A Fatal Waltz

by Tasha Alexander

  “It’s never too early for port,” Margaret said.

  “You must tell us what you learned in Windsor,” Ivy said. “I can’t say that I’m much fond of Mrs. Reynold-Plympton.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t trust her,” Margaret said.

  “Nor do I,” I said. “I can’t help but wonder whether Lord Fortescue ever disappointed her. He was quite devoted to her for years and years.”

  “And what did his wife think of this?” Cécile asked.

  “Which one?” Margaret asked, choosing a cigar from the box. “Not that it matters. I don’t think any of their feelings much concerned him.”

  “He wouldn’t have cared, but regardless, she—his second wife, that is—never seemed to mind it in the least,” I said. “After all, the more time he spent with his mistress, the less his wife had to deal with him. As I remember it, theirs was a marriage completely devoid of emotion.”

  “A happily matched couple, then?” Margaret asked.

  “Apparently.” I held up my glass towards the fire. The tawny liquid glowed in front of it.

  “I never would have guessed ladies could be so cynical,” Jeremy said, lighting a cigar. “I’m astonished. I feel like I’m in possession of an invaluable secret.”

  “You are,” Margaret said. “And if you ever disclose it, we’ll murder you.”

  “What of Fortescue’s current wife?” Cécile asked.

  “Widow. I don’t know her well at all, but she seemed content enough,” I said.

  “They’d been married less than a year,” Ivy said. “Certainly she’s grateful to have been returned to her family’s estate, but beyond that, I’ve no idea what her feelings are.” There was no hint of her usual rosy hue left in my friend’s complexion. “I did think it was odd, though, that Mrs. Reynold-Plympton was not at the party. Lord Fortescue always used to make a point of insisting on her presence. Would refuse invitations if she weren’t invited.”

  “He was clearly carrying on with Flora Clavell at Beaumont Towers,” I said. “I wonder if Mrs. Reynold-Plympton knows what was going on between them?”

  “Oh, I can’t imagine!” Ivy said.

  “Of course she knew,” Margaret said. “She would have made it her business to.”

  “Margaret is right,” Cécile said.

  “You don’t think she was involved in the murder?” Ivy asked.

  “She was at the party at Highwater with me,” Jeremy said. “She could have come to Beaumont Towers as easily as I did.”

  “I can’t believe she would have harmed him,” Ivy said. “Despite their…immorality…she loved him.”

  “Ivy, you are too good,” I said, glancing up at the clock. “I’m off to the Treasury to see Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Jeremy asked. “I rather miss skulking about with you on nefarious errands.”

  “And I very much enjoyed having you with me, my dear, but it won’t be necessary today,” I said. “Perhaps another time.”

  Ivy snapped to attention. “Hamilton! Of course. That’s why it seemed familiar. Isn’t his mother Mr. Reynold-Plympton’s mistress?”

  “I thought he was ancient,” Margaret said.

  “He is. But you’re right, Ivy. My mother told me that they were childhood sweethearts and weren’t allowed to marry,” I said. “She’s been taking care of him in his old age.”

  “Rather sweet, really,” Ivy said. Margaret rolled her eyes.

  “Does it matter?” Cécile asked. “Apart from Monsieur Reynold-Plympton being pleased that someone’s tending to his needs as he reaches the age of infirmity? I don’t see how any of it’s relevant to Lord Fortescue’s murder.”

  “Perhaps it’s not. Mrs. Reynold-Plympton was awfully quick to give up his name despite her initial refusal,” I said.

  “And here I thought it was simply a matter of you cleverly convincing her to trust you,” Margaret said. “I’m crushed.”

  “I wasn’t even there, and I’m devastated,” Jeremy said.

  “You know I adore your confidence.” I finished my port. “But she set it up beautifully, didn’t she? Made us think that she was telling us something valuable.”

  “So you think Hamilton is useless?” Margaret asked.

  “I think Mrs. Reynold-Plympton is as capable as anyone of overlooking a significant detail.”

