Her mood hadn’t improved when it came to the man who had tried to kill her. Scotland Yard could find no information about him, the Guildford constable had told her. The suspect had no criminal record they could locate, mostly because he refused to give them his name. His description didn’t match that of any wanted criminal. The attacker remained in jail in Guildford, which was the seat of the Borough of Guildford, the local government district in Surrey County. He would face an attempted homicide charge in front of magistrates and a jury in the fall when a court session met.
She had removed the man’s fingerprints from the glass he drank from at the constabulary. From the cigar stub she had found near Wessex’s body, she had lifted more prints and compared them with a magnifying glass. They did not match. She had been sure they wouldn’t anyway, but it depressed her nevertheless.
She had no evidence, but logic told her that the man who had tried to kill her was a pawn and not the chess master. What worried her more—the master might make yet another attempt on Chaucer’s life unless she could solve this case. And yes, he might try to kill her too.
When she returned to the London house, she found the report from Morton & Morton on Duke Philip Chaucer.
Educated at Oxford, Chaucer had earned a history degree, which was no surprise, and also a degree in chemistry, which was unexpected. He didn’t appear to be the scientific type like the ones she had met at the University of London. A fencing master, hunter, and philanthropist, Chaucer had no apparent vices the Morton & Morton investigators could unearth. Neither could they report any gossip or taint of shame about the man. In his late twenties, he had never been married, nor did he have any romantic attachment, although he was regularly seen in the company of beautiful women. Along with Lord Wessex, Chaucer was one of the organizers of the Golden Jubilee celebrations for Queen Victoria.
The report did become more interesting. Chaucer’s beloved mother Marianne had gone mad, but the firm could not find out what form the madness had taken or the cause. To keep her out of public view, which was typical with insane relatives of the rich, Lady Chaucer had been housed in a private cottage on the grounds of Garbutt’s Asylum at Dunston for six years. The woman had died there three years ago.
No wonder Chaucer had become emotional when he had spoken to Felicity about his mother and how her influence on him had been profound.
Helen’s knock startled her.
“You have received an invitation to a ball, Miss Felicity,” Helen announced.
“I’m in no temperament to attend, my dear.” How true. Felicity picked up a book to read. “I may never dance again, Hellie. Then again, I didn’t like dancing very much.”
Helen’s eyes were puffy and she moved slower than usual. Felicity was ashamed she hadn’t noticed until then. Too preoccupied with murder.
“Have you been sleeping well, my friend? You look weary, and it’s been so ever since the attack.”
Helen’s cheeks reddened to match her eyes. “I’m fine, Miss.”
Felicity took her hand. “Hellie, I’m truly sorry to have caused you so much worry.” Helen placed her hand on top, and Felicity enjoyed the affection.
“Part of my job, and my pleasure.”
“So about this ball I will not be attending.”
“Thought you might interested in this particular event, Miss Felicity. An invitation to Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee ball.”
“Why would anyone invite me to that?”
Helen moved the printed invitation closer to her eyes. “Duke Philip Chaucer himself.”
“Really?”
Helen held out the invitation, which was embossed with gold-colored lettering. “He also sent a gift.” She handed her a wooden box decorated with hand-painted flowers on the front and sides.
Felicity opened the box. Inside was a small volume. She read the title. “The Tale of Arthur and his Love, Poems, by Roderick Fellows.”
“Love poems, eh? Shall I begin to address you as Duchess Felicity?”
“Helen, I never appreciated your sense of humor.” Felicity rubbed her neck, which still ached, though the handprints of her attacker had faded into a light purple. Inscribed on the inside of the book in stylish handwriting was a message: “To the woman who saved my life, Philip.”
“Are you being wooed, Miss Felicity?”
She ran her fingers over the writing. “I’m not sure.”
“Forgive me, Miss, but sometimes I can’t understand what the blazes you’re talking about.”
Felicity let out a laugh. “So where is this ball being held?”
“Chaucer Hall.”
