Death Comes to London

by Catherine Lloyd

  “ ‘Place the leaves of the lily of the valley in water and leave to soak overnight,’ ” Lucy murmured. “ ‘Discard the leaves and boil the water, reducing the quantity by half, and bottle the remaining liquid.’ ”

  In the margin of the page a different hand had added more information. “ ‘In small quantities this “tea” can be used to alleviate the symptoms of an irregular heartbeat or a weakness of the heart. But use sparingly. It is deadly if drunk to excess.’ ”

  Lucy looked up to find that Broughton had moved away to speak to Anna and that Major Kurland was standing right at her shoulder looking down at the text she had just quoted.

  “Lieutenant Broughton said that his grandmother marked her favorite pages with red ribbon.”

  “A strange page to mark, then,” Major Kurland commented.

  “Not if she had a heart condition. Perhaps she used this concoction on herself.” Lucy scanned the packed shelves. “We can check in a moment.”

  Major Kurland reached past her and turned to another marked page. “Here we have a remedy for lack of sleep, and another here about the uses of privet berries.”

  “Privet berries?”

  The major stopped turning the pages and went back. “Yes, why?”

  “They are extremely poisonous. Didn’t you know that some of the young children in Kurland St. Mary have died after accidentally eating those bright red berries?”

  “I was not aware of that. Privet hedges are extremely easy to find in the countryside and impossibly expensive to replace with more permanent structures.” Major Kurland frowned. “Can’t the schoolteacher warn the children not to eat the darn things?”

  “There isn’t a school, Major.”

  “I am aware of that. Rest assured I do have the matter in hand.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. If you need any help . . .” Lucy paused.

  “You probably won’t be there to help me, Miss Harrington. You are here to find yourself a husband, are you not?”

  “Yes.” She shut the book and straightened her spine. “Thank you for reminding me. I’m sure your new land agent will deal with the matter perfectly well.”

  Major Kurland glanced over at Broughton, who was looking ready to swoon, and raised his voice. “I think we should be getting back, don’t you? I for one am getting tired and would appreciate a cup of hot tea.”

  Even as she applauded the major for offering Broughton the opportunity to retire back to the house, Lucy gave him a dubious glance. It was unlike him to admit to having any weakness. Was he coming to terms with his own limitations, or merely attempting to help his friend?

  She waited until Sophia and Mr. Stanford left behind Anna and Broughton and shut the door, locking it with the key and standing on tiptoe to restore it to its hiding place on the ledge.

  Major Kurland waited for her and then proffered his arm. “Shall we?”

  “As long as I won’t overbalance you.” She glanced doubtfully at his weakened leg. “You did say you were tired.”

  “I wouldn’t offer my arm if I thought I was going to bring you down with me, would I?”

  “I suppose not, but in my experience, men can be incredibly stubborn about such things.” Lucy accepted his arm and then walked slowly forward, her attention distracted. “Oh, I forgot to check for the bottle of lily of the valley water.”

  Major Kurland sighed. “Go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.”

  She reused the key and went back inside the stillroom. Whatever the state of her health or her eyesight, the dowager had kept her supplies in immaculate order. It took Lucy very little time to discover a bottle labeled lily of the valley and one filled with dried red privet berries. Replacing the bottles on the shelves, she left the stillroom and returned to Major Kurland.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “She had a bottle of privet berries and a bottle for the lily of the valley water.” Lucy took a breath. “The lily of the valley water was all gone.”

  “Which proves nothing, except that she hadn’t made a new batch.”

  “But she labeled and dated the empty bottle.”

  “And?”

  “She only made that particular batch the day before she died, so where did the contents go?”

  Chapter 9

  “And so I would conclude, Lieutenant, that your grandmother was poisoned. I can understand why the attending physician assumed she’d had heart failure. Her symptoms were rather similar. I suspect from the additional information Major Kurland and Miss Harrington supplied to me that she imbibed the poison.”

