Campbell & MacPherson 2: The Dead Duke

by Clare Jayne

  “Is that what you believe? When you are more mature you will understand that even the most determined woman must sooner or later make compromises in order to be accepted by society. Its members do not tolerate such behaviour as you are contemplating.”

  “I will do nothing dishonourable. Society can accept that or it can close its doors to me. You are married to a wealthy lord; you cannot be shunned simply because we are related.”

  “I can as long as you are living under my roof. Censure will fall on me as well as you.”

  “Then you really meant what you threatened?”

  “I never wished it,” Harriette exclaimed. “I have put up with all manner of eccentricities in your character but this is too much. You must refuse to be involved in so sordid a case or you can look for a new home.”

  Ishbel swallowed down a pang of grief. There was a part of her that wanted to give in, but that was just fear and she would not be ruled by such a feeling. Her life was in her own hands. It had to be. “Then I will leave.”

  Chapter Four

  “HOW ARE you feeling?” Chiverton asked his mother, as he moved to sit on the chair beside her bed. She was propped up by several pillows, her complexion devoid of color.

  “I am stronger,” she said, as though trying to convince herself as much as him. “I will be on my feet again very soon. Where is your sister?”

  “I believe Fiona has already dressed for dinner and is downstairs talking with Father and Henry.”

  “Good. You must remind her to obey them without question while I am unable to chaperone her.”

  He heard these instructions on an almost daily basis and had the same reaction as ever. Fiona was more than capable of making her own decisions and he would trust her good sense over Henry’s narrow view of the world any time. His parents would never see it, though. “Of course, Mama.”

  “Do not turn that innocent blue-eyed gaze on me, child. I know how you and Fiona like to plan reckless deeds, but neither of you are children anymore and it will not do. Her behaviour must be faultless if she is to make the best possible match and you must set the right example. She looks up to you more than she does Henry.”

  Chiverton’s mouth twitched at the idea of anyone admiring Henry. “If my sister requires a chaperone tonight then I will be glad to accompany her wherever she wishes to go and guard her with my life.” He thought with a pang of Alex: it had been four days since Chiverton had last seen him.

  His mother sighed at his light tone and reached out for the glass of water on the oak table beside her bed. He leaned over to get it and pass it to her so she would not have to stretch to reach it. The smallest movements could leave her shaky and faint. She took a couple of sips and then let him put the glass down for her.

  “Is there anything I can fetch or do for you?” he asked.

  She patted his hand. “I have a book of religious teachings your father requires me to read and I am sure that will take my full attention.”

  He tried to keep his expression blank. “How pleasant.”

  He left her to rest and, with his valet’s assistance, changed into an evening outfit, the rich blue silk jacket and breeches matching the stripe in his velvet waistcoat and the cravat folded and tied perfectly. He then followed the sound of voices downstairs, his footsteps slowing as he got closer to the drawing room. He paused, straightened and then walked inside. The curtains were closed and all the candles had been lit in the lamps, so darkness clung only to the corners of the opulent room.

  “Edward, dearest,” Fiona said, crossing the room to take his arm and throw him a dark look. “How long it took you to get changed.”

  “I was telling my sister of the dangers of copying the kind of flirtatious behaviour of certain married women,” Henry said, leaning against the marble fireplace, his face schooled into an expression that was probably meant to convey wisdom, but that actually made him look constipated. “Virtuousness and innocence are what a gentleman expects from a young lady.”

  “And showing too much intelligence is most unattractive,” Father said, ignoring Chiverton as had become his custom since learning of his younger son’s romantic preferences. He was seated in his usual chair, his clothes and white wig of an elaborate style that had been popular more than a decade ago. Chiverton always thought that he looked like a king waiting for his subjects to kneel down and swear fealty to him.

  Fiona’s grip on Chiverton’s arm tightened. “I will remember your helpful advice, Papa, and yours, Henry.”

  And, wherever possible, ignore it, Chiverton knew from long experience of doing the same. He and Fiona sometimes seemed to like cuckoos, placed in the wrong nest.

  The butler announced dinner and they trailed into the dining room where he discovered that he would not be required to act as chaperone this evening after all. While he did not envy his sister an entire evening in Henry’s company, Chiverton could barely keep the smile off his face at the thought of a night of freedom.

  He took his leave of them just as his father was bestowing on Fiona a book of instruction on moral behaviour for young women. He caught his sister watching him leave with a wild hungry expression.

  The butler opened the front door for him and, when it closed behind Chiverton, he stood for a moment and enjoyed breathing in the cool evening air, even scented as it was with the odour of horse manure. It sometimes seemed to him that his affectionate feelings towards men were a great blessing, allowing him to break out of the carefully controlled patterns of behaviour wealthy society insisted upon and find a life that was unique to him.

  A few minutes and a short carriage ride later Chiverton raced up the stairs of the house where Alex rented a room, bursting inside. Alex was lounging on the bed, a thick collection of parchments in his hand, doubtless a new play. He wore only a shirt – that, when he got up and had the lamp light behind him, was turned almost translucent – along with breeches and stockings that Chiverton immediately longed to divest him of. Alex crossed the room, a warm smile on his face, and Chiverton caught him in his arms, swinging him round in a circle and kissing him.

