Helen sought out the housekeeper, while her thoughts returned, as they were wont to do, to Peyton. She had been determined to remain cool with him and keep their relationship on a business footing. To forget the soft touch of his lips on hers, and his scent, which was so very masculine. But as soon as he appeared before her so big and familiar, she was lost. The way he smiled at her made her feel as if she was the only woman in the world. Charm, she told herself furiously. That was all it was. Her time must be better spent, discovering what she could to help him, instead of acting like a mooncalf.
Finding herself at Mrs. Chance’s parlor door, she took a breath and straightened her shoulders.
The housekeeper was at her desk, her ledger opened before her. “Please don’t get up, Mrs. Chance.” Helen sat in a wooden chair. “My mother wishes me to ask you if there are any problems remaining to be dealt with before the ball.”
“I did wish to consult her ladyship about the curtains in the blue chamber. They are badly faded.”
“There’s no time to change them now. Might we replace them with those in the unused family chamber? Admittedly they are cream, not blue, and quite plain, but will surely suffice.”
“That should do nicely. I shall see it is done. We have sufficient linens for the guest chambers. Some of the towels must be replaced. I thought of ordering a dozen.”
“Yes, please do.”
Mrs. Chance glanced at her ledger. “The crystal chandelier in the ballroom has been taken down and cleaned. The flowers your mother requested for the urns have been ordered. The window cleaner and the chimney sweep have been in and the carpets in the guest chambers taken up and beaten. Fiske has inspected the cellars and ordered Madeira and French champagne. Cook has the menu for the supper dishes.”
“You seem to have it well in hand, Mrs. Chance. Mother has every faith in you.”
“Thank you, Lady Helen.”
“I have another matter to discuss with you.”
Mrs. Chance pushed her ledger away. “Yes?”
“It concerns your quarrel with Bart.”
The housekeeper’s dark brows rose sharply. “It was more a slight disagreement than a quarrel.”
“I have difficulty equating his behavior with the Bart I knew.”
“I thought the same at the time.” Mrs. Chance sighed heavily. “I realized afterward that he was defensive because he couldn’t do his work.”
“I sent Bart on several errands the week before he took to his bed. He seemed to manage well.”
The housekeeper nodded. “He would do his best for the family, poor fellow.”
“Why did he say to you, you must think me a fool?”
Mrs. Chance blinked. “I don’t recall Bart saying any such thing.”
“He was overheard by one of the staff.”
“Was it one of the maids? She must have misunderstood.”
“They seemed quite certain.”
“My goodness what nonsense. If it was Eloise, her English is not very reliable.”
When Helen didn’t answer, she gave a bemused shake of her head. “Bart would have no reason to say it. I wouldn’t treat him in such a cavalier fashion. He was no fool, as you know, Lady Helen. I was cross with him at the time, but as soon as I realized what lay behind it, I deeply regretted my attitude. No one should suffer the way he did. I felt for him and tried my best to make him comfortable.”
“Yes, I know you did, Mrs. Chance, for which we are most grateful.” Helen studied the housekeeper’s stony countenance. She had never seen her as the motherly sort.
“Whoever said such a thing must have misheard.” She frowned. “Or lied. Alice causes nothing but trouble. She’d set her cap at Bart and knew I disapproved. Bart flirted with her, but he also favored Eloise. I could foresee trouble ahead if it was allowed to continue.”
“Very sensible, Mrs. Chance.” Helen stood. “Thank you for explaining the situation. And please come to me, if there’s anything else.”
Helen located Alice in one of the guest bedchambers on her knees cleaning the grate. She clambered to her feet and wiped a sooty hand over her cheek, her honey-colored curls peeping from her cap. “You wished to see me, milady?”
A pretty, fresh-faced country girl of eighteen, when Alice had first been employed at Cherrywood before coming to Kinsey House, Helen had feared she’d be homesick for the country, but she seemed happy here. “I have a question, Alice. You won’t get into any trouble, I promise you, but please answer me honestly.”
She clutched the cleaning cloth in nervous fingers. “Yes, milady?”
