by Issy Brooke
It opened. The housekeeper peered out, looking down the driveway. Cordelia held her breath. The housekeeper stepped onto the front step and held a lamp aloft. It threw great shadows behind and around her, and it brought particular attention to the tool which stuck out of the post box, creating a monstrous black shape on the wall.
But the housekeeper did not look that way. She was staring down the driveway, frowning. Eventually she stepped back, lowering the lamp as she did so. When she did turn her head left and right, the lamp’s angle meant that the post box was not silhouetted, and nothing seemed amiss.
The door closed and the bolts were shot home.
Still they did not move or speak until the lights in the windows were extinguished, and even then Cordelia counted to one hundred before hissing in Stanley’s ear the most important question of the night: “What are you doing here?”
He shook his head, a movement she only half-caught. “My lady, l-let’s go.”
“The file–”
He glanced up at her, his eyes shining white. Without another word, he darted to the box and grabbed the file, wrenching it free, and bounded back to her.
I probably loosened it for him, she thought, amazed at his sudden strength. The boy has become a man, indeed.
“Now, we must go!” he urged.
She was so shocked she could not think straight. Like two prowling cats, they made their way stealthily back onto the road, and did not talk until they were halfway back to Hugo’s. She could contain herself no longer.
“Stanley, speak! What brought you there?”
“Forgive me, my lady. Geoffrey sent me to watch you.”
“Why? Does that infuriating man spy upon me every night?”
Stanley was shocked at the insinuation. “Ab-bsolutely not, my lady. Not every night, there is no need. But he said that you took a file from the meat store, and he was concerned.”
“Oh. So he saw that. Well, then. I suppose I ought to thank you for pulling me out of the way.”
“My lady, the box is now damaged,” Stanley said suddenly. “They will suspect foul play.”
“They will. There is nothing to be done about that. And maybe it will flush some game from the undergrowth.”
“I see.”
He did not. They walked more boldly, keeping to the centre of the road now. The clouds had dissipated and the way was clear. Eventually, Stanley spoke unbidden, in a rare show of confidence.
“My lady, if I may ask …”
“You wish to know what I did there.”
“I do. Forgive my impertinence-”
“There is nothing to forgive, Stanley. You have just rescued me, and so you need make no apology. I was breaking into Ewatt’s post box.”
“Yes.”
She smiled. She could feel his curiosity warring with his servile restraint. After a tortuous moment, she relented, and offered him a greater explanation. “Mr Carter-Hall is a man of secrets and affairs,” she said. “That is why he had that post box made. He claimed to be keeping his front door pristine, but that is a blatant lie. No, he did not wish anyone else to see his letters coming.”
“That is not so unusual,” Stanley said. “The affairs, I mean. He is a man of business, and business is a hotbed of sin and temptation.”
“You are quite correct, but not in the way you think you mean,” she said. “I wanted to see if I could find correspondence, or hidden things, in there. It was a dangerous trick, I know, and probably doomed to failure.”
“Almost certainly,” he said. “Why would you chance it? Does he not empty his post box daily?”
“Likely he does. Still, there was another reason. And you will see why I am not worried about the damage we left. For it is a sign, you see.”
“For him? But why?”
“He is mixed up in much, and Stanley, I ought to have sent you to London, you know. For Mrs Hurrell is a guilty party in this, and she has thrown me sideways, and yet it is her presence and her deeds that have drawn me back to the motive and the deed itself.”
“You cannot think that she did it!”
“In London, she ran a ‘respectable’ disorderly house. Do you have an idea of what that might mean?”
“Sin,” said Stanley firmly.
“And, as you say, business and businessmen are a hotbed of such sin. Indeed. The woman is connected. Connected enough to set up in this town, as a landlady. And no allegations attach to her here, I might add. I believe her current house and business to be a clean one.”
“But why would she kill?”
“I do not say that she did. But she knows something, although I rather think she does not know the value of what she knows. And think: why would anyone kill? You spoke to me of temptation, of money and of power and of love. What tempted Thomas Bains? I rather think that the hot-headed and loud young man was the most moral and least tempted of us all, Stanley. Who made the post box? It was Thomas Bains.”
“Do you think the murderer was a group – a gang of people working together?”
“No, Stanley. But I do think they are all linked, every one of them. The doctor, Ewatt, Freda and Mrs Hurrell. And one of them did it, I am sure of it. No, not a passing vagrant – no. One of those.”
“And you seek proof?”
