“And I suppose I am left here with poor dear Mr Winchester.” Lord Tarleton said but did not look at all dismayed as he poured himself another large brandy.
Chapter Ten
When James strode into the drawing room it was to find all eyes on him. But none bore into him more than those of Lady Tarleton. Having been first deprived of her sister and then her husband, she no doubt saw the Duke as responsible in some way.
He knew it would be folly to enter into any apologetic discussion with her, for he would be sunk immediately, and he did not yet want to return Lady Esme to her. He wanted to keep her with him for the rest of the night.
Grisly murder notwithstanding, James was thoroughly enjoying the company of the Earl of Grayling’s youngest daughter. She was not only beautiful but intelligent and witty. All in all, she was the sort of company he’d craved for many years in his search for a bride.
He wondered how he had not seen it before but quickly realized that he had. That energy of hers, the sense that she was ready to fly away to adventure; he had not imagined it. But would such a woman be as interested in him as all the rest were? Perhaps not.
“Lord Beresford, I wonder if you might assist me for a moment?” James said, addressing the Baron and hoping that Esme’s sister would one day forgive him.
“Of course.” The Baron was on his feet and making his way out into the corridor outside the room in no time.
James carefully pulled the heavy oak door to a close lest they be overheard before he began his questioning.
“Beresford, you told me earlier that you believed Augustus Daventry to have sunk money into a scheme of Sheridan Winchester’s.” He began in a hushed but firm voice.
“Indeed. I am sorry to say that I am sure that’s what the two of them argued about earlier today.” Lord Beresford shook his head regretfully. “Young men can be so hot-headed.”
“Indeed,” James said, feeling somewhat annoyed with the Baron for being so keen to throw somebody else under the wheels of his carriage. “But you neglected to tell me you also lost money in the very same scheme.” He paused to enjoy the look of consternation on the Baron’s face. “A good deal more than Daventry lost.”
“It is nothing to me.” The Baron recovered quickly. “I am a wealthy man and my loss was of lesser significance to me than Augustus Daventry’s was to him.”
“I see,” James said, and wondered if that might be true. “But is there some other reason you suspect Augustus Daventry for Sheridan Winchester’s murder?”
“I no more suspect him than anybody else.” Lord Beresford said defensively. “It could have been anybody. Even my dear nephew, Philip, although I can hardly bear to say it.” He said, and James thought he had actually said the thing a little too easily for a doting uncle.
“Because he was once in love with Caroline Ponsonby?” James was keen to let the irritating and self-important little man know that he was already in receipt of that particular string of gossip.
“Once?” Lord Beresford let out a loud and derisory snort. “I would wager he is still in love with the dreadful woman. She is the sort that a foolish man would fall for.”
James did not speak for a moment. He just surveyed the smaller man with his balding head and his crumpled pale green tailcoat and wondered if he would accuse anybody else if James let the silence between then open up a little wider.
“Not like my poor dear Jane. She is a very steady woman, not one to blow this way and that in her affections.” The Baron changed direction altogether, surprising James a little.
So, the Baron was still trying to tempt him in the direction of Jane. It seemed more distasteful to him now that it had done before. The poor woman was laying alone in her chamber grieving for her lost love whilst her uncaring father, seemingly never visiting her once in her anguish, was busy trying to sell her away like an old peddler off-loading his wares.
Well, he could strike a father’s indignation at his daughter’s broken heart off the list. If Beresford had killed Winchester, it certainly hadn’t been out of love for his daughter.
“And how is Jane?”
“The maids are seeing to her.” The Baron said as if that were an adequate response.
“Very good. Well, I shall leave you to your guests.” James said and nodded to release the odious little man.
James wondered if, as odious and uncaring as the man seemed to be, he really had it in him to set his own daughter up to inadvertently kill the man she loved.
As he walked back in the direction of the ballroom, he wondered if Esme was getting along any better than he was.
Chapter Eleven
As Jane crept upstairs to the private upper floor of Beresford Hall, she felt like a thief in the night. Her heart was pounding, and she was certain that her soft slippers were making a dreadful racket as she went, even though they made no sound at all.
As she felt a little perspiration break out on the back of her neck, Jane realized that she much preferred the questioning and thinking side of things rather than sneaking about and fearing discovery side.
Having no idea how to find out which room her quarry was in, she began to wander along the dimly lit corridor. There will wall mounted oil lamps everywhere, but they were not all lit and the dirty yellow gloom which fell all about her in patches was woefully inadequate.
But when she heard the sound of a door closing in the distance and turned sharply, the lighting was certainly enough for her to see a maid coming out of one of the rooms carrying a linen basket.
Deciding that she ought not to show any nervousness that might suggest her to be out of place, Lady Esme straightened her spine and marched with purpose towards the young maid.
“I have come up to check on her. Her father is very concerned, you understand.” Lady Esme said with a little more force than was necessary.
“Very good, My Lady.” The young woman said and curtsied, awkwardly balancing the linen basket on her hip as she did so.