“Was there anything more than friendship between you and Bart?”
Her blue eyes filled with tears. “Yes, milady. We hoped to marry one day.”
“Mrs. Chance disapproved?”
Alice nibbled her lower lip. “She did. She said it wasn’t done for staff to marry each other, and if that was the case, I should seek other employment.”
“What did Bart say to that?”
“He was angry. Said she had no such authority. He planned to have a word with you. But then he got sick.” She flushed. “I don’t have to leave now, do I, Lady Helen? I like working here, and me ma would be so upset.”
“No, of course not, Alice. You can visit with your family when we return to Cherrywood in October.”
“Me ma will be so pleased to see me, Lady Helen.”
“I’m sure she will. And I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that you and Bart planned to marry. You must miss him dreadfully. But are you absolutely sure you heard correctly when he accused Mrs. Chance of thinking him a fool?”
Alice sniffed and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I did, Lady Helen. Clear as day.”
Helen’s first thought as she left the room was to tell Peyton about the latest information she’d gleaned when next he called. How hopeless she’d become! She sighed, vexed with herself, and hurried to her bedroom to change her gown. She was to accompany Diana on a shopping jaunt to purchase bonnets and fripperies, and for once, Helen welcomed the distraction, desperate to banish the handsome man from her mind. She must not allow herself to consider the impossible, that she might find happiness, for that was rare, elusive, and, in her experience, fleeting.
Chapter Twelve
In the Bow Street magistrate’s house, Jason learned that the magistrate’s findings declared Bart’s death a probable suicide because he was already desperately ill and in great pain. Dalby, the Bow Street runner, had lost interest in the case.
“It’s like finding a needle in a stack of hay,” he said. “Can’t afford to waste me time on it when there’s ready money to be made elsewhere.”
“I thought Lady Kinsey employed you,” Jason said, surprised but also relieved to have free rein to find the killer. Runners always looked for a lucrative job. Surely this was one.
Dalby’s expression turned sour. “Fired me. Said she’d rather you dealt with it, milord. Feels it’s a delicate matter. Doesn’t want me upsetting the household.”
“Did you turn up anything?”
“A long shot, but it’s possible the tonic was tampered with before it reached Kinsey House. Bartholomew Smythe was known to enjoy a few ales at the Lamb and Flag in Westminster on his afternoons off. The innkeeper recalls him showing the bottle to the drinkers in the taproom.”
Jason took a hackney to the narrow brick two-story inn situated in Lazenby Court, a back lane off Rose Street, known for its bare-knuckle fighting.
In the lane outside the pub, two lady-birds in their shabby finery sidled up to Jason with hopeful smiles. He winked, shook his head, and entered the taproom. A blend of unpleasant odors greeted him in the damp air, hops, smoke, and unwashed bodies. Jason wondered what the attraction such a place had for Bart. Perhaps just the fellowship he’d enjoyed in the army. A lone sailor sat in a corner, staring forlornly into his ale.
“Bart was in high dudgeon that evening, milord. Eager to draw someone’s cork,” the innkeeper said, running a cloth over the table
s. His broken nose, muscled chest, and tattooed, beefy forearms revealed a history of bare-knuckle boxing and time spent in the Navy. “Picked an argument with some cove.”
“What did the man look like?”
“Eh? Big dark-haired bruiser. Not one of me regulars. I had to separate the two of ’em in the end.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Pluck to the backbone was Bart. Wanted to prove he could win a fight with one arm. He accounted for himself well with an excellent right hook. Drew quite an audience. But while they was sorting it out, he’d left his tonic bottle on the table, and it got knocked over. Didn’t spill, but anyone could have got at it with everyone watching the fight.”
Jason shook his head. “Hardly likely to carry arsenic around on them.”
“But they wouldn’t have to, milord. I keep it here.” He gestured with his thumb at the cupboard door behind him. “Use it to get rid of the rats. It’s common knowledge.”
“Do you think any of them were likely to do Bart in with arsenic?”
He paused then shook his head. “They’d prefer using their fists or knives to poison. Poisoning’s a woman’s game.”