  Laughing, Alex said, “I missed you too.” They kissed again, taking their time, and then Alex stepped away to get him a glass of wine, handsome face growing more serious. “Have you heard the disturbing news? Duke Raden is dead.”

  Chiverton accepted the glass with a smile and drank half its contents before asking, “Who?”

  “You remember. The Duke. He came to the theatre all the time.” When Chiverton continued to frown in confusion Alex threw himself into a chair – on top of a couple of items of clothing – and sprawled there as he added, “He was in love with Kenina.”

  Chiverton finished his wine and moved to lie on the crumpled bed, hoping it would give Alex ideas. “That hardly clarifies it – everyone loves Kenina. Do you mean the gentleman who bought drinks at the tavern for everyone in the play?”

  “Yes. Him. He was killed.”

  Chiverton propped himself up on one arm and stared at Alex, trying to take this in. The Duke had been good-natured even when drunk and, even more unusual, had put on no airs amongst the actors, treating everyone from the troupe manager to the youngest actor and to Chiverton himself like an old friend. Although he had only seen the Duke a couple of times, he had liked him. “Do you mean he was murdered?”

  “The town guards have been searching for Kenina here and with everyone else she knows. She’s run away. They think she stabbed him.”

  Chiverton pictured the small, vivacious actress. “That is the most ludicrous idea imaginable.” Feeling that someone needed to do something to help, he added, “I wonder if my friend, MacPherson, knows about this.”

  Chapter Five

  IT WAS one of Mr MacPherson’s footmen who, having been requested to ask around about the duke’s death, had discovered that the Town Guards had been called in when the duke’s body was discovered. The servant had even managed to find out the name of the soldier who had dealt with the case.

  That
was how Sergeant Angus McIntosh came to be sitting opposite Ishbel and Mr MacPherson in her drawing room, brightly dressed in his red uniform, black tricorne hat on his lap. He was a red-haired Highlander of fifty or so, deep lines etched into his face.

  Mr MacPherson explained how they were involved in the investigation, Ishbel adding, “We just want to find out the truth of what happened to the duke.”

  “With respect, Miss, we already know what happened,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Kenina McNeil killed him.”

  “What makes you so certain?” Mr MacPherson asked.

  “He was dead on the floor of her house. There was no one else who coulda done it.”

  “Surely there were servants in the house too – one of them could have killed him?” she suggested.

  “What reason would any of them have? Duke Raden paid their wages. He was a decent, well liked man – well, other than, you know, his improper relationship with the actress.”

  “Then you think Miss McNeil had a reason to kill him?”

  “In a secret relationship of that nature, people have arguments. Perhaps she wanted more money from him or started running round with someone else and he found out. There are plenty of things they coulda rowed about.”

  Then he knew of no actual reason, she realised, offended on Miss MacNeil’s behalf. It did not sound as if there had been much of an investigation before the woman’s guilt was pronounced.

  “What exactly did you see when you were called to the house?” Mr MacPherson asked. “Where was the duke’s body and what state was the room in?”

  “The duke was lying on the floor of the parlour. He’d been stabbed more than once and there was a lot of blood everywhere. The maid who found him got it on her shoes and tramped it all over. She was hysterical. The actress was already gone, vanished as soon as the maid woke her up and told her what had happened.”

  “Surely that seems odd to you?” Ishbel said. “Why would she kill her lover and then calmly go to sleep, only to wait until the body was discovered before she left?”

  “She left, Miss. That’s the part I took note of. Innocent people don’t flee when a corpse is found. Who knows what was in her mind after she killed him? Murderers don’t always act like sane people and an actress living like that was already nothing better than a wh...”

  Mr MacPherson coughed and glared at the man, who looked discomforted.

  “Sorry, Miss. You wouldn’t know about such people but a woman like that wouldn’t think twice about butchering someone.”

  Ishbel ignored this and asked, “Had any of the servants heard or seen anything during the night?”

  “No, Miss. They were all asleep.”

  “Did the room look disturbed – upturned furniture, for instance – as if there had been a struggle?” Mr MacPherson asked.

  “No, sir. It looked as if someone walked right up to him and stuck the knife in; as if he never thought he needed to defend himself.”

  Neither of them had any more questions so they thanked the officer for his time and he left the house.

  “Do you think a lot of people will make the same assumptions as the sergeant?” Ishbel asked. “That Miss McNeil must be guilty simply because she was an actress with a lover?”

  “I fear so. To be fair, while there is no direct evidence of Miss McNeil committing the crime, the information we have been given so far suggests her as the main suspect. The murder did occur in her home and the fact Duke Raden did not fight off his attacker suggests it was someone he trusted.”

  “A servant could just as easily have walked up to him and stabbed him.”

  “But why would they do it?”

  She frowned. “We need to find out a lot more about Duke Raden.”

  “And about Miss McNeil. We have to know if she did have a motive.”

  “All right. We can speak to the duke’s daughter about him.”

