“Yes,” she said, her voice cracking on the single word. Tightening her hands, she went on, “I am sorry to tell you that Harmony is dead.”
Both men stared at her. She heard the footman make a choking sound. She did not look at Shelton as she waited for some reaction—any reaction—from Harmony’s family. The men kept staring as if they had forgotten to speak.
Into the silence, Priscilla said, “I am very sorry.” The lady’s son came to his feet. Slamming his fist on the back of his chair, Elwen snarled, “Was she foxed? Did she step out in front of a carriage again, expecting it would stop in time?”
“No!” Priscilla stood, ignoring that Lord Lummis remained seated. He had excused her lack of courtesy, and she would his amidst these extraordinary circumstances. “You don’t understand, Mr. Lummis. Your mother died at the Prince of Wales Theater. In her box.” She dampened her lips as he glowered at her. Delaying would not make the tidings any easier for the men to accept. “She was murdered.”
“Impossible!” roared Lord Lummis as his son was shocked into silence. “No one would have any reason to murder Harmony.”
“She was robbed as well.” She took a step toward the dismayed viscount. “Lord Lummis, if you wish, I can arrange for someone from St. Julian’s Church to retrieve the body from the theater.”
“No, this is impossible!” Lord Lummis erupted to his feet, and Priscilla backed away hastily. “I have no idea why you would come here with such a tale, my lady. You are Harmony’s friend, and I had guessed a parson’s widow would not be a party to such a story.” He scowled. “But you are planning to marry Hathaway, aren’t you? Did he put you up to these lies?” She ran her tongue along her lips again, before swallowing her reaction to his insult to Neville. “Lord
Lummis, I would never be a party to such a horrible prank. I would be glad to go with you and your son to the theater. My carriage is waiting below.”
‘To the theater? Do you mean what you are saying is true?” The viscount groaned and pressed his hand over his heart.
She rushed to his side when he dropped back into his chair. Calling for his son to bring him some wine or brandy, she knelt by the chair. She took Lord Lummis’s hand and chafed it.
“I am sorry,” she murmured. “She was a lovely lady.”
He ripped his hand from hers and, shouting to his son to come with him, he stood again. Without another word to Priscilla, he rushed out of the room, calling for his valet and his carriage at the same time. His son followed.
Shelton, the footman, wavered between following his lord’s orders and staying to escort her back to the door. When she gestured for him to go after Lord Lummis and his son, he nodded with a grateful smile.
Priscilla came to her feet slowly. She had made a complete bumble-bath of revealing the news to the lady’s husband and son. But every way of explaining what had taken place at the theater likely would have elicited the same response.
She glanced at the bottle of wine. Pouring herself a glass to strengthen herself for what was sure to lie ahead was impossible. She had overstepped propriety’s bounds too far already this evening. The best idea would be to go home and have a bottle of wine waiting when Neville returned from the Prince of Wales Theater. She sighed. That might not be before the morning, because there would be many details to deal with. Gratitude flushed through her. Neville had spared her much of the hullabaloo taking place in the theater box.
Turning to the door, she was astonished to see a woman there. The woman’s face was as white as the paint on the doors. Her plain gown labeled her a servant, but the bits of lace at the light blue collar announced she ranked high among those seeing to the needs of the Lummis family.
“Are you Lady Priscilla?” the woman asked, her voice strained and unsteady.
“Yes.”
“I am Blake, Lady Lummis’s abigail.” She wrung her hands. “I heard ... I mean ...”
Priscilla took her arm and drew her to sit on the closest chair. The abigail started to resist sitting while Priscilla remained on her feet, but Priscilla insisted in the tone that always persuaded her children to heed her.
“Blake,” she said, “I regret having to tell you that Lady Lummis is dead. I am sorry.”
“Dead? She was in perfect health when she left for the theater.”
Wishing again there were other words she could use, Priscilla said softly, “She was murdered.”
“Murdered? I warned her!” The abigail put her hands over her face. “I warned she was inviting trouble by letting him seduce her, but she would not heed me. Now she is dead, and I wonder if he even cares.”
“He? Lord Lummis?”
“No! That actor.” She shuddered as her voice broke into sobs.
Priscilla gasped. She had not guessed Harmony would fall prey to a thespian’s fascinating arts. Not a hint of such a relationship had been whispered among the ton. Was it possible only the lady’s abigail was privy? That seemed impossible. On dits were filled with details of any recklessness, especially when a husband was cuckolded.
“Which actor?” she asked, carefully keeping her voice tranquil. “Do you know his name?”
“Of course I do!” Blake lowered her hands and raised her head. Fury burned in her eyes as tears washed down her cheeks. “Reginald Birdwell!” Priscilla stared at her, as speechless as Lord Lummis had been when she told him of his wife’s death. “Harmony Lummis and Mr. Birdwell have been lovers?” she struggled to choke out. Even more horrific than the lady’s abigail speaking of such a liaison was Blake’s suggestion that the actor might be connected with Harmony’s murder.
