Campbell & MacPherson 2: The Dead Duke

by Clare Jayne

  “The duke’s daughter?” Chiverton said at once while McDonald looked blank. “I have only heard of her but I do not think her name is Hillsted.”

  “I am certain it began with an ‘H’,” Miss Campbell said, leaning close to him to be heard by his friends. Her arm brushed against his and he breathed in the scent of the lavender fragranced water she must have bathed in.

  “Halsted.”

  Ewan started, eyes flying open and heart beating quickly, as he turned towards the row behind theirs.

  “Her name is Lady Sarah Halsted,” Lady Huntly informed them in a long-suffering tone, “and, having just lost her father, of course she is not here tonight.”

  “Do you know when the duke’s funeral is due to take place or has it already been held?” Miss Campbell asked her cousin in an unusually timid tone.

  “The service will be held the day after tomorrow. I trust I need not warn the two of you not to interrogate the poor woman at her father’s graveside?”

  “We will say nothing untoward,” Miss Campbell promised. “Not at the funeral.”

  Lady Huntly gave an exasperated sigh and got up to accept the plate of refreshments and drink a young man had brought over for her. She then dismissed her young admirer and joined a select group of influential ladies, her dry comments soon added to their conversation.

  “Your cousin sounded a little more reconciled to your involvement in the case, I think,” Ewan said.

  “Yes.” Ishbel sounded relieved.

  “What case is this?” McDonald asked, frowning. “Ewan, what are you up to now? Was Lord Inderly’s disgrace not enough for you?”

  “His disgrace was his own doing,” Ewan pointed out, stung.

  “In fact, this new case involves friends of mine,” Chiverton said, “so MacPherson and Miss Campbell both have my gratitude for wanting to solve it. If I can assist in any way, just tell me how.”

  “Not you too,” McDonald complained. “You heard the comments made earlier. Have you not caused sufficient..?”

  “I think I will get a drink,” Chiverton said hastily, getting to his feet. “May I bring you back a glass of ratafia, Miss Campbell.”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  Chiverton took McDonald away with him and Ewan said to Miss Campbell, “I apologise for McDonald.”

  “Why should you?” she replied. “He is not wrong about the affect on our reputations of involving ourselves in criminal matters. He is just concerned for you.”

  And for his own reputation through his acquaintanceship with Ewan, he thought, then dismissed the idea as uncharitable and unfair. As far as McDonald was concerned, Ewan was acting in a peculiar manner that could be damaging to his name. Ewan could not give a good explanation for his actions. He just knew that he had a greater sense of purpose now than he had had in his life before and that he enjoyed the challenge of such work. And his partner in it.

  “Like you,” he told Miss Campbell, “it seems that I must choose my own path in life.”

  * * *

  “You did what?” Chiverton said, his shocked reaction to MacPherson’s words causing wine to spill over the edge of his glass and stain his shirt cuff. For once he did not care, the crimson mark drying while his mind was on greater concerns.

  “I had to explain about the relationship between you and Alex to Miss Campbell since we are mixing with the actors and other people who know of it,” Ewan said in a whisper, even though they were some distance from anyone else in the room. “If she were to find out the truth from someone else she could do you both harm without ever intending to.”

  It was late and Chiverton was too drunk to be able to handle such news. “She could get us hanged...” He tailed off as he imagined the rope being placed around his neck or, worse, him having to watch as Alex was taken away to be executed.

  “She understands the danger and has promised that she will keep your secret. You have nothing to fear.”

  “What can you possibly know of fear?” he exclaimed and, with rising panic, began to walk away. He needed to see Alex. They could decide what to do together.

  Ewan caught his arm, stopping him. “I swear that I will never let harm befall you or Alex over this. I would perjure myself in court rather than let that happen.”

  Alex took in the seriousness of his expression and the tension gradually faded from his body. It belatedly occurred to him that Miss Campbell had known his secret when they had spoken earlier and she had behaved no differently towards him than usual. “You can tell no one else.”

