An Unmourned Man (Lady C. Investigates Book 1)

by Issy Brooke

  She went out to the stables and spotted Geoffrey talking to Stanley who was in the centre of a manège, lunging one of the horses.

  She thought she would overhear him telling Stanley about horsemanship, or the duties of an aspiring coachman, but instead she heard Geoffrey halfway through a tirade about education and the common man. She went slowly and silently, the better to listen before she was spotted. Geoffrey had his back to her and was leaning on the wooden railings around the manège.

  “I’ll agree that there’s a deal of money in it,” Geoffrey was saying. “And I’ll agree that some folks like us can’t never get to the same places as folks like them. I ain’t saying that the poor are the same as the rich. We are in body, yes, but not in other things. Because, happen that you or I suddenly came into all the wealth as they have – what then? We still would not be as them, would we? So there is more to it than money.”

  “A-a-ancestors,” Stanley said, twirling in a slow circle, his eyes fixed on the trotting horse that was going in a circle around him.

  “Ain’t nobody have any more ancestors than anybody else, boy. It ain’t all money and it ain’t all to do with family, neither. It’s them things, yes, but it’s education. And it ain’t just book-learning that I mean. It’s the knowing of who is who and what to eat and what to wear and when to laugh and when to not laugh.”

  “I b-believe we are all equal under God,” Stanley said. “But we have our allotted p-places. It is respect.” He was breathing hard as he spun, and he clicked to bring the horse back down to a walk again. Cordelia could see that the horse was slightly favouring one of its hind legs.

  “Mayhap we are,” Geoffrey said. “As for that, under God, I don’t know. But I tell you this, though. You like reading, but you want to be reading more than just your religious this and religious that. Or else you shall always be a servant and nothing more. Is that your place, your destiny, for ever?”

  Now Stanley had slowed down he could look about him, and when he caught sight of Cordelia he nearly lost his pace with the horse. He reddened and coughed, and his stare alerted Geoffrey who glanced over his shoulder.

  She went to his side and rested her arms on the wooden fence. “The mare is lame.”

  “Aye, she was. But Stanley here has done well with her care. We were resting her, and today we wanted to see how she fared. She is improving. Stanley, take her inside.”

  “S-sir.”

  “You’re teaching him well,” she said.

  Geoffrey exhaled sharply and pushed himself away from the fence, standing upright and tall. “Aye, but do he listen?”

  “I’m sure it all goes in.”

  “How long do we stay here? Yesterday we were to leave today. Today … we are staying, I was told.”

  “We are staying. But for no more than a fortnight.”

  “And you are embarked on this plan to write recipe books?”

  She could not hide her smile. “Perhaps.” It would be a good cover story, she thought. “Or perhaps there are more stories than just those about food, here. I have heard some information about the doctor that I wish to investigate.”

  “Why?”

  He really was the rudest man alive. She stopped herself from rolling her eyes at him. “If I could expose the true murderer, I could write that for the papers, and then as a book, and that would be something, would it not? I may write a book of regional recipes but it will be read and then forgotten. This, though, would last. My name would go on.” Even as she said it, extemporising though she was, it seemed like a convincing plan. She wasn’t going to tell him it was all on a wager to keep her house.

  “Immortality ain’t the best motivation, to my mind,” Geoffrey said drily. “However, you are the mistress and I am but a lowly and uneducated servant.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him and he had the defiance to stare her back down. Damn him. “Keep the horses exercised,” she said curtly, and spun away to seek out Ruby. She wanted her companionship on a walk to the Post Office.

  * * *

  “I need evidence,” Cordelia said as they walked along the now-familiar track to town.

  Ruby was scuffing her feet, just a few movements short of petulantly kicking at the ground like a sulky child. “I don’t see why you cannot trust to the police here to solve the case.”

  Because I want my house back. Cordelia sighed.

  “You saw the state of the local constable, did you not? Now if this were London or Manchester, then perhaps I could believe that the perpetrator would be brought to justice. But here? Crimes are investigated when the victim pays enough for the prosecution. Do you not see that as a grave injustice? There is no family of this poor boy to pay for it.”

  “What of his mother?”

  “I do not know.” Cordelia stopped short and fished around in her bag. “And that is a mightily good point. Well. I am glad I brought you along; talking to you helps me see the correct questions to ask!”

  “It was I that asked.”

  “Yes, yes, quite. And thank you.” Cordelia scribbled in her notebook: What of his mother? “The father was a drunk, but I have not heard at all of any other family.”

  “So why are we going to the Post Office?”

  “Why, you almost sound interested.”

  “Talking about is makes this tedious journey marginally less tedious.”

  “Ruby!”

  “My lady.”

  “Huh. Well. Listen, and learn. And … do feel free to speak up with any insights. If they are relevant and helpful,” Cordelia added in a warning tone.