“You must not speak that name here.” Blake glanced around the room as if expecting dozens of ears to heed every word they uttered. “Nor must you repeat here what I have told you.”
“I will not.”
“Nor must you must speak of it to anyone else, my lady.” Blake grasped Priscilla’s hands. “Promise me, my lady, that you will let my lady’s secret die with her.”
“I cannot promise that. Lady Lummis’s killer must be found and brought to justice. The truth about your lady’s affaire de coeur with Mr. Birdwell may need to be revealed in order to do that.”
“No, my lady! You must not. If Lord Lummis were to find out—”
Priscilla put her hands on the abigail’s shoulders. “Blake, he cannot do anything to harm her now.” Blake’s shoulders sagged beneath her fingers. ‘That is true, but even after her death, I do not want my lady’s name blemished by scandal.”
“I suspect people will be much more interested in the circumstances of her murder than her recent indiscretion.” She hesitated, then asked, “How long have she and Mr. Birdwell been lovers?”
“My lady, you cannot believe I would speak of such matters!"
“Don’t vou wish for her murderer to be caught and brought to justice on the gallows? You must trust me, Blake, to be discreet with what you have to tell me, but I need any information you can share in order to find her killer.”
The abigail stared at her shoes, then nodded. Without looking up, she whispered, “Lady Lummis spoke more than once about you, my lady. She said you were warmhearted, and she was glad you had set your mourning for your late husband aside with the passage of time.”
“That was kind of her to say” Priscilla replied, not wanting to correct Blake. Even in the midst of her joy while planning her wedding to Neville, she could not forget her sorrow at losing Lazarus. That grief was a part of her for the rest of her days, just as her love for Lazarus was. Fortunately Neville understood, because her late husband had been his best friend.
Still not meeting Priscilla’s eyes, the abigail said, “My lady was first seduced by that blackguard more than six months ago.”
“And Lord Lummis has no idea she was having these assignations?”
“No, for thoughts of her never cross his mind unless he decides she is spending too much money. For the past five years, the two of them have been living separately, although in the same hous
e, if you perceive what I mean."
Priscilla nodded. Blake’s words made the situation in the house quite clear, and it was not unusual. Arranged marriages far too frequently dissolved into acrimony after an heir was produced.
Thanking the abigail and expressing her sympathy, Priscilla took her leave of the preternaturally still house.
She did not look back as her carriage turned toward Bedford Square. She was relieved to be done with the duty of bringing the disturbing news to Lord Lummis and his son. But now she had another problem.
How was she going to tell Neville that his friend, albeit a friend who vexed him to no end, might be a heartless killer?
Chapter Five
Neville yawned as the door opened and he stepped into the familiar foyer on Bedford Square. He had called here several times while Lazarus was assigned to St. Julian’s Church, not far from the square. During Priscilla’s previous trip to London, he had been at the house more than he had expected. Watching over her and her children had started as a pleasant pastime. He had not expected to become heart-smitten with her; in fact, he would have laughed at any man who dared to suggest that was destined to be his fate. Now he could not wait for the moment when there would be no need to knock on her door and wait for it to be answered.
“Good morning, Sir Neville,” came Gilbert’s always calm voice. Almost always, Neville amended, for there had been a few times when the butler lost his serenity.
“Good morning,” he replied. “I assume you have Juster and Layden busy with chores if you are answering the door yourself.”
The butler closed the door. “Lady Cornelia is calling later today.”
Neville chuckled. Priscilla’s aunt never failed to create a commotion anywhere she went. It was not that she was a termagant with everyone, as she could be with Priscilla, Lady Cornelia simply assumed everyone
would do as she wished and meet her high expectations. That was one of the reasons she despaired at Priscilla’s accepting his offer of marriage.
“Is Lady Priscilla in?” he asked.
“She is in the front parlor. If you wish to come with me, I—”
“I know the way, Gilbert, and I suspect you have many other matters to consider with Lady Cornelia’s impending call.”
Gilbert nodded, and, for only a second, Neville thought he saw the butler’s mouth twitch with a smile before Gilbert walked toward the stairs leading down into the kitchen.
With another laugh, Neville climbed the curving stairwell. He did not hear the children’s voices wafting from an upper floor. No doubt they intended to make themselves scarce during their aunt’s visit. They had affection for the old tough, but they dreaded her exacting standards and queries about their day. Queries that often seemed more like interrogations.
He came around the top of the stairs and walked toward the door near the front of the house. Pausing in the doorway, he saw Priscilla standing by one of the pair of windows offering a view of the garden at the center of Bedford Square. He had been surprised when Gilbert said she was in this room rather than the more comfortable chamber behind it where the family customarily gathered, but he was even more astounded when she did not turn to acknowledge his presence. She must be deep in thought.
