Death Comes to London

by Catherine Lloyd

  “Well, someone did. Why not she? She did seem to be seriously unwell and became confused. Perhaps she even added the poison to her own glass and meant to hand it to Oliver, and drank the wrong one?”

  “This is all fascinating, Miss Harrington, but also extremely far-fetched, and with all due respect simply the typical product of an overactive female imagination.”

  Lucy sat back and folded her arms. “Says the man who feared he was imagining a shadow against the church wall and begged me to investigate.”

  The look he gave her was scorching. “That’s not the same thing at all, and you know it.”

  “But I at least gave you the benefit of the doubt, and didn’t assume you had an overactive imagination, did I?”

  “Of course not. You knew that as a military man I wouldn’t . . .” He stopped speaking and sighed. “All right, then. I’ll take your lurid imaginings and bear them in mind as I search for Oliver.”

  “Thank you, Major Kurland. All I ask is that you keep an open mind. Has a memorial service been arranged for the dowager yet?”

  “I don’t think so, why?”

  “Has the body even been released to the family?”

  “The last I heard, Dr. Redmond was examining it. I suppose it depends on whether he makes his suspicions public and asks the coroner to investigate.”

  “What do you think Lieutenant Broughton will do if his brother is indeed the culprit?”

  “Possibly nothing. I suspect he’d be reluctant to drag his family’s name into such a sordid matter.”

  “Then you really need to find Oliver soon.”

  “I’m doing my best, Miss Harrington. London is rather a large city.” He put his brandy glass down. “In fact, I’m off after the young fool this evening.” He consulted his pocket watch and slowly rose to his feet, one hand gripping his cane. “It’s always a pleasure to speak to you, Miss Harrington. I appreciate your insight.”

  “And I always appreciate your company, Major.”

  “Liar.” His sudden smile was unexpectedly charming. “We fight like cat and dog.” He bowed. “Good evening. I’ll let you know if I discover anything new.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  She watched him make his halting way over to Mrs. Hathaway and make his adieus and then returned her attention to her hands that were folded in her lap.

  “Lucy?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Hathaway?”

  “Come and sit by me, dear.”

  Lucy concealed a sigh and went to sit by her chaperone. “I know it isn’t proper to have such a long conversation with one gentleman, especially at this time of night, but Major Kurland is an old family friend and I feel obliged to offer him my advice when he seeks me out.”

  “As I was sitting here chaperoning you the whole time Major Kurland was present I’m hardly going to be lecturing you about that, now am I?” Mrs. Hathaway patted Lucy’s hand. “What I was going to say was that some men, actually most men, don’t like to think that women are intelligent. It frightens them.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Lucy said gloomily.

  “Which is why a lady on the lookout for a husband must conceal her intelligence until she has safely hooked her man and married him.”

  “That seems remarkably deceitful.”

  “Oh no, dear. It’s simply good advice. Every man needs to be flattered a little and told that he is right even when he isn’t.”

  “A little?” Lucy snorted. “Major Kurland wouldn’t believe me if I did flatter him. He’d simply think I was after something.”

  “You might be surprised, my dear. He does keep coming to see you.”

  “Only because he values my opinion. You must not be imagining anything else, ma’am.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to be the lady of Kurland Hall?”

  “I’ve never thought about it.”

  “Then I suggest you do. I’m not the only one who believes Major Kurland’s intentions toward you are becoming very marked.”

  “Oh good Lord. Who else?” Lucy asked.

  “Your aunt and uncle for certain, and Miss Chingford hasn’t a pleasant word to say about you and Anna stealing her admirers. I wouldn’t be surprised if the earl doesn’t ask Major Kurland about his intentions fairly soon. Now that he is to become a baronet, your uncle considers him a worthy match for the granddaughter of an earl.”

  Lucy simply stared at Mrs. Hathaway. “Major Kurland won’t be amused if my uncle starts asking him about his intentions. It will make things very awkward between us.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, dear. The menfolk will decide these matters in their own way.”

  “Which is ridiculous in itself. I’m not a pig being bought or sold at market!”

  Mrs. Hathaway chuckled and patted Lucy’s knee. “Now don’t fly into alt, Lucy. Lady Kurland does have rather a nice sound to it, don’t you think?”