Felicity wanted to see Chaucer’s collection of King Arthur relics, no matter its size. The ball would be the perfect opportunity to examine them. And truth was, she wouldn’t mind meeting Chaucer again. “Hellie, I might have to attend this one.”
“May I ask how you first met this gentleman?” Helen sounded like a mother asking why her daughter had stayed out late the night before.
“Our meeting was very respectful. I met Duke Chaucer at William Kent’s funeral reception.”
“Why did he thank you for saving his life?”
Felicity smiled. “I suspect he’s being romantic.” She had spared Helen the details of the murder attempt in front of the Café Royal. She didn’t want to cause her friend more concern.
“And what does all this have to do with the murder of your friend Lord Kent?”
Felicity’s body sagged as if gravity had finally won out. The anxious look on Helen’s face made Felicity want to cry, and Felicity hated to cry.
“Please sit and I shall tell you. You deserve an explanation, since you have been so understanding of such odd behavior for a proper young lady of London. Well, young at any rate.”
Helen sat with a harrumph on the settee. Felicity placed a pillow behind her back.
“Hellie, the Duke owns a few Arthur relics. I want to look at them. They might hold a clue about why members of royalty are being killed. More importantly, the Duke could be the next victim, and I’d like to prevent that.”
“I see, Miss Felicity. Is your detective work the reason why you and your father had the disagreement?”
“My father thought I was a scandal.” Felicity’s voice lowered.
“He wanted you to be a grand lady like your mother.”
“You always see the best in people, Hellie. That’s why I love you. But you’re also realistic enough to know that the best in some people may be buried deep as a mine.”
“I won’t argue with you.” Helen stood up. “I do have a thought, Miss Felicity.”
“What?”
“When we’re at Chaucer Hall, I’ll chat up the servants. They might have the information you need to find those King Arthur things. Servants will probably talk easier to me than to my young mistress.”
Felicity smiled and picked up the invitation. “Please ready your best silk, my dear. We are going to a ball.”
CHAPTER 29
Inside Felicity’s elegant silk bag, she carried a handkerchief, a magnifying glass, a skeleton key, and tools to open locked doors.
Quite the accessories for a ball, she mused on the way to Chaucer Hall.
Felicity wore a black satin dress with short puffed sleeves. Because the gown was low in the front, Helen had sewn a black lace collar to hide Felicity’s bruised neck. Felicity wanted no questions about her injury. The gown was not new, but Felicity doubted anyone would care. She didn’t.
As she and Helen rode in the carriage, Felicity pressed the pearls on her bracelet, the only piece of jewelry she wore. The bracelet had belonged to her mother. She knew so little of her mother’s character, only what Helen had told her. Specifically, Margaret Carrol had been a smart, thoughtful, and generous woman. Felicity hoped her mother would understand what she was about to do that night.
After Matthew stopped the carriage, a servant in regal red opened the door. He extended a big hand, as if Felicity would break like crystal. She sighed, took hi
s hand, and got out of the carriage. Her eyes skimmed the initial obstacle.
Chaucer’s home resembled a castle more than a hall, albeit a small castle compared to others in England. She stared at a square structure of light-gray stone enhanced with carvings of red limestone and four towers. Each light gleamed with opulence and rank.
Inside the grand double doors, twinkling candelabras and twittering attendees created an atmosphere of gaiety and pageantry. Felicity and Helen entered the gigantic ballroom, which was enclosed by golden-colored walls. Above were borders of carved grapes, vines, and dancing nymphs. Gaslights blazed, giving the scene a yellow glow. Dazzling chandeliers hung like jewels over the wooden floor. At one end of the rectangular-shaped ballroom, an orchestra played on a stand. An overlay of women’s perfumes, burning gaslights, and wax candles infused the large room with a sweet acid scent.
Felicity was impressed, and that didn’t happen easily.
