Unmasking Lady Helen: The Kinsey Family (The Kinsey Family Series Book 1)

by Maggi Andersen

  “I only ask you to take your time, Lizzie. Don’t be swept off your feet.” He kissed her cheek and continued along the passage.

  In his sitting room, Charlie sprawled in a chair. “Well, what do you think of Amelia, Jas?”

  Jason buried a sigh. He longed for a few moments of uncomplicated peace, and he had that letter to write. “I thought her exceedingly pretty.”

  “She’s a beauty. Sweet natured too.” Charlie jumped up and followed Jason into his dressing room, where Hicks waited. “You will help her, won’t you, Jas?”

  “I promise I’ll try. But I refuse to discuss it now while I undress. As charming as Miss Groton is, she does not equal my need for sleep.”

  Charlie chuckled and slapped him on the back. “It’s barely one o’clock. Shall I begin to call you ‘old fellow’?”

  “Only if you desire to be sent to Coventry,” Jason said with a grin.

  An idea had come to him. The best way to deal with Miss Groton was to solve her immediate problem and banish the scoundrel who threatened her. Once she no longer required Charlie’s help, a young man such as he, with no means to support her for years, would fade into the background while London discovered a new beauty in their midst. As far as Jason could tell, although Charlie was captivated, he had not fallen deeply in love with Amelia Groton. Not yet at least.

  Late the next morning, Jason woke to the sound of church bells ringing out over London. Russell delivered a note with his morning coffee.

  “This just came, my lord. I thought it prudent to bring it to you immediately.”

  Jason stretched and yawned. “Can’t a fellow have some peace on a Sunday? Thank you, Russell, you are, as always, correct to have done so.” He examined the letter and, as the butler withdrew, opened it.

  I apologize for disturbing you on the Sabbath, my lord, but an urgent matter has arisen. I consider it imprudent to wait for my husband to return or to put the reason for this missive in writing. I wonder if you could visit me this afternoon? I would be most grateful.

  The note was signed Grace Kinsey.

  Jason tossed the blankets back and leaped from the bed, more than a little intrigued and hopeful that he might be about to learn what lay behind this mysterious so-called wild-goose chase Parnell had sent him on. With any luck, he could report back to Parnell and put the whole damned business behind him by the end of the week. Then he could concentrate on other pressing matters, like sorting out Miss Groton’s problem and delve, albeit subtly, into the baron’s past. He needed to discover if the man was decent, for Lizzie’s sake, before their relationship deepened.

  After washing and dressing, he made his way downstairs. In the breakfast room, as he scooped ham and eggs onto his plate from the heated dishes on the sideboard, he was hit by an unpleasant thought. What if his findings did crush Charlie’s and Lizzie’s plans for their futures? He would become persona non grata in his own house. It would require him removing himself to Peyton Grove, a place he usually found appealing, but just now, the prospect of returning alone to his country seat was not so captivating. Self-examination was not something Jason normally indulged in. He wasn’t sure why he’d begun to question his life, but he refused to give the credit to Parnell.

  Chapter Six

  A black armband on his sleeve, Fiske opened the door to Jason. “Lady Kinsey will see you in the library, my lord. Please follow me?”

  Jason crossed the expanse of exotic Eastern carpet as Lady Kinsey rose from a maroon leather chesterfield to greet him.

  Kinsey’s library was an assault on the senses, crammed with relics from his travels. Stone effigies perched on tables and in glass-fronted cabinets. On the walls shelf upon shelf was filled with aged leather-bound tomes and interesting Egyptian, Greek, and Roman artifacts Jason would like more time to examine. The dry, dusty smell of antiquity was foreign and inimitable. By the window, a broad walnut desk was neatly stacked with papers and books. Against one wall in a corner of the room an alarming, gigantic sarcophagus stood upright, belonging to some long dead Egyptian. Jason wondered briefly how Kinsey came by the coffin and if it should be in a museum. He turned to greet his hostess.