  “I will not.”

  “Very well.” He gave a shaky laugh. “It is for the best that Alex and I will not have to flee to the continent. The heat disagrees with me.”

  Chapter Nine

  “IT WOULD be extremely useful to speak to the staff at Kenina McNeil’s home and also the duke’s,” Ishbel said on the morning after the dinner party. She had been tired after the late night and had not felt like breakfast at her usual time of 7.30, so she was making up for it two hours later with Mr MacPherson while discussing the case. She buttered a roll and tried to ignore her empty stomach sufficiently to take only ladylike bites from it.

  “That could be difficult since the houses have presumably both been inherited by the duke’s daughter. We could seek her permission to interview them but if she refuses – and, from what Mr Fillinister said, she believes Miss McNeil to be her father’s killer, so that is likely – then we would lose the chance altogether. However, Miss McNeil’s staff probably feel some loyalty to her and to the duke, so if we simply go to the house and ask to interview them, they may well agree.”

  “That is very well reasoned,” Ishbel said after swallowing another piece of roll. “Shall we call there this morning?”

  “Certainly. And, if we can find out which tavern the duke’s staff drink at, I should think Rabbie would be willing to speak to them informally.”

  Rabbie, she recalled, was his valet and someone who had found out useful information for them on their last case. “By all means.”

  They finished their light repast and cups of chocolate and left the house. It was cold outside, with rain and a howling wind, so she was glad to see that Mr MacPherson had brought his carriage today rather than the open curricle. Gallach insisted on holding a flimsy silk umbrella over her head as Ishbel made the short walk to the carriage and a footman helped her inside. Ewan, who had braved the rain, told the coachman their destination, then opened the opposite carriage door and took a seat beside her, dripping slightly.

  They reached the house that had been bought for Miss McNeil, which was of moderate proportions and was situated in a decent but unexceptional street, that probably mostly housed wealthy tradesmen rather than upper class families. A butler, dark haired and aged around thirty-five – young for such a position – opened the door to them and, in the hallway, they explained that Mr Fillinister had asked them to prove Miss McNeil’s innocence.

  “We all want nothing more than that,” the butler said. “We will be glad to answer any questions that will help but I should apologise for the unusual state of disorder. Lady Sarah Halsted, the duke’s daughter, is selling the house, so we’re packing everything away.”

  “What will happen to Miss McNeil’s possessions?” Ishbel asked out of curiosity.

  “I don’t know, Miss. I’m reluctant to pass them on to Lady Sarah.”

  Ishbel winced at the thought of what the duke’s daughter might do with them. “Perhaps you would allow us to take them, so we can return them to Miss McNeil when we are able to do so.”

  “Yes.” He looked relieved. “That would be a great help. Thank you, Miss. I will have them brought out for your footman to take to the carriage – there are a good number of packing chests.”

  “I will have them taken straight back to my home, then the carriage can return for us,” Mr MacPherson said and set these actions in place.

  The butler then settled them in the dining room, which showed the same signs as the rest of the house
of having its contents half packed, and sent the members of staff to speak to them one at a time.

  The housekeeper, Mrs Stewart, a grey haired woman with a competent attitude, was the first to arrive and, after looking from one to the other of them in an uncertain manner, said, “I imagine you must think the arrangement between Miss McNeil and the duke was very improper, but they both behaved in an otherwise genteel way. Miss McNeil had some loud actor friends but she never permitted any rowdy or drunken behaviour here. She also told me she took her responsibility for the staff seriously, that should any man act indecently towards any of the lassies to tell her at once and she would throw him out of the house. Not every lady would care about such things.”

  Ishbel thought of what had occurred in Lord Tinbough’s household and silently agreed, liking the sound of Miss McNeil.

  “Not that there was any need for concern,” Mrs Stewart added. “The duke was always polite and respectful and none of the actors behaved badly towards the staff.”