  Chapter 23

  Of course I was distressed more than you can imagine when I heard about Brandon.” Mr. Hamilton’s office in the Treasury was a comfortable one, full of furniture so elegant I would have expected to find it in the chancellor’s room, not a junior minister’s. “We were at university together, you know.”

  “I’m more interested in the time you spent together in Vienna,” I said.

  “It was so long ago I hardly remember. We toured the Continent after we’d left Oxford—the usual sort of Grand Tour. I suppose Vienna was one of our stops.”

  “I’d think the visit would be rather more permanently fixed in your brain. Or have you so frequently witnessed fatal duels that you’re blasé about such things?”

  “H-how do you know about that?” Gone was the lazy Oxonian drawl. His voice became rough and lost its confident tone. He picked up a pen and began tapping it on the edge of his desk.

  “I’ve just come from Vienna, where I made the acquaintance of a man called Gustav Schröder.” Mentioning his name immediately conjured up the image of his body in the Stephansdom. It was all I could do not to shudder. “His brother was the one killed in the duel.”

  “Yes, well, it was a terrible business. Brandon never intended to kill the poor chap.”

  “Then perhaps he ought not to have shot him.”

  “Of course not. But he was young and hotheaded, and Schröder had insulted a woman of whom he was fond.”

  I could not picture Robert Brandon as hotheaded. “He wasn’t arrested, though?”

  “No, we fled the country at once. What choice did we have?” Now he was twirling the pen in his hand. “Not an honorable decision, I suppose, but Brandon had his whole life ahead of him. I told him he’d be a fool to stay and face charges. Duels may be illegal, but the fact is, no one’s much concerned with them. He would’ve received little more than a slap on the hand, but that would have been enough to keep him out of public life.”

  “So did Lord Fortescue hold your involvement in all this over you?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Lady Ashton.” He pulled his brows close together and returned the pen to an elaborately carved cup on his desk. “What has Lord Fortescue to do with any of this?”

  “He was blackmailing Mr. Brandon over the duel, a fact that will undoubtedly come into play during his trial,” I said. “I wonder if perhaps you, too, were being blackmailed.”

  “My role in the fiasco wasn’t worthy of blackmail. I didn’t kill anyone. But what are you suggesting? That I was involved in Fortescue’s murder?”

  “Of course not.” I smiled sweetly. Mr. Hamilton’s eyes flashed bright, and I knew at once that he was a man who could be charmed in under half a second. “But Lord Fortescue had files on everyone. He was a staunch supporter of yours, and I don’t believe he bestowed that distinction on anyone over whom he did not have power.” I pulled my chair closer to the desk and leaned forward. “I do hope I’m not offending you.”

  He picked up the pen and began twirling it again, faster this time. “I…I can’t say that I’m accustomed to ladies discussing these sorts of things with me.”

  “You seem to me enlightened enough to welcome lively discussion.” It was appalling, but I actually fluttered my eyelashes.

  “I—I certainly hope so.”

  “So what did Lord Fortescue hold over you?” I asked.

  “It has to do with my mother. I will say nothing further.”

  “Then I will not press you on the subject,” I said. This revelation made me even more disgusted with Lord Fortescue. I ran over the facts of the duel in my head again, grasping for anything that might h
elp Robert’s case, although it seemed an increasingly unlikely prospect. “One more question. It strikes me as odd that Josef Schröder chose an Englishman as his second. Were he and Albert Sanburne close friends?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Now he leaned forward. “Sanburne had only been in Vienna a week or so before the duel. He’d left London on the heels of a scandal. All very hush-hush, of course.”

  “What sort of scandal?”

  “Oh, dear. Well, I never heard the details, and it was only a rumor at any rate.” He stopped and tugged at his collar. “It’s not the sort of thing to which a lady should be exposed.”

  “Come now, Mr. Hamilton, you can tell me.” He did not respond immediately, so I tilted my head and gave him a look of earnest, sweet interest that I’d not pulled from my arsenal since the first season I was out in society.