  “Unnerving, isn’t it? Kinsey was intrigued to find one so roomy, with a cleverly hinged door. He wondered if it might have been meant for a couple. The mummy, or mummies, have been removed, thank goodness. He only has it on loan. Thank you for responding so promptly, Lord Peyton.”

  “I am pleased to be of service, my lady.”

  He’d thought Lady Kinsey a self-assured woman when he first met her, but it appeared her cool reserve had been shattered. Her gray eyes were dark and anxious, her hands constantly in motion as she urged him to be seated and settled her garnet-colored skirts around her.

  “I thought it best to receive you here in the library where we are unlikely to be disturbed. I don’t want my children involved.” She placed her nervous hands together in her lap. “Now, perhaps you could enlighten me as to why our footman, now deceased, wished to apologize to you, almost with his dying breath.”

  “Your footman, my lady? I have no idea.” Jason fought for time to order his thoughts. It was clear that their footman was his contact who had failed to meet him because of illness, and Lady Kinsey, no fool by the look of it, eyed him suspiciously.

  “You said you worked for Mr. Nash. Is that true?”

  “Why do you doubt it, my lady?”

  “The doctor has informed me that my footman was poisoned, Lord Peyton. Systematically. So, as you see, I am determined to get to the bottom of something that obviously involved you in some fashion.”

  Jason’s blood went cold. “I wish I could offer an explanation. Set you at your ease, at least. But at this moment, I can tell you nothing. As far as I know, I have never met your footman.”

  “Then why did Bartholomew Smyth say to my daughter, Helen, ‘tell Captain Peyton I am sorry’?”

  Jason sat forward. “Bartholomew Smyth was your footman? He fought alongside me in Belgium!” He sighed. “Bart’s dead?”

  “Yes, poor man.”

  An explanation was clearly called for. Jason picked his words carefully. “I do not work for Mr. Nash. But I was acting on his behalf, to perform a duty that he or one of his staff would have done by explaining those changes that we have discussed. I must confess to a more important reason. An acquaintance of mine, a government official, recently contacted me about an unsigned letter they’d received. Someone wished to speak to me personally on a matter of significant importance. As the letter writer did not furnish their name or address, beyond working in one of the houses along the Queen’s Walk, I had no idea who it was or where to find him. He was to approach me at a certain time in that area of the park that faces your property. I’m sorry I could not explain this before, Lady Kinsey, but I had no way of knowing if it was your house I sought. But rest assured I have every intention of looking into it.”

  He raked his hair with his fingers. “I wish I’d known it was Bartholomew. He fought bravely and was invalided out of the army after he lost an arm.” Jason shook his head. “I fear this mystery might have died with him.

  “Bow Street has been advised?”

  “A constable from the Magistrate’s Court called yesterday. He said Bart’s death was likely due to accidental poisoning and saw no reason to draw the magistrate’s attention to it.”

  “I’d like to speak to the doctor.”

  “Yes, of course. Do whatever you feel is right.”

  “May I see your footman’s room?”

  “His effects have been removed.”

  “Nevertheless, I feel it wise.”

  “Very well.” She rose from the sofa. “Better perhaps if I accompany you.”

  As they made their way along the corridor toward the rear of the building and the servants’ stairs, Lady Helen appeared from one of the reception rooms, wearing an apron over her gray dress.

  Jason eyed her appreciatively as she put a hand to her abundant chestnut locks, becomingly ti
ed up with a green ribbon. She looked upon him with some measure of distrust. He couldn’t blame her. He’d disliked the subterfuge and now had to find a way to repair it.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Peyton. I wasn’t aware we had a visitor.” She whisked off the apron and smoothed down her skirts.

  Jason bowed. “Lady Helen.”

  “Helen, where are Diana and Toby?”

  “In the garden playing shuttlecock, Mama.”

  “Good. Lord Peyton and I are about to inspect Bartholomew’s room.”

  Helen widened tip-tilted gray eyes very much like her mother’s. “Why, Mama? Have you learned something more?”

  Lady Kinsey explained Jason’s connection to Bart while Lady Helen’s eyes continued to coolly assess him. Lady Kinsey placed a hand on her daughter’s arm. “You had best come too, Helen. You’ve had more to do with Bartholomew. Diana and Toby are not to learn of this.”