She had attended many a ball, but this one boasted more beautiful women in more expensive gowns. The men looked richer and of nobility, and the rank of the military officers soared higher than lieutenant and captain. A newspaper article had reported that four hundred people would attend the event to honor the fifty-year reign of Victoria. And Chaucer Hall was large enough to give everyone room to have a pleasant time.
While other young women waved their fans in flirty swiftness, Felicity waved hers in front of her face to remain in the background. Several men still smiled, bowed, and asked her for a dance. She refused. She did make one observation about Chaucer Hall right away. Nowhere did she see any King Arthur artifacts. The walls of the ballroom and other rooms in the house displayed tasteful artwork, but there was not one of a knight or the mythical king among them.
Helen winked at Felicity and then joined a group of older women who must have been chaperones, governesses, or other servants in a room off the ballroom.
Felicity started her exploration of the house to find Chaucer’s Arthurian collection. The side sitting rooms off the ballroom and foyer were as luxurious as any she had ever seen, but held swarms of chatting people. Tables of punches, bowls of fruit, and platters of dainty biscuits, tortes, and cakes were offered in the grand dining room.
This was going to be more difficult than she had imagined.
She headed up to the mezzanine, where more rooms held yet more people. Felicity passed an open door to what appeared to be a drawing room, a big one like a majority of the rooms in the hall. Elaborate chairs and sofas sat in front of a fireplace of Italian marble so tall she could probably stand underneath it. A long mirror on one wall expanded the room within its reflection. Mounted heads of deer on the walls stalked the proceedings with their dead black eyes. In golden frames were paintings of what could have been Chaucer’s male ancestors. They all had the same fine-looking face and enigmatic expression. In the drawing room, a lake of men in costly clothing smoked cigars and held glasses of whiskey. Such a familiar sight at the Carrols’ London house with her father and his friends.
Taking a few steps deeper into the drawing room, she smelled a fruity wood scent from the cigars the male guests were smoking. She picked up a cigar from one of several open boxes on tables around the room. Putting the cigar up to her nose, she drew in the scent. Strawberry and oak.
A Hollinger.
The same cigar as the one she had found on the roof of the dressmaker’s shop, the one dropped by the man with the crossbow. The same cigar she had found in the park where Thomas Wessex was killed.
Her arms prickled. She recalled the lines in Charles Dickens’s Bleak House. “What connection can there have been between many people in the innumerable histories of this world, who, from opposite sides of great gulfs, have, nevertheless, been very curiously brought together!”
“Only the best,” said an older man with a white mustache, its pomaded tips pointing upward. He held a glass of whiskey and a smoking cigar in his right hand.
“Beg your pardon?” she said, studying the cigar she was holding.
“The duke’s favorite cigar.”
“Hollinger.”
“Why, yes.”
“Distinctive.”
“As a queen from a commoner. And Duke Chaucer does love for his guests to be comfortable at his home.” The man put the cigar in his mouth and puffed.
The cigar store clerks had told her that Hollingers were the best, and why wouldn’t a duke want the best? The killer smoked the same brand. The odds on such an occurrence were astounding. Her chest stung and it wasn’t from the smoke.
Walking out of the room, Felicity looked over the mezzanine railing and down on the dance floor. An outstanding place for reconnaissance. Below, people crowded the floor waltzing, talking, and sipping wine. She spotted the host. With his poise and assurance, Chaucer glided among the guests. Really, the guests cleared a way for him as if he were both the arrow aimed at a target and the bowman who had fired it. Women flirted with him, and men bowed deeper to him than to others. He stood out from them not only because of his height but also for his self-possession.
Helen waved her handkerchief at her young mistress, and Felicity made her way down and through the crowd.
“Miss, I have a clue where you might look,” Helen whispered in her ear.
“Let’s find a quiet place and you can tell me,” Felicity replied, and took Helen’s hand.
They had to go outside, where the activity was downright peaceful compared to inside Chaucer Hall.
“What did you learn?” Felicity asked.
“I mentioned to one of Duke Chaucer’s servants that my master loved medieval objects. I kept your name out of it.”