  “Imbibed? As in drank?” Broughton demanded.

  “Yes, sir. That would seem most likely.”

  “Would it be possible to disguise the taste of poison in a drink?” Robert asked. “I believe that Broughton’s grandmother drank the orgeat Almack’s provided.”

  Dr. Redmond stopped pacing. “Orgeat is a syrupy concoction made from orange flower water, almonds, and barley water. It has a very sweet, sickly taste and would be perfect to hide something in.” He turned to Broughton, who sat back, his hands clutching the arms of the chair. “Did you drink the orgeat?”

  “I did, but not very much of it. It was far too sweet for my taste.”

  “Which might explain why you lived and the dowager countess did not.”

  “The dowager drank a whole glass. Miss Harrington gave it to her,” Robert confirmed.

  Broughton looked up. “Miss Harrington?”

  “Don’t look like that, Broughton. I can vouch for her. She’s no killer.” Robert looked back at the doctor. “Do you have any idea what kind of poison might have been used?”

  “It’s difficult to say. I’d have to investigate more closely to determine exactly what it is.”

  “But you must have your suspicions.”

  Dr. Redmond pursed his lips. “Many poisons can be distilled from quite natural ingredients that are found all around us.”

  “So I noticed in the dowager’s stillroom. I never realized privet was so dangerous.”

  The doctor turned his attention to his patient. “I thought your grandmother was supposed to be kept out of the stillroom, Lieutenant?”

  “Indeed, she was, but it proved rather difficult to stop her getting in there.” Broughton stirred in his chair. “I’m surprised she didn’t argue with you about it on your visits to Broughton House to attend to our health.”

  “The dowager countess refused to speak to me, or allow me to treat her, sir. She told everyone I was in league with the devil.”

  “She was a woman of strong opinions, Doctor, I’ll give you that.”

  “As you are, sir, although your mind tends more to the scientific bent.” He hesitated. “If you are not offended by the notion, Lieutenant, I will consult my copy of Orfila’s book.”

  “Why should we be offended?” Robert studied both of the men’s serious faces.

  “Because the author, Mathieu Joseph Bonaventure Orfila, is a professor in a French university and originates from Spain.”

  “Our quarrel was with Napoleon, not the French people,” Broughton said quietly. “Professor Orfila is a brilliant man regardless of his nationality and choice of residence.”

  “What exactly did he write?” Robert asked.

  “Traité des Poisons. It’s the first scientific treatise about how to identify the most commonly used poisons that leave traces inside a body.”

  Robert managed to repress a shudder. “And how does one go about detecting such evidence?”

  “If one wishes to be polite, I would say one ‘delves deeper’ into one’s subject.” Broughton shrugged. “Science isn’t always pretty, Kurland, but sometimes the end justifies the means.”

  “And you both believe that Orfila’s book will help provide you with an answer as to what killed the dowager countess?”

  “It might do, sir. It depends on what killed her,” Dr. Redmond said. “But as we’ve already noted, there are many ways to make poison.”

  “Would privet do it?” />
  “As I said, Major, I can’t yet be sure of the cause. Professor Orfila’s book offers various methods to establish the identity of a specific poison.”

  “What about lily of the valley?”

  Broughton cleared his throat. “There’s no point in questioning the man, Kurland. He’ll report back to us when he has concluded a proper and scientific analysis of the available evidence and not before. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “And in the meantime, unless there is anything else you wish to tell me, I’ll keep looking for young Oliver.” Robert nodded and rose to his feet. “He has to turn up eventually.”

  “Unless he is guilty.”

  Robert glanced briefly at Dr. Redmond, who was looking troubled, but it seemed that Broughton didn’t mind speaking in front of his physician.

  “There could be any number of things preventing him from coming home, Broughton. It is a thoughtless age. I rarely bothered to speak to my parents unless I needed more money.”

  “That sounds just like Oliver.”

