It was after midnight when we reached home. Davis greeted us at the door. “I wired Halton House as soon as I learned Mrs. Brandon would be joining us, and they’ll be sending several trunks for her on the first train tomorrow morning.” He turned to Ivy. “In the meantime, we’ve laid out some things for you in the yellow bedroom. Mrs. Ockley will show you the way and bring you something to help you sleep.”
“Thank you, Davis,” Ivy said, following my housekeeper up the baroque staircase without a glance back in my direction.
“We’ve prepared the library for you, madam,” Davis said. “I decanted a ’47 Warre and had a cold supper sent over from the Savoy in case you’re hungry. Cook will be here in the morning.”
I had nearly forgotten that Jeremy was standing next to me until he took my arm and leaned close to me as we started for the library. “Your butler knows you too well. He didn’t bother to try to pack you off to bed. I’ll come with you to discuss the murder, but if you pull out any Greek, I shall leave at once.”
“I save my Greek for Colin,” I murmured back to him, not wanting Davis to hear.
“You nearly make me regret not paying better attention at university. Nearly.”
The warmth of the library enveloped me the moment I entered the room, soft light bouncing off the high, curved ceiling, the rows of books seeming to greet me like old friends. I slumped into a favorite chair and rubbed my temples.
“What’s to be done, Jeremy?” I asked when Davis had left us.
“You’re the one with a history of solving crimes. I’m of no use.”
“You’re not quite so useless as you’d like the general public to believe, my friend. You’ve done marvelous things today.”
“Well, don’t go telling people. You’ll ruin my reputation. I work hard to appear the idlest man in England. It’s more exhausting than it looks.”
5 December 1891
Somerville Hall, Oxford
Dear Emily,
The most extraordinary thing has happened. I’m to dine with Mr. Michaels tomorrow—can you imagine? I’d shown him some translations of rather obscure bits of Latin poetry, and he was so taken with what he called “my delicate hand” that he invited me to join three of his colleagues at dinner.
The amusing part, my dear, is that the poetry was rather risqué—Sappho has nothing on this—and if anything, my hand was precisely the opposite of delicate. I plunged in with nothing short of wild abandon. I’d rather expected him to be shocked and scold me.
But apparently, my efforts had quite the opposite effect, and I’m not sure what to make of it. I shall have to try harder to outrage him next time.
I think that I will insist on smoking after dinner.
In the meantime, I’m sending all wishes that you’re not terribly bored in Yorkshire.
I am yrs., etc.,
Margaret
Chapter 7
Margaret’s letter had arrived only a few hours before I’d left Beaumont Towers, but I didn’t read it until the following morning. The weather in London was atrocious, a dense yellow fog settling on the town and paralyzing its inhabitants as it crept into every corner of the city. This was not the transparent, floating sort of fog that artists adored. It was a killing fog, one that would lead to an increase in deaths in the poorer parts of the capital, where people were already suffering respiratory ailments. When I was a girl, one such incident had killed hundreds, if not thousands, in a handful of days—the story was on the front page the first time I read a newspaper. My horrified mother had ripped it from my hands and flung it into the fireplace the moment she’d seen I was looking at it.
“May I speak freely, madam?” Davis asked, filling my cup with steaming tea. It was not customary for one’s butler to assist in the serving of breakfast, but Davis had fallen into the habit of doing just that. He would read the paper as he ironed it before giving it to me, and liked to make pithy comments about the day’s news while I ate. I smiled at the thought of what my mother’s response would be should she ever discover how my relationship with this man had evolved. He had become much more than a servant to me; he was an indispensable friend.
“Of course.” I poured milk in my tea.
“You may want to finish with the paper quickly this morning. Mrs. Brandon is already awake and should be down shortly. There’s a scathing story about Mr. Brandon on the front page.”
I had not yet turned my attention to the news, but grabbed the paper and read the offending article at once. It contained the expected sensational account of Lord Fortescue’s murder and barely stopped short of lamenting that there were no more public executions in Britain. The only useful bit of information I read was an explanation of why Robert had been brought to London—information that caused me to worry more than ever. According to the paper’s unnamed source, Robert was suspected of not only murder but treason, as sensitive political documents had disappeared from Beaumont Towers.
“This borders on libel,” I said, folding the paper and tossing it to Davis. “You may as well burn it. And don’t bring me tomorrow’s edition.” I paused and rubbed my hand across my forehead. “No. Ignoring it won’t help. It’s better that I know what’s being said.”
The door opened, and one of the parlor maids stepped into the room, curtsying neatly in front of me. “The Duke of Bainbridge is here, madam. Would you like me to bring him to the drawing room?”
“Please do.” Knowing it was unlikely he bore any glad tidings, I wanted to speak with him without Ivy. “Davis, ask Mrs. Brandon to wait for me in the library when she’s finished her breakfast. The duke and I will come to her as soon as we can.”