“Brilliant!”
“If I do say so, it was. Anyway, the servant told me the Duke has a whole floor of what she called ‘King Arthur trappings.’ Swords, suits of armor, weapons, and the like.”
“A whole floor?” Chaucer had told her he had only a few items in his collection.
He had lied.
“The servant called it his personal museum. Then, eight months ago or so, Duke Chaucer ordered all the servants to stop cleaning in there.”
“That is interesting.”
“Several times the servant brought him his dinner while he was in the room. He wouldn’t let her in. But here is the peculiar thing. When he opened the door, the servant smelled almonds.”
“What’s odd about that?” Felicity asked.
“The servant said Duke Chaucer never ate almonds, Miss, nor did he ever ask for any.”
“Where is this collection?”
“First floor, east wing. The servant told me you can’t miss the place. The doors are carved with some crazy lion creatures.”
A chimera. The supposed crest of King Arthur.
“Helen, you are wonderful.”
“One other bizarre thing happened, the servant said. A week before the ball, Duke Chaucer ordered all the servants in the hall to take a two-day holiday.”
“That is even more remarkable. What reason did he give them?”
“The duke told all the servants they had been working hard and he wanted to reward them.”
Which meant Chaucer had not wanted the servants to see what he was up to. And what exactly was that? The answer must lie with his Arthurian collection. Based on what she had discovered at the house of the deceased Elaine Charles, Felicity presumed there were also servants’ stairs near the kitchen leading to the first floor.
“How will you get in there if the door is locked?” Helen asked.
“I have my methods.”
Helen turned around. “When will you get away?”
“The Queen will give me the opportunity.”
“Whenever you go and whatever you do, be careful, Miss.”
“I will, Hellie.”
Helen’s eyes became sparkling as the chandeliers. “I must confess, there is something exciting about this detective business, Miss Felicity.”
“Yes, there is.” Felicity headed off and Helen returned inside.
Felicity walked around, checking on where to make her exit at the right moment. She drifted to the back of the ground floor of the hall. Servants entered and exited out a set of double doors off a hallway. The passage was quite utilitarian and plain compared to the opulence of the rest of the house.
Felicity rejoined the crowd. The hour neared seven. The Queen should be arriving soon.
Tightening her hand on her bag, Felicity readied herself for the search. She might never have another chance.
At the top of the hour, people began shifting their feet and lifting up on toes, anticipating Her Majesty’s entrance.
“The Queen is coming,” several guests shouted throughout. The announcement made its way around the hall.
Men straightened. Women fluffed their hair back into place. Soldiers checked their buttons and swords. With the declaration, however, Felicity walked to the servants’ hallway, where she hoped to find the stairs leading to the first floor.
A trill of trumpets sounded near the entrance to the ballroom.
“Her Serene Majesty, Queen Victoria,” rang out a male voice. The whole room of people took a breath and cheered as the monarch entered the room. The musicians began to play “God Save the Queen,” and the guests began to sing.
This was Felicity’s cue to leave. Watching for Duke Chaucer, or anyone else, for that matter, she made her way to the kitchen. She heard the clanging of pans and hurried voices of servants and took in a whiff of the sugary punch they were serving. She hustled past a line of rooms on both sides of the hallway. At the end of the hallway were the stairs leading to the first floor. Felicity dashed up them and hoped no one was coming down the other way. With all the activity downstairs, particularly with the appearance of the Queen, the servants and Philip Chaucer would have no reason to visit the upstairs.
Constructed of gray stone, the hallway was twice as long as Carrol Manor and twice as splendorous with its carpeting, artwork, and refined furnishings. In spite of the decorations, she had the sensation of being led into a trap.
Gaslights lit the gallery, making the way a little easier. At the end of the hall, she came upon two doors double her height in length. On them, carved chimeras faced each other with paws upturned as if to protect the interior.
Felicity Carrol and the Perilous Pursuit Page 23