  Robert patted Broughton’s shoulder. “Don’t despair quite yet. We’ll find him.”

  “Thank you.” Broughton let out his breath. “I am beginning to fear the worst.”

  Robert was, too, but he didn’t think that Broughton in his current weakened state needed to hear his thoughts on the matter yet. He’d agreed to meet Silas Smith at nine in one of the taverns on Fleet Street Oliver had liked to frequent. He glanced at the clock on the landing chiming the half hour. If he could avoid the countess, he’d go and speak to Miss Harrington before he left on his mission to recover Oliver.

  Lucy was sitting in the drawing room with Mrs. Hathaway when the butler announced a visitor. She had decided not to go out with Sophia and the Clavelly party to yet another ball. A rather enthusiastic dance partner the evening before had bruised her foot, and she’d decided to stay home and rest it rather than potentially making it worse.

  “Major Kurland, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Hathaway went to rise, but the major held up his hand. “Don’t get up, ma’am. I do hope I’m not disturbing you? I wanted to have a word with Miss Harrington about a Kurland St. Mary matter.”

  “You’re always welcome here, Major.” Mrs. Hathaway gestured at the tea tray. “Would you like some tea, or perhaps something else to drink?”

  “A brandy would be most acceptable, Mrs. Hathaway. Thank you.”

  While his hostess spoke to the still-hovering butler, the major came over to Lucy.

  “Why aren’t you out dancing?”

  She indicated her slippered foot, which reposed on a footstool. “I injured my foot last night at a ball we attended after our visit to the Broughtons.”

  He cast a critical gaze on her elevated limb as he took the seat beside her on the couch. “It looks perfectly fine to me. Is your ankle swollen?”

  She hastily smoothed down her skirt. “That is none of your business.”

  “I assume it isn’t broken. Otherwise Mrs. Hathaway would’ve called a doctor to attend to you.” He smiled. “You must recall that I am something of an expert on the malfunctioning of a limb, Miss Harrington.”

  “Not my limbs. And I am fairly sure that your toes have never been crushed on the dance floor by an overweight man.”

  He glanced down at his gleaming top boots. “Not while I’m in uniform, although I have had a few memorable encounters on the dance floor with some remarkably clumsy women.”

  “Do you miss that?” she asked impulsively.

  His smile faded. “Dancing? Yes, rather more than I thought I would, actually. I miss a lot of things.” He turned to the butler, who set a bottle of brandy and a glass at his elbow. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Hathaway settled herself on the other side of the fireplace and had her nose in a book and a cup of tea at her elbow. She waved a lace-mittened hand at Lucy.

  “Don’t mind me. I’m far too engrossed in this story to make intelligent conversation. You’ll have to make do with each other.”

  Lucy hoped Major Kurland didn’t notice the wink Mrs. Hathaway gave her. She didn’t understand why all her female relatives were constantly imagining there was anything between her and the major other than a great deal of irritation. Couldn’t they tell the difference between a man in love and one who sought out an intelligent opinion? She’d never met a man who seemed able to do both. She was beginning to believe such a man didn’t exist.

  “Miss Harrington, Dr. Redmond believes the dowager and Broughton were poisoned at Almack’s.”

  “Does he know how?”

  “He suspects the poison was in the orgeat. He said it was strongly flavored enough to conceal anything added to it.”

  “Which makes a horrible sense.” Lucy sipped at her tea. “Did he reveal what kind of poison he thought it was?”

  “He refused to be more specific than that. He insisted he needed to consult some new scientific book about detecting poisons before he could be absolutely sure what was going on.”

  “That must be Orfila’s book.” Lucy nodded. “I’ve read some of it.”

  “You have?”

  “Naturally. My father ordered a copy as soon as it became available.”

  “And what did you think of it?”

  “That it was fascinating, although I’m still not sure why proving how something works in a chemical manner makes a difference to the effect it has on the body. The person is still dead after all.”