Jason nodded toward the door into the inn’s parlor, where the two women sat drinking. “Did Bart show any interest in the light-skirts?”
“Saw ’em approach him a few times, but Bart didn’t seem to be in the petticoat line.”
Jason took out some coins and placed them on the table. “Would you ask your regulars who witnessed Bart’s fight if they know what caused it? I’ll be back in a day or so.”
The innkeeper’s words stayed with Jason as he traveled home. He’d heard the view expressed that women favored poison. But he was sure Newgate had accommodated its fair share of male poisoners in the cells. Could Bart have come to grief at the hands of someone in the Lamb and Flag? As Dalby had suggested, it did seem to be a long shot.
Jason’s mood didn’t improve after he’d walked through the door. It seemed both his siblings were unhappy, although only one was unhappy with him, at least.
“You were to escort me to the art gallery today, Jas.” Lizzie glared at him as they drank a glass of wine before dinner. “But you had left when I came down to breakfast and have been gone all day.”
He’d become so caught up with finding Bart’s killer that he’d clean forgotten today was the day he’d promised to go to the exhibition. Unlike him to break a promise. He grimaced. It made him realize how involved he’d become with this investigation. “Lord, I’m sorry, Lizzie. Will tomorrow do?”
“I suppose it will, but the Baron did appear downcast by your indifference.”
“It wasn’t indifference. I’ve been caught up in something that demands my attention. A family in need, Lizzie.”
“The Kinseys, I know.”
Jason gave a bark of laughter. “How do you know?”
“I heard you giving directions to a hackney driver from my window, yesterday. So, unless it’s one of the Kinsey girls you wish to see, I gather it was business.”
He shook his head with a grin. “I’ll apologize to the baron. Though I don’t think my attendance would matter too much.”
“Oh, but it does. He often speaks of you.”
Jason raised his eyebrows. “Does he?”
“Yes, he’s always asking about you.”
“Asking what exactly?”
“Nothing in particular. You had told him you’d been to Italy, and he wished to know more about that. But I don’t know much about your trip, something to do with the government, wasn’t it? I was enjoying being married. Greywood was home on leave. I told the baron that you distinguished yourself under Wellington during the war.”
“How very dull for the poor fellow.” It occurred to him that Bianchi might be about to offer for Lizzie’s hand. The prospect didn’t please him as much as he’d hoped. “Does the exhibition go well?”
A faint line creased her brow. “I need to speak to you about that.”
The door opened, and Charlie stalked into the drawing room.
“After dinner,” Lizzie added.
Jason looked uneasily at her. “Very well.” He turned to eye his brother, who was scowling. “Good evening, Charlie.”
“I can’t see much that’s good about it.” Charlie took a glass of wine from Henry. “I only have a few weeks left before I must return to Oxford.”
“I thought you’d come to terms with going back.” Jason nodded his thanks to Fiske, who’d just decanted a fresh bottle of claret.
“I suppose I have, but I hoped to secure Amelia’s affections before I left.”
Jason took a good mouthful of wine, savoring the taste of black cherry, licorice, and spice before hearing the worst. “Not going well?”
“A fellow with a face like a trout escorted Amelia to the theater. And when I questioned her about it, she insisted that she’s free to go out with whomever she pleases.”
“But, Charlie, Miss Groton is quite correct,” Lizzie said gently. “You have no claim on her.”
“That’s because she keeps me at arm’s length.” A deep breath pushed out his chest. “Can’t understand it. Girls have shown a partiality for me in the past.”
“I’m sure they still do,” Lizzie said with a sympathetic smile. “But it’s possible this other man has more to offer. After all, you’ll be at university for another year, and after that, you’re to make your grand tour. You can’t expect Miss Groton to wait so long for you.”
Charlie shook his head. “I’ve decided not to take the tour.”
“What? Have you thought it through, Charlie?” Jason was worried that his brother’s infatuation might cause him to make hasty decisions. “I had the best time of my life touring the Continent with a group of lads.”
A spark appeared in Charlie’s green eyes. “Wasn’t it a total bore, Jas?”