  “Well.” He coughed. “You’ve perhaps heard some mention of the Cleveland Street scandal? More than two years ago, I think.”

  “I can’t say that I’m familiar with it.” It must have occurred when I was in deep mourning for Philip, before I’d begun reading the newspaper on a regular basis.

  “If I may be candid, Lady Ashton, I’m relieved to hear that.”

  I could find out the details of the scandal on my own. “So what was Mr. Sanburne’s connection to Josef Schröder?”

  “Suffice it to say that Schröder was sympathetic to Sanburne’s involvement in the scandal. Please don’t ask me to say more.”

  I did not think it possible that my opinion of Lord Fortescue could be lower than it was, but knowing that he had held over Mr. Hamilton his mother’s relationship with a man she’d loved since childhood sickened me. I had no interest in tormenting the poor man, so I thanked him effusively and excused myself, amused by the way he tripped over himself to escort me from the building. From the Treasury, I went directly to the offices of the London Daily Post and asked to see Sir Julian Knowles.

  The burly newspaperman greeted me with effusive affection and paraded me through the building as if I were a trophy he’d won in a sporting contest. “Lady Emily Ashton, boys. Aspire to earn a formal introduction to a person of her stature.” He ushered me into his office, a cozy room full of walnut paneling and leaded glass windows, the unmistakable odor of pipe tobacco oozing from every corner. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  I perched on the edge of a leather chair. “It’s a bit embarrassing, really. I was hoping you could give me some information about the Cleveland Street scandal.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he burst into a fit of coughing. “Not a topic fit for a lady.” But then he leaned forward. “Why do you want to know? Have you learned that someone connected to you was involved in it?”

  “No, not that. But…” I hesitated, wondering if I should continue. “I have some information that’s related to it that may be significant to Robert Brandon’s defense.”

  “How so?”

  “First you must tell me the nature of the scandal.”

  “Well.” More coughing. “It was…you see…the Metropolitan Police shut down a…er…house of ill repute that counted several high-ranking aristocrats among its clients.”

  “Oh. Is that all? Doesn’t that happen with alarming frequency?”

  “Not quite in this manner, Lady Ashton. And how would you know about such things?”

  “I read your paper, Sir Julian.”

  “Yes, well…” He coughed again.

  “What made Cleveland Street different?” I asked.

  “The…er…establishment was staffed by…telegraph boys.”

  “I don’t…” I paused, not entirely understanding.

  “A brothel. Staffed by telegraph boys.” He covered his mouth with a handkerchief and turned an astonishing shade of red.

  “Oh,” I said. “I’d assumed it was something much worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Sir Julian, I’ve read all the Greeks. I’m not so easily shocked.”

  “I do like you, Lady Ashton, very much.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and began to warm to his subject. “Lots of rumors about the Duke of Clarence connected with Cleveland Street.”

  “Prince Eddy?”

  “The one and only. He managed to wriggle out of it, though. Lord Arthur Somerset and the Earl of Euston weren’t so lucky. What has any of this to do with Brandon?” he asked.

  “A gentleman called Albert Sanburne was involved in a similar scandal.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Surely you can’t expect I’d reveal a source?”

  “Touché, Lady Ashton. I do remember Sanburne, though. And I think I see why you believe there’s a connection with Brandon.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Sanburne was arrested in a similar raid. The papers all kept quiet about it. Lord Fortescue made it worth our while. But I’m afraid that’s nothing to do with his murder.”

  “He bribed you?”

  Sir Julian shrugged. “It’s not a question of money, Lady Ashton. The story wasn’t particularly interesting anyway, so it didn’t hurt us to focus on other things. The participants weren’t nearly so high-profile as those at Cleveland Street.”

  “Was Fortescue involved?”

  “No, no, he’d never be so careless as to let himself get caught in any sort of compromising position. Sanburne worked in his office. Main reason I can recall the story at all is because although Fortescue kept it out of the papers, Sanburne was ruined anyway.”

  “So the scandal did become public?”