  “You cannot speak of this to anyone, Lady Helen,” Jason warned. He considered her being drawn into this was ill judged, but her mother had obviously come to entrust her with matters that should be dealt with by someone far older. He found himself intrigued enough to want to discover more about Lady Helen. She was like a calm millpond, but he sensed a strong current flowing beneath the surface. And she was frowning at him.

  She glanced at her mother and then gave a nod of consent. “I understand.”

  The kitchen noises and aromas reached them as they climbed the narrow wooden servants’ staircase to the attics. Lady Helen gathered up her skirts to follow in her mother’s wake.

  Jason observed the young lady’s neat ankles, her narrow back, and the pleasing curve of her hip revealed by the taut fabric while he trailed behind her. Again, he wondered why she was not yet married. Might she be engaged? He had not heard of it. But then that wasn’t surprising since he didn’t read the society gossip columns in the newspapers and he seldom attended balls or soirées. He glanced at her hand on the banister. No ring. That was not conclusive, but somehow, he knew he was right. It would take a determined man to break through that wall of reserve and suspicion, and he was patently aware that, in this instance, he was the cause of it.

  Jason looked away from a glossy chestnut curl resting on her delicate nape, which seemed somehow vulnerable and intimate and at odds with her stoic, standoffish manner. His interest surprised him. He wasn’t in the business of seeking a bride. There was no urgency to produce an heir. If he failed, Charlie would become earl after him. And even if Lizzie didn’t marry the baron, she would remarry and produce appealing offspring. Apart from that pleasant avuncular role, no one would make any claim on him.

  Bart’s attic room was as he’d expected, simply furnished with an iron bed beneath the sloping roof. Evidence of his efforts to make it homelier were in the cheerful picture of a dog on the wall and a bright rug covering the boards. A comfortable chair sat in one corner. The mattress had been stripped and the bedding folded. On the table were a candlestick, matches, and, incongruously, several blank sheets of superior quality vellum, an inkpot, blotter, and a pen. The door to the small empty cupboard stood open.

  “Bartholomew’s effects have been returned to his family,” Lady Kinsey said.

  “A pity. Was it only his clothes?”

  “I don’t know what was sent. My housekeeper, Mrs. Chance, saw to it.”

  “I shall need to speak to her.”

  Jason pulled open the curtains. A dismal ray of sunlight crept in beneath the eaves to fall upon the floor. He lifted the mattress and found nothing beneath it then knelt and peered under the bed. Straightening, he went to the small fireplace.

  “The housemaids have yet to clean the room,” Lady Kinsey said.

  Jason stirred the embers in the grate with the iron poker. He leaned in and picked up a wedge of paper, burned around the edges. The same quality bond as those on the table, written on in an untidy manner, badly smeared, and scorched by the fire. “I gather Bart could read and write.”

  “Yes. His grandmother taught him when he was a boy. He wished to better himself and was hoping to find clerical work,” Lady Helen said with a catch in her voice. “He managed very well with one arm. I’ve been helping him to write to various businesses.”

  He held the paper out to her. “Do you think this might have been such a letter?”

  As she took it, her fingers brushed against his. A feather-light touch and yet, he was very much aware of it. She was, too, he guessed because her cheeks colored up and she stepped away.

  She studied the fragment in her hands. “This isn’t anything we worked on together.” She looked skeptical. “Surely it isn’t of importance? The words are mostly indecipherable.”

  “We shouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.” He resisted taking it from her, watching as she lowered her head over it again.

  “This word could be ‘threat’ or ‘thread.’” She gazed up at him, her eyebrows drawing closer, clearly wondering why he bothered to examine it. “The rest of that line is too badly smudged to make out.” She held it out to him.

  He shook his head. “You’re doing well. Please continue.”

  She looked again at the fragment. “Could this be ‘truth’? But two words on the lower line are most odd, ‘electric fish’? Her gaze darted to his. “Might Bart refer to an electric eel? I’ve heard of those in South America. Although why…?” She shook her head. “It cannot be of interest surely.” She handed the fragment back to him.