The cloths that covered the furniture while the family was away from Bedford Square had been removed, revealing a light green settee near the hearth and a writing desk next to where she stood. He walked past two wooden chairs opposite the settee and waited for Priscilla to face him. She continued to look out the window, and he said nothing as he admired how her simple ivory dress accented her alluring curves and gave a richer glow to her golden hair. When he saw her dab a lace handkerchief against her eyes, he rushed to her side and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Why are you crying, Pris?” he whispered as he breathed in the scent of her sweet, light perfume. “I am sorry for the silly question. I know Lady Lummis was your friend.”
“Yes, she was, but I cannot rid my mind of the sight of Lord Lummis’s face when he realized I was not lathering him with out-and-outers last night.”
“He thought you were lying?” He bit back the expletive he longed to snarl.
Slowly she turned to look at him. Stains from her tears emphasized the dark arcs beneath her eyes, and he wondered if she had slept at all. He had not.
‘That is unimportant, Neville,” she whispered. “He was in shock.” She dampened her lower lip, then added, even more softly, “I know how difficult it is to lose a spouse.”
He put his crooked finger beneath her chin. “You are assuming Lummis had the same affection for his wife you had for Lazarus.”
“Whether he did or not, she was part of his life.” True.”
“What happened after I left the theater?”
“Nothing.” He sighed. “Pris, the watch was useless. The two of them stood around and wrung their hands and muttered about how sad it was.”
She smiled weakly. “You knew you should expect nothing more from them. What of Bow Street?” Thurmond, whom I have worked with before, did come to the theater, but he found nothing more than we had.” He shook his head, trying to let the frustration weighing heavily on his shoulders slip off.
“Can we meet with him to determine if he has any suggestions about what we should do next?”
“We?” He regarded her with astonishment. “Pris, I turned the matter over to the professionals at Bow Street. I thought we would be busy with wedding plans, and there would be little we could offer to help.”
“You know the incompetence of the watch.”
“Yes, but I also know the competence of the thief- takers at Bow Street.”
“We are not seeking just a thief.”
“We? Are you suggesting we should be helping the authorities find this murderer?”
“Yes.”
His amazement doubled. In the past, they had been thrown into the search for a murderer, but each time it had been because they were personally involved in some manner with the victim or the circumstances.
“But why?” he asked. “I know Harmony Lummis was your friend, but what information would we have to offer to find her murderer?”
She looked away and walked to the settee. Sitting, she said, “I did learn something interesting while at Lord Lummis’s house, something that might be of great value in the investigation.” She patted the other cushion. “I would rather not speak of it at such a level that everyone in the house can hear.”
Neville did not need that invitation to sit beside her, but first he went to the door and drew it open farther. That would prevent Gilbert from eavesdropping, a practice he shared with Mrs. Moore, the housekeeper. His own servants on Berkeley Square had learned such actions would not be tolerated, but he suspected they still had ways of discovering every word he spoke and every action he took.
That reminded him of a matter he needed to discuss with Priscilla. Having two houses in London was unnecessary. Would she be willing to move into his house, or was she assuming he would join her and the children here?
That thought vanished from his head when Priscilla said, ‘This may be difficult for you to hear, Neville.”
“Why?”
“Because it is about your friend, Mr. Birdwell. He was Harmony Lummis’s lover.”
He digested the fact without comment. When he had worked on stage, there were many unhappy women who sought happiness with an actor glad to provide it in exchange for expensive gifts.
“Bother! ” Priscilla said when he did not answer.
“Bother what?”
“Why can’t I ever surprise you with a fact you were unaware of?”
He took her hand. “Pris, you surprise me in many ways. Far more delightful ways than the discussion of a faithless woman and her insipid paramour.”
“Fine words when you do not want to own you were unaware of that most remarkable fact.”
“True.”
Priscilla smiled as she put her other hand over his. “Much better.”
/> “I have vowed to be honest with you, Pris, and it is not my way to break my word.”
“When you would be caught in your lie.”
“I have been caught in many lies, but I would never tell one when I thought it might bring you or the children harm.” He drew his hand from between hers when she opened her mouth to protest. “We have had this discussion before, Pris, and there is no reason to have it again. You know as well as I do that, until we know the identity of the person who killed Lady Lummis, no one is safe.”
“I realize that.” She folded her hands in her lap.
“And I realize as well that Mr. Birdwell was with the other actors at the time of the murder.”
“True, which means he could not have killed her himself.”
“Although he could have had arranged for someone to kill her.”
“What reason would he have for killing a rich patroness?”
Coming to her feet because she could not sit still while speaking of such matters, Priscilla said, “Her abigail mentioned that Lord Lummis had flown up to the boughs when he discovered how much money his wife was spending. Could it be she was no longer able to provide for Mr. Birdwell as she had in the past?”
“Birdwell has had many rich women panting after him,” Neville replied, standing. She drank in the sight of him, strong and determined. The shade of the coat he wore over a green waistcoat was a poor copy of his ebony hair. “If Lady Lummis could not give him the luxuries he wanted, he could easily have found another who could.”
“You speak with obvious knowledge of such arrangements.”
When he smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkled. She loved that expression, which was one of the reasons she teased him whenever she could, even at the most uncomfortable times, such as now.
The Wedding Caper Page 6