“Au contraire! Wine, women, and song.” Jason grinned. “Beg pardon, Lizzie.”
“That is not what the tour is meant to be about, Charlie. It is designed to turn you into a cultured gentleman.” Lizzie frowned at Jason and firmed her lips, but Jason didn’t miss the laughter in her eyes before she lowered her head over her wine glass.
After dinner, when Charlie had gone to meet a friend for a game of billiards, Jason and Lizzie settled in the library. He poured a glass of Madeira for her and port for himself. “What worries you so, Lizzie? Does it concern the baron?”
“Someone has accused him of selling a forged artwork.”
“Really? One in his collection? I wasn’t aware he intended to sell any of them.”
She traced a drop of condensation down her glass. “Neither was I, but it turns out that he does buy and sell paintings.”
“Which piece of work is it?”
“Come tomorrow and ask him. I believe it’s a drawing by Albrecht Dürer. The man is to bring it to the gallery.”
“Yes, of course. I’m no expert, but I’ll be interested to see it.”
Bianchi was entitled to buy and sell his paintings if he wished. What bothered Jason was the fact that the baron had misled him. He’d said it was his love of sharing his art collection with the world that had brought him to London. Might he be involved in fraud? Tomorrow he would take a closer look at the baron’s dealings.
***
Helen and Diana had spent several delightful hours shopping at Thomas’s Fashionable Warehouse at the West End corner of Chancery Row, near Temple-Bar, buying ribbons and hosiery, shawls, and fans. At Marchant & Co, in New Bond Street, with their wonderful display of leghorn hats, straw chips, and all manner of bonnets, Diana tried on a dark straw with a huge ostrich feather that dipped over her face. She posed before the mirror. “This is the latest thing. What do you think?”
Helen considered it far too old for her. “Too fussy. Simpler styles suit you best. I do like that gray-blue silk with the camellias around the brim for myself.”
Diana removed the hat and handed it to the saleswoman. “You’re right, Helen. Thank you, Miss Brown. “I’ll
try that wide-brimmed straw.”
As the saleswoman went to fetch both hats, Diana turned from the mirror. “I believe Lord Peyton visited us again yesterday while I was in the music room with Master Benne.”
“Yes. Peyton is still searching for a reason for Bart’s death.”
Diana’s blue eyes clouded. “But why?”
Helen took a deep breath. “Peyton hasn’t discounted the possibility that Bart might have been deliberately poisoned.” As the investigation dragged on, she’d come to realize it was inevitable Diana would find out and, despite her mother’s warning, believed her sister had a right to know.
Diana gasped. “It wasn’t an accident?”
“Lord Peyton is unsure what occurred. But he will find out, have no fear.”
“But if Bart was deliberately poisoned, then the poisoner might still be amongst us.” She put a fist to her mouth. “Oh, how dreadful!”
Helen placed a hand on Diana’s shoulder. “The tonic might have been tampered with before Bart brought it home. We can’t be sure what the herbalist put in it.”
Diana sagged in the seat. “Yes, that seems far more likely. I can’t imagine anyone in Kinsey House would do such a thing.”
“I have every confidence in Peyton discovering the answer.”
Helen watched the saleswoman arrange the straw embellished with blue silk flowers and ribbons around the crown on Diana’s head. “My, that hat does suit you!”
“Yes, I do like it.” Diana turned her head from side to side.
Helen eased out a breath. As Diana’s ball grew closer, she did not want her sister caught up in the possibility of murder. But Diana was perceptive and intelligent. It would be hard to keep things from her.
Diana adjusted the hat. “What do you think of Lord Peyton? You’ve seen quite a lot of him of late.”
Diana’s casual inquiry didn’t fool Helen. No doubt her sister planned to dazzle the earl at the ball. “He seems a decent man.”
“Yes, that was my impression. Mama says he’s accepted the invitation, along with his sister and younger brother. I hope to dance with Peyton. Dancing with a man must tell you so much about him, don’t you think?”
Unmasking Lady Helen: The Kinsey Family (The Kinsey Family Series Book 1) Page 11