The movement disarranged the fabric lid and Esme immediately spied a bloodstained garment within.
“Forgive me, my dear, but is that the gown which poor dear Jane was wearing?”
“It is, My Lady. Lord Beresford said that we should have it removed immediately.”
“Of course, of course,” Esme said and nodded thoughtfully. “But you must not launder it, not yet.”
“But His Lordship gave me very strict instructions, My Lady.” The maid said and looked furtive. “He said it was to be laundered and if it could not be thoroughly cleaned, it was to be discarded.”
“Ah, I see.” Esme smiled at her brightly. “The only problem is, and I’m sure that His Lordship has only not thought of it because he too perturbed by the evening’s events, that the constable will want to see it. And not the constable alone, but I am sure the magistrate too.”
“Oh dear.” The young maid’s eyes flew wide and Esme felt a pang of guilt for frightening the young woman; but needs must, as they say.
“I should not like you to be in any trouble through no fault of your own, my dear. Perhaps the best thing would be for you to leave the linen basket tucked away at the back of the staircase. It is dark under there and the item will be kept safe for the constable when he arrives.”
“I don’t know, My Lady.” The maid was clearly uncomfortable.
“Then I shall take the blame of it if your master says anything. I promise you that I will tell him that it was my idea and not yours. And the Duke of Burnham himself will step in on your account, for he is investigating the whole thing.” Esme said with wide eyes and a conspiratorial whisper.
“Very well, My Lady. I shall leave it beneath the stairs as you say.” The young woman said and bobbed again.
“You are very good, my dear. Very good. Thank you kindly.” Esme said and smiled at her sweetly before walking in the direction of Jane Beresford’s room as if she had every right to be there.
The moment the maid was out of sight, Esme tapped lightly at the door and
opened it gently.
She peered in, hoping against all hope that Jane did not already have another visitor. But as luck would have it, the poor thing was all alone and laying on her bed weeping.
“Oh, my dear Miss Beresford.” Esme said, feeling truly terrible for the young woman as she closed the door and darted across to the bed.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand to lay on the young woman’s back. Jane Beresford had clearly washed and changed and was now wearing a very simple pale blue gown with long sleeves, the sort of thing she might wear day in day out. It was certainly not attire for a Christmas event, but it was clear that the poor thing had no intention of making her way back down to her father’s guests.
“I really am so very sorry, Miss Beresford. What a terrible shock you have suffered today.”
“Lady Esme, my heart is broken, truly broken.” She said, not turning to look at her.
Jane Beresford was curled up on the bed rather tightly, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them with her head turned into her pillow, the catcher of her tears.
“Did you love him very much?” Esme said and felt her throat tightening with emotion.
“I loved him more than anybody in the world, Lady Esme. I loved him so much that I could not concentrate day after day. And I have loved him for so long.”
“And I’m sure he would have known that, in the end,” Esme said gently. “When it mattered, he would have known that you loved him.”
“He has always known that I loved him, Lady Esme. But he was never interested in me, you see. He never loved me back.” The young woman spoke miserably, and Esme tried to imagine how very consuming unrequited love must truly be.
“I am so very sorry. It is so often the way, I am afraid.” Esme said, truly at a loss for something better to say.
“Oh, why did my father have to insist on having them all here this Christmas? I begged him not to, but he would not hear of it. He wanted to do something impressive for the Duke, something that would entice him to be interested in me. But why on earth would a Duke be interested in me when not even Sheridan Winchester was? Oh, how I begged him.” Jane began to weep in earnest.
Esme gently rubbed the young woman’s back, thinking what a dreadful bore a man Lord Beresford truly was. To have his daughter suffer for a fortnight whilst he entertained the very people who had broken her heart was unimaginable. For a moment, she thought of her own father and tried to imagine how she would feel if he did the same. It brought tears to her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. She had much to be grateful for, her father loved her for who she was instead of what status she might bring him.
But then her father already had status; would he have been just like the Baron without it?
“And I could never be interested in the Duke, not for a moment. I could never love any man but Sheridan. Even though he never loved me, I knew that I would always love him.” Jane went on unprompted.
“Perhaps your father did not realize quite how much you loved Sheridan.” Esme said, although why she should defend Lord Beresford at all was beyond her.
“Oh, he knew.” Jane turned and began to sit herself up.
Esme immediately rearranged the soft feather pillows behind her so that she might lean back in comfort.
“There you go, my dear.”
“Thank you, Lady Esme.” Jane looked at her with a tearstained face and bloodshot eyes, the epitome of true misery. “I do believe this is the only kindness I have been shown for many days.”
“You did not enjoy any of the last fortnight?” Esme coaxed guiltily.
“No, they are not so fine a group of people as my father might claim them to be. They are so mismatched, you see, to be kept in one place for the entire Christmas season. They might be friends, but when they are together for so long each and every one of them puts their own feelings first. They do not really consider one another in anything and I found them such distasteful company in the end.”