“Proof, somehow,” she said. “And maybe I might get that by borrowing some hunting techniques from Hugo. We shall flush the quarry from its den, Stanley.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Stanley remained silent as he accompanied her back to the house and round to the kitchens. She slipped in and thanked him, and went as quietly as she could back up to her rooms.
Ruby was asleep, or at least, making a passable imitation of it in her room. Cordelia quickly undressed and slid into bed.
She did not sleep for some time.
* * *
“And what will you wear for tonight’s party?” Ruby asked the next morning as she attended to Cordelia’s hair.
“What party?”
“The one that Hugo arranged ages ago,” Ruby said. She dipped her fingers in some styling cream and pulled out some strands, curling them to hang artfully around Cordelia’s face. “It still goes ahead, in spite of the recent changes in circumstance. It is the end of summer event.”
“Oh, I knew he was to have some small cards game this evening.”
“Small cards game? Oh no, my lady. It is a ball, and quite the thing. It was arranged for another reason, my lady, so his servants say. I am afraid that he planned it from the moment you arrived … it was to be the announcement of your engagement.”
“The cad! The beast!” Cordelia exclaimed in dismay. “Why did he not cancel?”
Ruby’s hands stilled and came to rest on Cordelia’s shoulders. “My lady, he is all about appearance. And front. And face. And … spite.”
“Spite?”
“Yes. For I am sure he means to trap you or humiliate you or something.”
“Then why are you asking me what I intend to wear?” Cordelia said. “I shall not go. This would be madness.”
Ruby took up a length of ribbon and curled it. “My lady, of course you will go. You would not let him win, would you? We must ensure your dress is of the very best. You need all your armour possible.”
Cordelia sighed as deeply as she could, letting her shoulders relax and the tension dissipate. “You are correct, and thank you. Well, so it is to be an extravaganza tonight, is it?”
“It is. All shall be there.”
“Interesting. Everyone? I think I shall remain in my rooms today, with a headache.”
“I am sorry to hear that, my lady. Shall I send for anything? A cold compress, lavender, Kendal Black Drop–”
Cordelia smiled. “No, my dear. I have a headache in the same way that you go for bracing evening strolls for the sake of your constitution.”
“Ah. I see.” Ruby smiled and Cordelia caught her eyes in the looking-glass.
“Just bring some food to sustain me,” Cordelia said. “I have
reading to do, and more importantly; thinking.”
* * *
She wore red, that night.
“I need it for confidence,” she explained.
“I do not think that you have ever lacked for confidence,” Ruby said. “But I agree.”
Cordelia smoothed down the satin skirts and adjusted her gloves. “The woman you see before you now is not the girl I once was,” she said. “And sometimes that young girl comes back to me. I need to stay here a little longer; I have written most urgently to London for some final information, which will confirm – or perhaps deny – my suspicions. Until then, I must keep on Hugo’s good side, such as it is. Or at least, play along.”
“Do not let him get the better of you.”
“I shall be the better person,” Cordelia said airily. She liked the moral sound of it, but how she’d put that into practise, she did not know.
“Stanley would be proud of you,” Ruby muttered drily.
“Do you think?” Cordelia smiled as she went to the door. “I doubt it. Now; to battle!”
* * *
Cordelia stopped at the top of the stairs and had to take some calming breaths. She had never before been so scared at a gathering like this; not even in her first marriage, and that had held its own share of particular fear.
She rested her gloved hand on the polished dark wood of the bannister, and studied the crowds, pleading with her logical, rational brain to take over and squash the roiling emotions of her fast-beating heart. It was, perhaps, a stroke of luck that this was just some provincial backwater. There were not quite as many people as there could have been.
But that also meant there were fewer places to hide.
There was the doctor, of course, and his wife. Ewatt was milling about, but there was no sign of Freda. There was a smattering of matrons and girls and young bucks and red-faced men, and one or two military types. Some were familiar from Hugo’s earlier dinners and gatherings. Some had such unremarkable faces that she didn’t think she would recognise them if she saw them every day.
He must have invited a few of the great and the good from Cambridge. She watched as a couple entered the hallway and were greeted by Hugo’s butler. The man shook a shower of drops from his long, dark coat and the woman was sheltering under an upraised cape. When the door opened again she peered and could see the rain outside was of torrential scale. The sleeting rain reflected the lights of the house in diagonal lines, and puddles were forming by the door as people were met by the staff and led away to disrobe.
The tracks and roads would swiftly become mud, she thought. Still, most will be pleasantly drunk by the time it comes to travel home. Only their servants, presently supping in the servants’ hall, would have to deal with problems they’d encounter on their slog through the morass in the storm.
Ruby appeared at her elbow and looked down at the throng. “Are you well, my lady?” she asked.