  “My lady,” Ruby said again in that infuriatingly ambiguous tone.

  “It’s a curious thing,” Cordelia said. She slowed her walking pace as she tried to organise her thoughts. “When I was last in the Post Office, the clerk told me of the letters that the doctor had sent to Liverpool. And the letters that Ewatt Carter-Hall had been sending abroad. I mentioned the fact of the doctor’s letters to Mr Carter-Hall.”

  “Mm.”

  “When I saw Mr Carter-Hall last night, at the card game, he mentioned that he had evidence that the doctor had been married before, in Liverpool, and that he had killed his wife.”

  Ruby burst out laughing.

  “Ruby!” Cordelia said in shock. “I have not spoken in jest.”

  “No, my lady, no. But does it not sound ridiculous to you? What evidence has Mr Carter-Hall seen? And why would he have sought it out? And why would he tell you and not the authorities?”

  “I agree that all seems suspicious. And that is why we are going to the Post Office. For Mr Carter-Hall must have gone there after I spoke with him, and obtained some information from there; perhaps he saw a letter, or pursued it to its destination. I intend to get to the bottom of this.”

  * * *

  She greeted the whiskery clerk jovially, and he remembered her. “What can I do for you today, my lady?” he said. Next to him, a boy was wrapping up a large and awkward parcel in brown paper. Two young women sat on wooden chairs, watching. And as soon as Cordelia began to talk to the clerk, a young man in a rather racy checked suit entered, and stood behind her to wait his turn to be served. Ruby went to the shop side of the building, and peered up at the shelves behind the counter there.

  She leaned over the counter, trying to be discrete and not overheard. “I am wondering if I might speak to you further about those letters that the doctor sent to Liverpool.”

  “What letters? What was that? You wish to write to a doctor in Liverpool?”

  She glanced to each side. Everyone was listening.

  Of course. Everyone knew that this was the place to come for gossip, but it was unlikely that the clerk wanted to celebrate that fact so openly. “May we speak privately?”

  He licked his lips nervously. “You may step into the back room. One moment. Charlie, see to the gentleman, if you will.”

  She followed him around the polished counter and through a simple door into a stockroom. He seemed embarrassed at its disorder. “
My lady, I do apologise for the mess.”

  “It matters not. Now, these letters. I believe that Mr Ewatt Carter-Hall came and spoke with you about the content of those letters?”

  “Ah … no, no I am afraid I cannot recall.”

  “Oh, come now. It was but a few days ago.”

  “I must not divulge people’s confidences,” he said. “It would be entirely improper.”

  “Of course. I am not asking you to reveal the doctor’s correspondence … only what Mr Carter-Hall learned from it.”

  “But you see, that would be the same thing. No, my lady, I cannot.” He drew himself up and puffed out his chest, inflating his round body like a ball. “Now, if you please … I am a busy man.”

  Oh for goodness’ sake. She could have shaken him in her infuriation. She stamped out of the shop, and was met outside by Ruby.

  “I assume things went ill?”

  “The wretched little man has had an ill-timed attack of conscience, and will not speak. I can surmise that Carter-Hall did, indeed, come and talk to him. But now he will not say further! Partly, that is because there are others present within earshot. Maybe he has been threatened. But I have a plan.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Come, now. Enough of that. And I need your help.”

  “Oh dear!”

  “Ruby. Where is your spirit of adventure? Life isn’t all hiding in bushes with footmen, you know.”

  “That’s exciting enough for me.”

  “Pfft. Now, here it is. We shall wait here until the Post Office is empty. Then you shall go in – yes, you! You have charms. You have that way about you. You know, a young woman’s way. Go and speak in flattering terms to the clerk.”

  “And you?”

  “I shall be outside, preventing anyone from entering to interrupt proceedings.”

  “Why, my lady, how far do you wish these proceedings to … proceed?”

  “Not that far,” Cordelia said with a snap. “Keep your gloves on.”

  * * *

  The moment came soon. The Post Office and the shop were briefly empty. Cordelia pushed Ruby into the Post Office and took up her position at the door, standing tall and firm with a Valkyrie air about her. She had her back to the door and looked out onto the street, daring anyone to approach.

  One minute passed. Then the door jangled and Ruby cannoned into her from behind, sending Cordelia stepping forward and almost into the path of a passing carriage.

  “I am afraid I have had no luck,” Ruby said. “Also, he called me a cheeky minx. And other things.”

  “Did he, indeed?” Cordelia glared at the door. Slandering her servant was akin to slandering herself and it would not do. “I shall see about that–”

  She grabbed the handle and began to push the door open, inwards, but Ruby laid a hand on her arm. Her grip was firm, and it was most unexpected.

  That her servant might presume to do such a thing stopped Cordelia short. She had the door half-open, and one foot over the threshold. She looked down at Ruby’s hand.