“Forgive me, but it must have been very difficult for you to have Caroline Ponsonby here.”
“It was the very worst, Lady Esme. She shows off dreadfully, she is the worst braggart I have ever seen. Oh, and how she loved to make me feel ashamed at every hand’s turn. Every day she would do or say something that would silently have everybody comparing the two of us, and comparing me unfavorably. Our dress, our hair, the color of our eyes, she is competitive in everything.”
“Yes, and I do not think her feelings run particularly deep.”
“No, I have no doubt she is already over her grief.” Jane said, and it pained Esme to realize just how much the poor woman knew.
Jane already understood that Sheridan had given his heart to a woman who did not have the capacity to love him as she did. The futility of it all! And yet, for his own reasons, it seemed likely that it would have suited Sheridan Winchester down to the ground. In the end, as much as Esme felt sorry for the way he had died and died so young, she could not admit to any warm feelings for the man when he had been alive. He would never have deserved such a tender soul as Jane Beresford, that was for certain.
“It is as if nobody ever sees me, Lady Esme. Not even when I am standing there in front of them, they do not know I exist. So much so that they are able to laugh at me and have no embarrassment at all. I am a ghost, nobody.”
“You must not think that, my dear.” Esme reached out and took her hand, but Jane Beresford began to weep again.
Her narrow shoulders shook, and Esme began to truly fear for the young woman’s health. When the maid she had encountered before returned to the room with a tray containing a single mug, tendrils of steam rising from it, she was relieved.
“Oh good, that ought to help,” Esme said rising to her feet. “Will you be able to stay with your mistress for a while? She really is dreadfully unwell.”
“Of course, My Lady. The housekeeper is not expecting me back down again.” The young woman smiled and curtsied again before setting the small tray down on the bedside table.
“Jane, I will come back to you soon.” Esme said and truly meant it.
“Thank you, Lady Esme.” Jane said before bowing her head and returning to her weeping.
With a very heavy heart, Esme hurried along the corridor and peered over the balcony to the entrance hall below. Seeing nobody, she hastened her step and lightly ran down the stairs, not keen to be seen there at all.
“Oh, there you are.” When the Duke stepped out in front of her at the bottom of the stairs, Esme let out a small squeal. “Goodness, I did not mean to startle you.”
“When you stepped out from the darkness, Your Grace?” She said in a chastising tone which he clearly found humorous.
“I see your point.” He said, chuckling. “I thought we ought to make our way to the library or somewhere quiet to thoroughly discuss everything we have.”
“Yes, that is a very good idea, Your Grace.”
“The stage is rather too easy a place for people to listen in and I must admit to being a little tired of discussing it all in front of the murdered man.” He winced and shrugged.
“Quite so.” She said and then darted under the stairs.
“What on earth are you doing now, Lady Esme?” He said, and his amusement returned.
“Just collecting this.” She said, returning with the linen basket. “I persuaded the maid to leave it there. Lord Beresford had ordered her have it laundered immediately, and I thought it would be wisest for us to have a good look at it first. And in any case, the constable ought to see it.”
“You are a clever lady.” The Duke said, his blue eyes sparkling with admiration.
He took the linen basket from her without a word and then held out his free arm for her to take. She did so, allowing him to lead her away in the direction of the library.
And as they walked along arm in arm, Esme wondered if they would ever have the opportunity to be this close again.
Chapter Twelve
W
hen the door closed behind them, James felt as if the two of them had shut the world out. Not only were they free to discuss the mystery and their suspicions without threat of eavesdroppers, but they were alone. The two of them were alone in a most complete way and James found the idea pleasing.
“So, I suppose we ought to run through all we have.” Esme said as she settled down on one of two armchairs set around the fireplace.
The library was large and as dowdy as any in a large country mansion. The walls were oak paneled and lined with books covered in ox-blood red leather bindings. It had an air of disuse, also like so many other libraries.
James tried to imagine the bellowing Baron in there but could not; it would all be too quiet for such a man.
“Poor Jane Beresford.” Esme continued. “I do not think she will ever recover from this.”
“Did she say anything of use?”
“Not really. Only that her father was the one determined to have the small party here for Christmas to put on a play. Nothing that we did not already know, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “The poor woman, having to put up with Sheridan and Caroline’s presence making every day a painful reminder of the love she would never have.”
“You think her father would have known.”
“He did.” Esme shook her head sadly, the loose strands of rich brown hair swaying back and forth across the pale skin of her shoulders.
“The Baron did not provide much more detail. He claimed his financial loss was nothing to him, which I suppose I had suspected he would say from the first.” James stretched his arms high above his head, pleased to note how Esme studied him. “But he was keen this time to throw a little suspicion his nephew’s way.”
“Philip Wallace?” Esme’s cornflower blue eyes opened wide.
“Yes. He was very quick to tell me that his nephew was still in love with Miss Ponsonby.”
The Duke's Christmas Mystery: A Regency Romance Christmas Mystery Page 5