I had never before given much thought to the drawing room at Berkeley Square, but as I walked into it today, its warmth struck me. Walls draped in red silk, Venetian marble mantel framing a blazing fire, chairs meant to be comfortable, their curved backs and soft leather like a gentle embrace. Despite its palatial proportions, it felt like a snug, welcoming home. The precise opposite of Beaumont Towers. Jeremy was idly slouching in a seat near the fireplace, but leapt to his feet when he saw me.
“I can’t remember the last time you received me in a drawing room. You treat me more like a favored suitor with every passing day.”
“You’re a dreadful flirt and know perfectly well that the way to my heart is through my library. The drawing room is a vapid and soulless place.” I smiled as he kissed my hand.
“Soulless. Perfect for me.” He sat down. “I’ve just come from Newgate.”
“Newgate?” There was not a person in England unaware of the horrors associated with London’s most notorious prison. “Of course. That’s where they would have taken Robert.”
“I’ve just visited him. He asked if you would come to him.”
“Of course. I’ll get Ivy at once.”
“No. He doesn’t want her to see him in his present circumstances. He was very clear on this point.”
JEREMY INSISTED ON accompanying me to the prison, and I was grateful for this. The drive, filled with nervous discomfort, seemed to stretch to eternity. My stomach was uneasy, and I couldn’t keep my hands still. When at last we arrived, I was horrified to find Newgate more appalling than I could have imagined. Whitewashed walls did nothing to hide the filth and stench that filled the place. Jeremy spoke to the warden near the entrance and in short order convinced him to have Robert brought to me.
“I don’t like giving prisoners special privileges, Your Grace.”
“It’s not for him, sir, it’s for her. Do you really expect her to go all the way inside?”
The warden looked at me through narrowed eyes and grunted. “Very well. Wait here.” This was one moment where I did not object to being treated like a lady; I had little desire to see firsthand just how awful the depths of the prison would be. He returned ten minutes later and led us up a maze of stairs to a small office. “You may speak to Mr. Brandon for ten minutes, but I will have to remain in the room with you.” He unlocked the door and swu
ng it open.
Robert was standing with his back to us, facing windows that looked out on the Old Bailey, where his trial would take place. The buildings of the prison and London’s Central Criminal Court were joined by a series of dismal passages; I wondered if Robert was considering what it would be like when he was led through them to face his prosecutors. The warden locked the door after he’d closed it behind us and returned the key to his pocket. It was an odd feeling to know that I could not leave the room without his assistance.
I crossed the room to Robert, who was still staring out the window, despite the fact that he must have heard us enter, and spoke to him in a low voice. “It would be ridiculous to ask if you’re all right, but I don’t know where else to begin.”
He turned to me, his face drawn and pale, dark smudges beneath vacant, frightened eyes. “I’m relieved that you’re not fluent in the language of conversing with prisoners. If you were, I’d have to forbid Ivy from speaking to you.” He nodded at Jeremy, who was hanging back near the warden.
“I’m a bad enough influence as it is,” I said.
“I know that you and I have not always agreed when it comes to subjects on which you hold firm opinions. I’m a traditional man, Emily. I believe there is a natural order to things, and that, as a gentleman, one of my primary responsibilities is to shield ladies from the uglier sides of life.”
“It is sometimes better to see the truth.”
“Not necessarily.” He glanced towards the warden, who had sat on a chair and was pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper as Jeremy looked over his shoulder. “But at present, I find myself in the unhappy position of having no one to whom I can turn other than you.”
“How can they believe you killed Lord Fortescue?” I whispered.
“They’ve no other reasonable suspect.”
“At least half the population of England is rejoicing to see him dead,” I said, careful to keep my voice low. “And you don’t stand to benefit from the death of your mentor. Why would you have killed him?”
“He publicly insulted me in a manner certain to destroy any hopes I’d have of a political life. It’s well known that I’m an excellent shot and would have had no difficulty in carrying out the murder.”
“Perhaps not the technical aspects of it, but I know you’re not capable of killing a man.”
“But I am, Emily. I have,” he whispered.
I was stunned. “But…surely not…”
“No, not Fortescue. It was ages ago. A duel.”
“A duel?” I could not image mild-mannered Robert agreeing to duel.
“Ivy does not know this, of course, and you are not to tell her. It would only cause her further anxiety.”
“I don’t see that it matters regardless. You didn’t kill Fortescue.”
“No. But the gun used to kill him was a dueling pistol.”
“I don’t understand why this matters,” I said, frowning.
“Fortescue knew about the duel and has a file that proves my involvement.”
“Why would he want such a thing?”
“To hold over me, Emily.”
“Hardly seems like grounds for blackmail,” I said. “Repugnant though it is, dueling is still considered by some gentlemen an honorable activity.”
“Not for cabinet ministers.” He stared out the window. “But that’s out of the realm of possibility for me now.”
“Why did you ask to see me, Robert?”
“I don’t know who killed Fortescue, but I’m convinced that he was assassinated. He told me that he’d received a warning while we were at Beaumont Towers.”
“From whom?”
