The best I can remember is that Mr. Francis wanted me to buy something from him. He had a number of objects that belonged to my twice arrière-grand-mère. Said I shouldn’t allow my family heirlooms to slip away and would offer me a good price for anything I wanted. He invited me to dine with him and look over his collection.”

  “Do you still have the letter he sent you?”

  “Heavens, no. If I kept all the inconsequential notes I receive, I’d be overwhelmed with paper.”

  “Do you own anything that belonged to Marie Antoinette?”

  “No.” He scowled. “But I expect that to change soon enough.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to him on the bench. “Why have you really come to me, Lady Ashton? Were you distressed by the news of my engagement?”

  I am certain that I bristled visibly at this comment and immediately removed my hand from his. “Not in the least.”

  “It’s all right. Isabelle’s most understanding.”

  I was not about to let this nonsense go any further. “Mr. Berry, I am here only because I hoped that you might be able to tell me something of use regarding Mr. Francis. As it appears that you cannot, I must beg your leave.” I started to stand, but he yanked me back down and leaned close to me.

  “Please don’t think you’ve embarrassed yourself by coming to me like this. I find it surprisingly alluring. I’ve heard all about your illicit assignations and probably should have suspected that you would approach me so directly. My official position is going to change very soon, and when it does”—he began to massage my hand—“I expect I shall see much more of you.”

  I pulled my hand away. “You cannot think that I would—
”

  “I will, of course, need you to be more discreet once I am king, but until then, you may amuse yourself as you see fit. Do you plan to marry Bainbridge, or are the two of you just playing? I imagine he’d be as understanding a spouse as Isabelle.”

  “You have no right to ask me such a question,” I said, furious, and stormed out of the park without uttering another word.

  When I arrived at Berkeley Square, Cécile had not yet returned from Richmond. Eager though I was to tell her what had transpired since I left her, I was happy for the opportunity to take a bath, a very long, very soapy bath, and wash any trace of Mr. Berry from my person. After I had dried off and put on a lace-covered dressing gown, I sat in my bedroom and was just starting to comb through my wet hair when my friend knocked on the door.

  “It is intolerable that Isabelle should be forced to accept such a husband,” she said after I had recounted my conversation with Mr. Berry. “We should have encouraged Pembroke to elope.”

  “You’re right,” I said, feeling acutely guilty that I had not done more for the girl. “She’s the only person I know who spent most of her youth actively dreaming about romantic fairy tales. For such a girl to wind up with Mr. Berry is not to be borne.”

  “I’m afraid there is little that can be done about her engagement now.”

  “He’s such an awful man!” I said. “What do you think he was referring to when he mentioned my illicit assignations?”

  Cécile waved her hand dismissively. “The most foolish sort of gossip, Kallista. I heard it reported at a party several nights ago. The story is that the Duke of Bainbridge was seen leaving your house at five o’clock in the morning.”

  “Jeremy? Why on earth would he be here so late?”

  “It became clear that the time in question was the second night the intruder broke into your room. Someone must have seen Monsieur Hargreaves and thought he was the duke.”

  “But they look nothing alike.”

  “C’est vrai. I cannot imagine anyone would mistake one for the other.”

  “Colin’s being here wasn’t inappropriate in the least,” I said. “The police came the next morning, and the story was in all the papers.”