  “One does not delve into a servant’s personal life,” Lady Kinsey said, obviously losing patience. “They are entitled to their privacy as much as we are.”

  “Jeremy, our other footman, might be able to help,” Lady Helen said, paying her mother no heed. “Or Eloise, Mama’s French maid. Bart enjoyed their conversations in her language. He had picked up a smattering of French during his time on the Continent.”

  He almost smiled at her sudden reluctance to drop the matter.

  “I’ll speak to them after I’ve seen the doctor.” Jason crouched down to rake the ashes. “There’s nothing more here.” He straightened. “This letter was destroyed for a reason. I find that surprising. Why would Bart waste good vellum by writing something he did not intend to post? That’s expensive paper for a footman to have. I assume you supplied it, Lady Helen?”

  She flushed and darted a look at her mother. “Yes.”

  At Lady Kinsey’s expression, Jason suspected more would be said on the matter, once he’d left them.

  “I’ll examine this more closely.” He took out his wallet and placed the paper carefully inside before tucking it back into his pocket.

  They returned downstairs. “Thank you for coming, my lord,” Lady Kinsey said after furnishing him with the surgeon’s address. “Please keep me advised about anything you might discover.”

  “Rest assured I shall make every effort to learn what happened to your footman, my lady. And try to find out what prompted Bart to seek my help.”

  “It’s distressing to think of how much he suffered,” Lady Helen said sadly as they made their way along the corridor.

  Fiske had just admitted a gentleman through the front door.

  Lady Kinsey greeted him. “Lord Peyton, may I introduce Mr. Thorburn to you. Mr. Thorburn is Kinsey’s secretary. I would be grateful if you would address any concerns you have concerning Bartholomew to this gentleman.”

  Fair-haired, Thorburn was somewhere in his mid to late thirties with the pasty complexion of those who spent most of their lives indoors at a desk. Behind his wire-framed spectacles, his hazel eyes were keen and alert. He bowed with a polite smile. “Certainly, my lord. A dreadful business to be sure. If I may make a comment?”

  Jason nodded. “Please do.”

  “It is my belief that the medicine Bart took daily could have been poisonous. He did tell me he was interested in improving his diet with the use of an herbal libation. Suffered some digestion troubles, if you’ll pardon me mentioning the indelicate subject, Lady Kinsey. Told me he purch
ased the tonic at a shop in Whitechapel.”

  Jason frowned. “Where is the bottle?”

  “I gave it to the doctor, my lord,” Fiske said.

  Lady Kinsey turned to him. “Fiske? You knew about this?”

  “Yes, my lady. Bartholomew showed me the tonic. I advised him not to take the evil-smelling liquid.”

  Thorburn excused himself, citing much to be done before Lord Kinsey returned.

  Jason pondered this information as he took his hat, gloves, and brass-topped cane from the butler. “Please send word if you have need of me before Lord Kinsey returns. Good day, Lady Kinsey, Lady Helen.”

  When Jason paused in the street to pull on his gloves, the front door opened and Lady Helen hurried after him down the path. Her worried eyes searched his. “Mother forgot to mention Jinx. He’s our kitchen boy. Jinx fell sick at the same time as Bart, but has since recovered.”

  He wished he could reassure her. But he feared matters were likely to get worse. “It is something to investigate. Thank you for telling me. “

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you have any idea why Bart would have asked for you most particularly?”

  He huffed out a sigh at her obvious distrust of him. “Apart from my being his captain during the war? I’m afraid I don’t.”

  She tilted her head. “Strange, though, don’t you think, after all this time?”

  Was she interrogating him? “It would seem so. At least until we find the answer. If you can’t think of anything else?” He half turned toward the road.

  “Bart had become quite nervous recently,” she said, delaying him once again. “He’d grown careless in his appearance, which upset Fiske, and he had cross words with Mrs. Chance. It was unlike him. He didn’t confide in me. But I will see if I can find out something more.”