  “Did the duke and Miss McNeil have a good relationship?” Ishbel asked then, blushing, realised how the question sounded and hastily amended it. “I mean, did they argue at all or seem happy?”

  “They were very happy, Miss. Duke Raden was constantly bringing Miss McNeil gifts and complimenting her, and he meant everything to her.”

  “Someone suggested to us that he might have been intending to ask Miss McNeil to marry him,” Mr MacPherson said.

  “I dinna know what was on his mind, sir, but it wouldna surprise me. Miss McNeil talked quite freely with both me and her maid, and the duke often said how much he loved her and how much better his life was since he had met her.”

  “Was the duke expected here on the night he died?”

  “In a way, Miss. He often told Miss McNeil that he would call round on a certain evening if he was able to, so sometimes he came and sometimes he didna. We knew he might visit that night so that meant we were to let Miss McNeil open the door if anyone rang.”

  “Did he ring?”

  “No, Miss. We heard nothing. I went to bed at my usual time and the next thing I knew, the housemaid was shaking me awake, saying that the duke was dead. I dressed and hurried upstairs, thinking she must have made a mistake or that maybe Duke Raden had had a heart attack, and when I saw him...” She tailed off, going pale as she looked down at the dining table, as if she could see the events of that day in its polished wood.

  “I know this must be difficult for you, Mrs Stewart,” Mr MacPherson said, “but did you form any idea of what must have happened to the duke from the sight of his body in the parlour that morning?”

  “There was blood; a lot of it,” she said. “He’d obviously been stabbed but there were nae knives missing from the kitchen, so the killer didna get it from here.”

  “That’s very useful to know. Is there anything else?”

  “None of the doors had been messed with, so we can only think that the duke let the killer in himself, if that makes sense.”

  “Do you have any opinion on who could have killed him?” Ishbel asked.

  She pursed her lips, increasing the small lines around them. “I canna say, Miss.”

  “That sounds as if you want to tell us something. I promise you, we will not repeat anything you tell us to another soul.”

  There was a long pause as if she could not decide whether or not to speak. Finally, she glanced at the open door and said in an undertone, “Aye, well... I’ve never seen a person less grief-stricken over the loss of a parent than Lady Sarah Halsted. That’s all I’ll say, Miss.”

  It was enough to make Ishbel more eager than ever to meet the duke’s daughter.

  Chapter Ten

  “WE MUST speak to the duke’s daughter right away,” Miss Campbell said when they had spoken to the last staff member in Miss McNeil’s house. “After what the housekeeper said, Lady Sarah Halsted seems more than ever to be a likely suspect.”

  “Yes,” Ewan agreed. “The worst that can happen is that she will refuse to see us.”

  They obtained her ladyship’s address from the butler and had his carriage – which had returned from its side trip to leave Miss McNeil’s belongings at his house – take them to the residence. The four-storey house had all the opulence that was lacking in Miss McNeil’s comfortable home, but none of the warmth.

  Ewan held his breath when a footman announced their presence to the lady of the house, but gave an inward smile of relief as they were shown into the drawing room. Ewan introduced himself and Miss Campbell, then said, “We are deeply sorry for your loss, my lady. We do not wish to intrude while you are grieving but we are looking into your father’s death and hoped you might be able to provide us with some information, to help us find justice for him.”

  “The two of you are not law officers, nor members of the town guards. What possible reason could you have to be involved in such an ugly matter?” Lady Sarah Halsted remained standing as she spoke, a frown on her beautiful face. She was tall and elegant, with light brown hair and pale grey eyes that showed only coldness as she looked at them. Her plain black mourning gown added a severity to her appearance.

  “We have had some success resolving crimes recently,” Miss Campbell said, something she was sure they both felt true even if the rest of upper-class Edinburgh society would find fault with the description. “We were asked to look into this matter by a friend of Miss McNeil’s, who hoped to find proof of her innocence, but I promise you we wish only to establish the truth. If we should find evidence of Miss McNeil’s guilt then we will pass this on to be used at her trial.”