“I’m not sure. All I know is that it came from Vienna, that he was personally threatened in it, and that it contained information about a planned attack against a high-ranking political figure.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell the police this?”
“Yes. But they found nothing to corroborate my story at Fortescue’s house.”
“I read that there were papers missing. Surely this could be among those stolen.”
“That’s exactly what I think,” he said. “But I can’t convince anyone else.”
“We have to find out who sent the message,” I said.
“That’s why I asked to see you.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “My father was just here with his solicitor and has vowed to spare no expense in mounting my defense, but all his pretty words couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes. It was perfectly clear that neither of them holds out much hope that I will be acquitted.”
“But surely your solicitor—your barrister—someone will be able to discover who sent the message to Fortescue.”
“The only way to do that would be to send someone to Vienna, and no one aside from myself seems to think that’s a worthwhile endeavor. I realize that it is wrong of me to impose upon your friendship with my wife. With Hargreaves out of the country and my colleagues turning against me with dizzying speed, I’ve no one left with proven abilities to handle any sort of investigation but you. I asked Bainbridge, but…”
“He didn’t know what to do.”
“Precisely. But he did suggest that I speak with you. It is unconscionable to ask a lady to embroil herself in such a thing, but I can’t deny the fact that you’ve succeeded”—he sighed—“rather spectacularly when you’ve taken up cases in the past.”
“What would you have me do?”
“As little as possible. I don’t want to place you in any danger. If you could go to Austria and find out who sent the warning and get that person to talk—perhaps to Sir Augustus Paget at the embassy in Vienna—then the authorities here might be persuaded to believe me.”
“Do you know anything else that might be of use?”
“Only that Fortescue was concerned about a group of anarchists there, headed by a man called Schröder. But I don’t know if they are connected to any of this.”
“I will do everything I can,” I said.
“I am indebted to you beyond measure.”
“No, you’re not. I haven’t succeeded in helping you yet. But I hope, soon, to be able to say that you owe me your life.”
“I look forward to the day.” He managed a slight smile.
“I’ve something for you,” I said, and pulled out from behind my back a book. “It wasn’t easy to convince your jailer to let me bring it, but Jeremy’s wallet is very persuasive. I know your views on popular fiction, and can’t resist taking the opportunity to persuade you that sensational novels do, in fact, have some merits.”
He looked at the cover. “Lady Audley’s Secret? I’ve heard more than enough about this atrocious story.”
“Even my late husband enjoyed it, and you know how seriously he took his academic pursuits.” Philip’s reputation as a gentleman scholar was unparalleled.
“I will read it, but only because there’s nothing else here for me to do.”
“Precisely why I thought now the perfect time to corrupt you.”
“First ladies drinking port, now this. Is there no end to your debauchery?” He was trying too hard to take a light tone.
“I will do everything in my power to secure your release.” Our eyes met only briefly, both of us all too aware that any power I might have was negligible at best. I squeezed his hand.
The warden coughed. “No touching the prisoner, madam.”
“I WANT TO GO TO VIENNA.” Ivy’s delicate complexion had lost all its glow. She’d hardly flinched when I told her she couldn’t come to Newgate, but her eyes were swollen and red when we returned.
“You must stay here. What if Robert asks to see you?” I was more concerned with what I could not say to her: If I failed to uncover anything in Vienna he might be executed before I returned to England. “And if he does, you can update him on anything I’ve discovered. It’s a pity they won’t let you touch him. Much can be said during a prolonged embrace.”
“Emily!�
�� She looked at Jeremy.
“Let me assure you that I’ve heard far worse, Ivy,” he said. “I’ve been in the middle of far worse.”
“You’re very kind,” Ivy said, blushing.
“Good. I’ve made you smile again. There’s no use giving into melancholy, no matter how desperate the situation. It will all turn out in the end.”
“Thank you, Jeremy.”
“I wired Margaret. She sent a reply back express and is coming in from Oxford as soon as she can, so you won’t be alone. I want you both to stay at Berkeley Square while I’m gone.” After I’d sent a wire to Cécile informing her that I hoped to travel with her to Vienna at once, I’d dashed off quick letters to Colin’s brother and sister-in-law as well as my parents, all of whom were expecting to spend Christmas with me at Ashton Hall. Although William and Sophie would accept the change of plans with grace—they were accustomed to Colin’s work causing similar disruptions—my mother would not react well.
“Robert’s parents are already in town. I’m afraid they’ll want me to stay with them.”
“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Margaret will take care of everything,” I said.
“And what about me? You can’t cut me out of the excitement now,” Jeremy said.
“Are you planning to stay in London or return to the country?” I asked.
“Neither,” he said, eyes full of mischief. “I’m coming to Vienna. You, darling, need someone to keep you out of trouble, and I am just the man for the job.”
“I don’t imagine Cécile will object to traveling with you, though she’s sure to remind you at regular intervals that you’re not as handsome as Colin,” I said.
“Looks aren’t everything, my dear girl.”
8 December 1891
Somerville Hall, Oxford
A Fatal Waltz Page 8