  Robert paid off the hackney and stepped into the grimy street. The lamps had been lit, but their flickering glow barely penetrated the dark corners of the row of tall buildings on both sides of the road. The smell of beer, sweat, and the stables drifted past Robert’s nose and he turned toward the sign swinging over the archway entrance to the mews behind the Red Dragon Inn.

  Smith fell into step beside him. “Do you want me to go and ask the landlord whether the young master is here, sir?”

  “I can do that myself.”

  Smith cast a dubious glance at Robert’s uniform. “You might not want to be seen in such a place, Major. The locals don’t take kindly to the military around here. Let me go and ask around.”

  “There’s not much I can do about my attire now, is there?” Robert sighed. “You go and talk to the landlord. I’ll take a quick glance inside.”

  “You’ll wait for me to investigate further, though, sir?”

  “If you think it wise.”

  Smith disappeared into the mews, and Robert turned toward the scarred oak door that led into the inn. He had to bend his head to avoid the low-hanging beams in the narrow passageway that separated the tavern proper from the coaching side of the business. The door into the public bar reverberated with a low rumble of sound that occasionally became raucous. Robert decided not to enter and glanced toward the right. In the daytime the large room would be filled with busy travelers awaiting their conveyances or acquiring a room for the night. At the moment it was empty apart from a rush basket on the end of one of the trestle tables that appeared to contain a forgotten chicken.

  At the far end of the passageway, there was a staircase that obviously led up to the rooms for rent above the inn. Seeing no one around, Robert went up the stairs and found himself on a landing surrounded by six numbered doors. A single lantern swung back and forth illuminating the cramped space.

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir.”

  Robert almost lost his balance as a maidservant emerged from the door behind him with a bundle of bedclothes almost as big as she was clutched in her arms. He managed to grab hold of one of the vertical beams that framed the staircase and steadied himself.

  “Are you after a room, sir?”

  “Actually, I was after an acquaintance of mine, a Mr. Oliver Broughton. Is he still here?”

  The maid took a hurried step backward. “I couldn’t say, sir. I’m not allowed to share the names of our guests.”

  “I have an urgent message from his brother about a death in the family.”

  The young woman hesitated. “Well, he was in number four, sir, but I don’t know—”

  “Thank you.” Robert stepped out of her way and gestured at the stairs. “I’ll follow you down in a moment.” He retrieved a coin from his pocket and handed it to her. “No need to worry the landlord.”

  After one scared glance back at him, the maid carefully descended the stairs, leaving Robert in the silence. He moved as swiftly as he could to the fourth door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again and then brought his hand up to the latch and gently pressed down.

  The do
or swung inward, and Robert almost recoiled at the stench of human waste and sickness. He gripped the door frame hard enough to hurt his fingers and forced back the memories of battle and the chaos of a hastily improvised medical station in a ruined French chateau.

  A man lay facedown on the bed, one arm trailing on the floor. A bucket stood close to his head and his nightshirt was filthy. Holding his breath, Robert advanced into the small, sloping space and looked down at the unmoving figure.

  “Major!”

  His attention snapped back to the door where Smith stood panting as if he’d run up the stairs.

  “Yes?”

  He swallowed hard. “He ain’t dead, is he?”

  “No thanks to you. How long have you known he was here?”

  Smith joined him by the bed. “What makes you think I knew anything?”

  Robert met his gaze. “Because this is the first time you’ve tried to dissuade me from involving myself in the search. I’ve dealt with a lot of young men during my military career. I can usually tell when I’m being lied to.”

  Smith sat gingerly on the side of the filthy bed and took hold of Oliver Broughton’s wrist. An expression of alarm flooded his face.

  “Major? I can’t tell if he’s breathing anymore.”

  Robert rolled Oliver over onto his back and stared into his waxen countenance. He’d seen far too many men near death not to recognize it even in civilian surroundings. “Go and find the landlord, and call us a hackney cab. We need to get him home at once.”

  Chapter 10

  “I’m not sure if your brother will live, Lieutenant, but I’ve at least made him comfortable.”

  Dr. Redmond drew the covers over his patient’s naked chest and smoothed Oliver’s hair away from his face before moving away from the bed, his expression strained. He started to pack away his instruments with hands that shook.

  “Are you all right, Dr. Redmond?” Robert asked.

  “I’m fine, Major. It is always a shock to see a young man in such a pitiful state, especially when one is well acquainted with the family.”