  “I cannot imagine how you could fail to already perceive that woman’s guilt. My father died in her ill-reputed house, with no one but the actress present.”

  “We have not yet established any reason for her to kill your father. He seems to have done everything in his power to make her happy.”

  “By that, I presume you mean that he handed over a great deal of my family’s money to her,” she sneered. “He was stupid enough to fall victim to her wiles and, when she found another wealthy man to dupe, she disposed of him in the ugliest manner possible.”

  “Do you know for a fact that she had met someone else?” Ewan asked.

  “Of course not. I knew nothing of this disgusting business until a footman showed up at my door, saying my father was lying dead on the floor of that harlot’s house. I need no other proof and neither will the jury when they sentence her to death.”

  They got nothing more from her and returned to Miss Campbell’s home to discuss what they had learned. When he had helped Miss Campbell down from the carriage, Ewan sent his footman off to visit the taverns near the duke’s house to find out which one the staff visited, so he could send Rabbie there later. This done, they made themselves comfortable in the library, a maid building up the fire for them and a footman bringing them hot cups of tea.

  “I can see what Mrs Stewart, Miss McNeil’s housekeeper, meant about Lady Sarah Halsted’s lack of grief for her father,” Miss Campbell said when they were alone. “Her tone, when she spoke of him, was full of only contempt and anger.”

  “I did not form the best opinion of her character,” Ewan said, “but we must try to look at the matter from her perspective. If she genuinely believes Miss McNeil to be the killer, then she probably feels that, because of her father, she is on the point of suffering an ugly scandal that could ruin her life and damage her chance of making a good marriage.”

  “That is true, but I would have expected to see some sadness over his death. She had clearly not been crying at all and her attitude was almost vicious.”

  “It is not entirely unusual for someone to get on badly with one of their parents, but that does not mean they intend to murder them,” he pointed out.

  “But what if she lied to us and had indeed found out about the affair before her father’s death? What if he told his daughter that he loved Miss McNeil and intended to marry her? I could imagine her capable of deciding she coul
d not bear to lose her inheritance and killing him.”

  “Perhaps.” He sipped his tea. “But we can do no more than guess at this point. We have no facts to support any possibility.”

  “We do have a few facts. We know that Miss McNeil’s house was not broken into. If the duke came there with his killer, or let the killer in, then it would have been someone he knew very well and trusted.”

  “But do you remember what was said about the knife?” Ewan recalled. “It was not one from the house. A lady does not carry a knife about with her.”

  “I had forgotten that,” Miss Campbell said with a frown and sipped at her tea, a musing look on her delicate features.

  Ewan was thinking about what might be in Miss McNeil’s belongings when Miss Campbell said, “What if the knife was from the house but not from the kitchen? Could a letter opener kill a man?”

  “Probably,” he decided. “If it was pushed with sufficient force, but then it would have been found with the duke’s body. What did the sergeant who saw the body say about the knife? I am sure he did not mention one having been found and none of the staff mentioned it.”

  Miss Campbell’s frown deepened. “Then it is likely that the killer not only brought a knife with them but also took it away, covered in blood, on leaving.”

  “The killer could have wiped it clean with a kerchief and dropped it in the room with the body. I doubt anyone would have noticed that.” He considered it further and said, “I cannot imagine Miss Sarah Halsted doing such a thing but if she had hired someone to kill her father, a villain or even a servant who was devoted to her might take a knife with them to perform the deed.”

  “Indeed!” Miss Campbell’s dimples appeared as she smiled at him.

  As much as he did not want to see that smile vanish, he felt compelled to add, “This does not rule out Miss McNeil as a suspect either. She could, as you suggested, have used a letter opener, then taken it upstairs with her and removed it or cleaned and left it when she fled the house.”