  “But the ability to identify which poison was used could rule out more natural causes of death and convict a killer.”

  “We’re all going to die of something, Major. I still don’t see how it changes anything.”

  Major Kurland shifted in his seat. “To get back to my original point, Miss Harrington. If the dowager and Broughton were both poisoned by the orgeat, who put the poison in there?”

  “I assume Lieutenant Broughton still thinks it was Oliver?”

  Robert refilled his brandy glass. “Well, Oliver did have access to his grandmother’s stillroom. He could’ve taken the privet berries, or the lily of the valley water, or whatever else the dowager was making, and used it to poison his own family.”

  “I suppose he could’ve done.”

  “Why do you sound so doubtful?”

  Lucy put down her cup and considered. “Any of the Broughton family or their servants could’ve gone into that stillroom and taken something.”

  “The door was locked.”

  “But the key was hidden in a very obvious place.”

  “That’s true, but Oliver had a grudge against the whole family and was known to have a vicious streak. Poisoning sounds just the sort of dramatic thing he would do,” Major Kurland countered

  “Yet, it is still considered a woman’s weapon. Think of Catherine de Medici or Lucrezia Borgia, or—”

  “Yes, yes, but in this instance we’re dealing with an overemotional boy, not an exaggerated view of a historical figure.”

  “Mrs. Peters in the village poisoned her husband.”

  Major Kurland began to tap his fingers on the head of his cane. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “She was a tiny woman and her husband beat her. She didn’t even deny poisoning him. She said that it was the only way she could stop him from hurting her and their children.”

  “So you’ve managed to convince yourself that the murderer is a woman?”

  “If the dowager was the intended victim, everyone at odds with her apart from Oliver was female.” She counted them off on her fingers. “There’s Miss Chingford, Anna, although she is certainly not guilty, the current Countess of Broughton, and Lady Bentley, who all had good reason to dislike the dowager.”

  “Dislike her, yes, but kill her? And what about Broughton? Are you quite sure that he wasn’t the one who was supposed to drop dead? Oliver hates him and his grandmother.”

  “So if it is Oliver, you could be right. I’m not convinced.”

  He scowled down at her, but she refused to
be cowed.

  “It’s not a competition, Miss Harrington. I’m merely speculating as to the motives and identity of a murderer.”

  “So am I.” She held his irritated blue gaze. “You must also recollect that a stillroom is very much a female’s domain. If Oliver was indeed in his grandmother’s stillroom looking for ways to dispose of his brother, someone might have noticed. Have you spoken to the servants yet?”

  “No, I’d rather find Oliver first before I start spreading suspicion and doubt among the Broughton staff.”

  “Very wise, Major.” Lucy nodded. She could sense that he was becoming irritated with her circuitous reasoning. “There is, of course, one other option that we should perhaps consider.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The dowager had specifically marked those poisons in her herbal, hadn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then one might assume that she was either planning to make them or often made them.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Then might one also speculate that she was conversant in their usage?”

  “We already agreed that she might have used at least one of them as a home remedy to regulate her weak heart.”

  “That’s true, but is it also possible that she accidentally poisoned herself?”

  Major Kurland shook his head. “Sometimes your meandering path of reasoning astounds me, Miss Harrington. How on earth did you come up with that melodramatic claptrap? This isn’t a gothic novel.”

  Lucy raised her chin. “The dowager’s eyesight was bad, her temper and disposition were abominable, and she enjoyed tormenting people. Perhaps she was the one who decided she’d had enough of Broughton, the countess, or Oliver?”

  “Which would mean Broughton is lucky to be alive.”

  “I gave her the glass of orgeat, Major, when she was confused and she was extremely reluctant to take it from me. Perhaps she meant to pick up her own, and the ones with the poison in them were meant for Broughton and Oliver.”

  “That would require a degree of planning and forethought that I doubt the dowager could have accomplished in such a public setting.”