  “‘Public’ isn’t perhaps the proper word. But someone leaked it, and Sanburne’s engagement was called off. The girl’s father humiliated him. Chased him all the way to Vienna, if I recall.”

  “Who was Mr. Sanburne’s fiancée?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t remember. It must have been ten years ago. And these scandals, they come and go so quickly, who could keep track of any of them?” He poured tobacco into a battered pipe.

  “I imagine those whose lives were ruined don’t forget so quickly.”

  “Now don’t go spoiling my fun, Lady Ashton. If you aristocrats are going to behave badly, you’ve got to expect consequences.”

  I HARDLY SLEPT THAT NIGHT, tossing fitfully in a state of semiconsciousness. I was no closer to finding out who had killed Lord Fortescue, nor had I even a sliver of evidence that might exonerate Robert. But while all this troubled me deeply, it was not what kept me awake. I’d heard nothing from Colin since leaving Vienna, and I could not shake from my head a series of horribly imagined images of what Mr. Harrison might do to him.

  At one o’clock, I rose from my bed and paced. At two forty-five, I lit a lamp and tried (and failed) to finish reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. At three thirty, I gave up and scrawled a note to Colin. If he was back in Vienna, he’d have found the letter I’d left detailing Schröder’s plans. The message I wrote now was a simple declaration of love. Before five o’clock, I’d lost the sense of human decency that had kept me from waking my butler. I marched through hallways and upstairs to the servants’ quarters, where I rapped on Davis’s door.

  “Madam?”

  “You’re already dressed,” I said, surprised.

  “It’s nearly five o’clock.”

  “Heavens. I’d no idea you get up so early.”

  “The household, madam, does not run itself.”

  “Well, I shall have to send you to bed earlier. I can’t have you running yourself into the ground.” I passed him the paper I’d brought with me. “Would you please have this wired at once to Mr. Hargreaves in Vienna?”

  “It will be my pleasure.” He bowed neatly.

  “And, Davis?”

  “Madam?”

  “You may take the afternoon off. I’m sure that Odette would appreciate seeing some of London before she and Madame du Lac return to Paris.”

  “Madam, let me assure you that I am not—”

  I raised a hand. “That’s a direct orde
r, Davis. Don’t disappoint me.”

  I returned to my bedroom, but there was little point in trying to sleep now. I rang for Meg, soaked in a hot bath for an obscene length of time, and dressed for the morning. None of my friends was yet awake, and I didn’t want to disturb them, so I breakfasted alone, kept company only by the worry I felt for Colin.

  Alone, that is, until my mother stormed through the door.

  “Lady Bromley, madam,” Davis called over her shoulder, not bothering to come into the room.

  “Mother, I thought you were in Kent,” I said, suddenly feeling even more exhausted than I had before.

  “I came the moment I heard you were back in England. You did go to Newgate. I’ve had it confirmed by an unimpeachable source, so don’t bother trying to deny it. Whatever could you have been thinking?”

  “Robert asked to see me.” I was too tired to come up with an excuse that might be more palatable to her.

  “How dare he try to compromise you with such a request? Where is Ivy? I want to speak to her.”

  “She’s still asleep, Mother, and I’ll not have you bothering her. She’s upset enough.”

  “Well, she ought to be. Made a very poor choice of a husband, if you ask me—”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Emily!” She rapped her umbrella on the floor. “I will not have you speak to me in such a manner. It’s unconscionable that you—”

  “Ivy has trouble enough to contend with. She doesn’t need you to add more.”

  “Her situation is—”

  “More dreadful than you think.” I measured my words carefully, looked at my mother and raised an eyebrow.

  “Really?” She spoke slowly; I nodded. “Poor, dear girl! What will become of the child? This is too awful!”

  “Robert is not guilty, Mother. He will be exonerated.”

  “I wouldn’t say that with such confidence if I were you,” she said. I could see her mind working, going through the ranks of unmarried men. “There must be a respectable widower out there who would be willing to take her on. An older gentleman, perhaps. By the time she’s out of mourning she will be somewhat less tainted by the scandal, but—”