“No,” Cordelia confessed. “For, looking at this now, I do not see how I might avoid Hugo. There are not enough people for me to hide from him in the crowd. Oh, perhaps I have miscalculated, Ruby.”
“Well, let us be sensible,” Ruby said, sounding older than she was. It made Cordelia almost smile. “If this has, indeed, been a misjudgement. You can do one of a few things. You can retreat back to your rooms and pretend dire illness. That would be easy enough. I can even poison you a little, if you like.”
“Sounds … less than tempting, but thank you for the offer.”
“You’re welcome. Well, then. You can run away. I’ve done it plenty of times. It is probably a little harder for you, but we can all gather up your things.”
Cordelia looked down the sweeping stairs and imagined running down them and bursting through the front doors. It had a certain tempting drama about it. “No, I think not,” she said reluctantly. “I have a few days left and I must try, at least. I must stay to the bitter end of all this.”
“You can, then, brazen it out, my lady. Play him along. Play a game of your own. You are a woman, and we can all do these things.”
It was true. Cordelia knew female friends who had not told a single truth in well over a decade. The technique was instilled in them at school and polished by society. And required of them by circumstance, she reflected sadly.
Hugo spotted them and Cordelia wanted to turn and hide. “I cannot decide,” she said in a panic. “And here he comes to escort me down the stairs! Oh, Ruby, what shall I do?”
“Kick him hard between the legs?”
Cordelia shifted her weight as he approached. But her shoes were soft and for the indoors, and would be unlikely to have the impact she would hope for.
He smiled wolfishly as he came to within a few steps below her. His teeth shone below his whiskers and she felt like Little Red Riding Hood. The colour of her dress was not working. She felt cold.
“There are so many people here to meet you,” he said. “I am sure that you will not disappoint them.”
She stared at him. What had he told them? Did they think it an engagement party? Did he trust to her good breeding that she would go along with it and not make a scene? Did he hope to trap her by social propriety and convention?
He let his smile drop a little but it was replaced by a sinister frown. “What ails you?” he asked.
She tipped her head back. So, she was to act as his intended, was she? “You did not say hello, or greet me warmly, or compliment my dress, or my hair, or any such thing,” she said. “I expected more.”
He laughed. “Oh, Cordelia, you are a woman of the world. What need have you of silly compliments and frippery? I thought you were past all that.”
Past. Not above; past. It was her turn to frown. “So, Hugo, do all these fine folk think that you have proposed marriage to me?”
“Yes, and that you have accepted. I did so hate to disappoint them. Still, if you want to tell them all to go home...”
“You did not propose; I certainly did not accept.”
“Oh, Cordelia.” He softened his voice and stepped up to the same level as her, coming in close so he could lower his voice. He started to sound as if he were a stage mesmerist. “I appreciate it’s all a whirl for you, and a lot to take in. And I must apologise. I told you before that I am a rough sort of man, and unused to flattery and the finer ways of courting. I hope that you can come to love me as I am, plain, simple, unpretentious…”
She stepped to one side, seeing him with more clarity. “You just assume I will acquiesce, don’t you? That I’ll give it all up – the wager, Clarfields – and marry you? That it’s all been a game of hard-to-get on my part, some silly diversion. Men like you can’t hear the word ‘no’, can you?” She saw it plainly now. He would never accept no.
And maybe, she thought, he was worried that she would solve the case and he would have to stick to the wager. The coroner had witnessed it, after all. Front, face, impression – Hugo could not be seen as a man who broke his word.
“You are afraid I might win the wager,” she said.
“That silly thing?”
“Yes. You cannot take the chance, can you? You feel you have to put pressure on me now and settle the matter.”
“Marry me, Cordelia.”
“And what of the wager?”
“Marry me, Cordelia! I know that you will have a happy home here.”
“I will never marry you! You are a trickster and a sneak.” She said it loudly, and noted that heads were beginning to turn. People had come for a party; she resolved that she may as well provide them with a show. It was as if something flipped inside her.
She was done with it all.
“Cordelia, Cordelia, calm yourself. Shall I send for a little drop of something to still your nerves?”
It was the way of things. It had always been the way of things. Powerful men, she thought, who strode through life expecting the world to be a certain way – and such was the force of their confidence that lo! The world was a certain way.
No.
“Hugo Hawke, I did not agree to marry you. And I shall not marry you!” She shouted it now. Everyone heard.
Silence settled on the gathering. Every face was turned to look. Hugo’s teeth were still showing, but now in a snarl, not a smile. He had underestimated her, she knew. “We will discuss this privately.”