  “If she will even see us. Remember what Mr Fillinister said about her determination to see Miss McNeil hanged?”

  “Oh, yes.” The situation was an awkward one and, apart from anything else, the daughter must still be coming to terms with the nature of her father’s death. “Perhaps we should speak to her later then. If we can find out when the duke’s funeral is to be held, we can meet all his acquaintances and get an idea of his character.”

  “I will find that out,” he promised.

  “In the meantime, Mr Fillinister could introduce us to the group of actors he and Miss McNeil work with to learn more about her.”

  “Oh! I, er...” Mr MacPherson fell silent, expression acutely uncomfortable.

  Ishbel was surprised by his reaction then a horrible thought occurred to her. He had already said that he knew the acting troupe and had seemed uncomfortable when speaking of the acquaintanceship. Could he also have had a lover amongst the group? Surely, when he had just proposed to her, he could not have also been conducting an affair?

  Chapter Six

  “MR MACPHERSON, is there something..? There is no actress among your acquaintances that...?” Miss Campbell tailed off, unable to complete the sentences, fear in her eyes.

  For a moment Ewan could not imagine what she was asking, lost in his own thoughts of how to tell her about Chiverton, then the realisation leapt into his head. “No! I... No, I would never behave in such a way, not when I love, er...”

  She blushed and gave an awkward smile. “Forgive me for misinterpreting your reaction. Such a thought would never have occurred to me, but you seemed so uneasy about visiting the actors.”

  “Yes. I...” He took a deep breath, knowing the explanation would be no less awkward for being dragged out. “There is something you should know, to keep my promise of not hiding anything about cases from you, but it is nothing connected with me personally, I can assure you.”

  “Of course not.” Her cheeks were still red as she got up to ring for a servant. “Let us have some tea.”

  By the time she had given the butler the instructions and he had left, she was composed once more and resumed her seat, saying, “Please tell me anything I should know.”

  “It is a private matter affecting a friend of mine but it is something that might well be mentioned by the actors. I do not quite know how to speak of such a subject to a lady, though.”

  “I do not shock easily, Mr MacPherson. Please, just tell me the facts.”

  “You recall my friend, Chiverton?”

  “Of course.”

  “I have known him all my life so we have no secrets from each other. The fact is that, well, are you aware that some men do not think of women in a romantic manner?”

  She looked confused. “No, I did not know that.”

  “Chiverton...” He broke off as two footman entered the room, unable to speak further in front of them. It would not have been right to keep this from her when he had promised not to keep secrets, but the rest of the conversation loomed over him as the most awkward of his life. He had no idea how to even speak of such an intimate matter, let alone explain it in a way that would not have her thinking badly of Chiverton.

  The footmen bent down to place small china cups and a teapot on the coffee table between them along with plates of freshly baked shortbread then straightened and left them alone once more.

  Miss Campbell poured the tea for them both, then picked up her cup and took a sip from it. Ewan did the same.

  “Chiverton is a good man. I would never want you to think otherwise,” he said.

  “I cannot imagine doing so,” she reassured him. “He behaved towards me in a kind, gentlemanly manner, even after I had shown what an inept dancer I am.”

  He smiled at this, remembering the first time he had seen her at a ball and how beautiful she had been, not that she was any less so now in a plain white morning dress, her copper curls around her shoulders. “Chiverton will never marry. He does not have those kinds of feelings for women.”

  She nodded, brow furrowed, clearly still not understanding what he was trying to say.


  “Chiverton has a close male acquaintance amongst the actors.”

  “Oh.” Silence fell and they both took another sip of their tea. She said, “When I was a child, my parents took me to church every Sunday. That is the only place I have heard the subject mentioned and, of course, not in a kind manner. It is a crime, is it not?”

  Ewan went cold. He had not even considered that she might feel a duty to report this to the law and Chiverton could be hanged for the crime of sodomy. How could he have overlooked such a thing? “He intends no sin, nor to harm anyone. He simply wants to have someone to love.”

  “I did not think of it in those terms.”

  “Miss Campbell, you will not have him arrested, will you?”

  “No!” she said at once, eyes widening at the idea. “Never. I might not understand this but, as you said, no one is injured from what he and his acquaintance do, so I would not dream of causing a friend of yours such harm.”

  He let out a shaky breath.

  “Apparently I was wrong in saying I was not easily shocked,” Miss Campbell said with a chagrined smile. “I thought I knew all there was to know of the world from my books and from mixing at the College with so many different classes and types of men.”

  “This is something even men do not usually talk about.”

  “Is it possible for two women to have such a relationship?”

  Amused to see Miss Campbell’s curiosity once more reasserting itself, he said, “I believe so.”

  “What is the name of Mr Chiverton’s close friend?”

  “Alex Aldridge.”

  “How long have they known each other?”

  “Several years.”

  “And Mr Chiverton’s family accept this?”

  “Chiverton has an older married brother to inherit the family money and produce an heir, so his parents accept his refusal to marry. I do not know exactly what he has said to them on the subject, nor what their response was. I believe there was an unpleasant exchange with his father when Chiverton first tried to explain his feelings.”