  Ruby did not remove it. “My lady,” she said forcefully. “It would be better left alone.”

  Cordelia wrenched her hand free of both the door handle and Ruby’s grasp. She began to walk back to Hugo’s estate, very quickly and very angrily indeed.

  Something had changed.

  Something unsettling.

  The maid had laid a hand on her.

  She had not said anything.

  When she reached the edge of Hugo’s grounds, Geoffrey was loitering by the stone pillars, as if looking out for her. He stepped forward but she was in no mood for his arrogant and unbecoming paternalism. He, too, was overstepping his bounds. She swept past him, her head held high, heading defiantly for Hugo’s wine cellar. She needed to make plans. She needed a drink.

  Ruby stayed behind, lingering, to talk to him in a hushed voice.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I am a stupid silly woman with stupid silly ideas. Cordelia burped, giggled, and then felt a threatening uprising of tears. She blinked them back.

  She was sitting on the back stairs of Wallerton Manor, hunched up in semi-darkness, leaning heavily against the cold wall. Her feet were tucked up on the step below, and she clutched a bottle of whisky to her stomach. It would have been chilly where she sat, but the alcohol was keeping her warm.

  She’d intended to have a small glass while she went through her notes. She had a mission. She had to win Clarfields back.

  But somewhere along the line, the alcohol had entered into league with her usually-suppressed self-doubt, and now she was here, far too gone in her cups to think straight, and realising she’d made a terrible mistake.

  If I thought I was the laughing stock of society after my failed book of manners, she thought fuzzily, what will they make of me now! For Hugo will not keep this folly to himself, will he? Oh no. Indeed, he will use it to bring me so low that I have no choice but to marry him. He will win – and he won’t stop there.

  For a man who can be pleasant company, he is one horrible person.

  There was a scratching in the wainscot, and she tensed, her drink-befuddled senses suddenly alert. It must have been a mouse, for the skittering faded.

  Then a wave of light flooded the floor at the bottom of the stairs. These steps were the servants’ access, and did not merit carpeting, and the hard floor shone, reflecting the lamp light. A figure stepped forward, merely a dark shape behind the lamp it carried.

  “My lady.” It was the gruff voice of Geoffrey.

  And behind him came Ruby. “My lady, Claire told us you were here.”

  “Who’s Claire?”

  “One of the under-kitchen-maids.”

  “Hugo has too many staff.”

  “You’ve had too much to drink,” Geoffrey said, climbing the stairs to her. He set the lamp a few steps above them, and angled it so as not to dazzle. “Stanley, come you up here.”

  The angular lad clambered up the stairs, his rough boots clattering, and he thrust out a cloth-wrapped parcel.

  Geoffrey took it and unwrapped it on the step between them. “Mrs Unsworth bakes a good loaf, whatever else you might say of the woman.”

  “I am here, you know,” the cook snapped from the darkness below.

  “Good, then take the compliment. And that cheese you were after, well, it’s arrived, at last. So here you are.” He cut off a hunk of cheese and laid it inelegantly on a slab of thick bread.

  The rich scent of the blued cheese seemed to hit Cordelia between the eyes. As she reached for it, Geoffrey deftly leaned in and took the bottle of whisky from her. She nearly dropped the bread in her effort to claw back the bottle, but in the end, the lure of the new cheese won out.

  Geoffrey bent down and passed the bottle via Stanley to Ruby, who disappeared. She returned very quickly with a large mug. That was relayed up to Cordelia, who was surprised to find it was hot coffee.

  “I am not drunk,” she protested.

  “You missed dinner,” Ruby said. “Our suite is full of bottles. You smell. And you’re hiding on the stairs. So…”

  “It’s all gone wrong,” Cordelia said. I fear I have lost Clarfields. And I have lost you all your jobs and positions. How can I tell you?

  “Whisky does that,” Ruby said. “Wine or some sherry, that would have been better.”

  “Now listen,” Geoffrey said. “You drink that down yourself, and let me tell you something.”

  She braced herself for an inappropriate lecture.

  But he surprised her. “Ruby here, mistress tattle-tale that she is, and you ought to thank her for it, well, Ruby here told me of your dealings at the Post Office, and how that man slighted you.”

  “Oh.”

  “And so I took a walk down there myself,” Geoffrey continued. “And I had a little chat with the clerk, and persuaded him of the error of his ways.”

  “Oh … no.” The half-giggles, half-sobs, rose up again.

  “Do not worry,” Geoffrey said, lightly. �
��No bones were actually broken.”

  Such a statement had the effect of sobering Cordelia up far quicker than coffee and stinky cheese. “I am glad to hear it,” she murmured weakly. She didn’t want to probe the alternate interpretations of the sentence.

  “I would have had a hard time of it anyway,” Geoffrey said cheerfully. “I mean, finding those bones under all that fat, eh! First, I would have needed to have taken a stout stick to the man…”