  After a nod from Broughton, one of the maidservants took up her station by the side of the bed, ready to watch over Oliver. Robert followed the doctor and Broughton out into the hallway and down to Broughton’s suite of rooms.

  “Thank you for finding him, Kurland.” Broughton nodded as he subsided into one of the chairs by the fire. He didn’t look much better than his brother.

  “It was simply a process of elimination,” Robert said. “I just wish that thoughtless manservant of his had told us where Oliver was immediately.”

  “The stupid young fool,” Broughton said. “I’ve cast him off without a reference. He’ll find it very difficult to find another job in London.”

  Robert studied Broughton. “That seems a little harsh. His loyalty was to his master.”

  “I’m his master, I pay the bills. Smith answered only to me.”

  Robert wisely didn’t argue with that, although to the best of his knowledge it was the dowager and Broughton’s father who managed the finances of the family. Or it had been. He supposed Broughton was in charge now by default.

  “Has Oliver been poisoned, too, Dr. Redmond?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The doctor swung around from his contemplation of the fire. He still seemed rather distracted. “It’s highly possible. According to his manservant, he was taken ill shortly after he arrived at the inn, and hasn’t left his bed since the night of the ball.”

  “Did Smith tell him what had happened to Broughton and his grandmother?”

  “I didn’t ask, Major. I didn’t consider it my business.”

  “Did you ask him, Broughton?”

  “No.”

  Robert looked at them both. “Would you object if I sought Smith’s opinion before he left?”

  “Not at all.” Broughton nodded his permission. “I assume you think it might be important, although I’m not sure why. As I mentioned, Oliver tends to remember only the things that show him in a favorable light.”

  “Which is why it might be important to see if he received that information and how he reacted to it. Excuse me, won’t you?”

  Robert made his way along to his own room and found Foley there sewing a button onto one of his shirts.

  “Major Kurland? What’s wrong?”

  “There’s nothing wrong, Foley. I just need your help.”

  “Naturally, Major. What can I do for you?” Foley put the sewing aside.

  “Can you find Silas Smith?”

  “I believe he’s been dismissed.”

  “I know that, but can you see if he’s still in the house? I need to speak to him.” Robert walked over to the fireplace and contemplated the burning coals.

  “I’ll go and find out immediately. Do you want me to bring him here?”

  “If you would, please.”

  “And do you require anything else while I’m forced to go up and down these stairs again, sir?”

  Robert looked over his shoulder. “Do you want me to go instead?”

  “Not at all, sir, not with your leg in the state it’s in.”

  “Good. Then I’ll await you here.” Robert sat in the nearest chair and stretched out his booted feet to the blaze. Foley didn’t appreciate all the levels of the Broughton town house and had made that very clear. In truth, Robert didn’t appreciate them either. Stairs and steps made his life a misery.

  Within a few minutes, Smith came into his room and stood before Robert. He was dressed for traveling and carried what appeared to be all his meager possessions in a knotted sack that he placed at his feet.

  “Major Kurland.”

  Robert studied the manservant’s face. “If your employer dies it might be your fault. Why in God’s name didn’t you tell someone where he was?”

  Smith’s expression tightened. “He made me promise not to tell anyone.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I just know that he begged me not to tell his family where he was. He was terrified.”

  That didn’t sound like the actions of an innocent man. “Did he know the dowager countess had died, and that his brother was sick?”

  “I didn’t tell him, if that’s what you mean, sir. He barely woke up after that first night.”

  “So it’s possible that he doesn’t know?”

  “I suppose so, sir.”

  Robert considered the firm set of Smith’s mouth. He’d got to know the young man reasonably well on their nightly quests to find Oliver and found him steady, dependable, and loyal to a fault. “Do you have anywhere to go, Smith?”

  “Not really, sir, not without a reference.” His mouth twisted. “I’ll have to go back home and help out on the farm.”

  “Perhaps you might consider doing something for me first. I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

  “Like what, sir?”

  “Take a message to my house in Kurland St. Mary and bring me back any reply.”

  “I’d be right happy to do that.”

  Robert went across to the writing desk set against the wall. “Just give me a moment to write the letter and you can be on your way.”

  He scribbled a note to his potential new land agent, apologizing for his continuing absence and asking if Mr. Fairfax could remain in place for a while longer. He sealed the note with wax, pressed his signet ring into it, and turned back to Smith.

  “Take this to Mr. Fairfax, my land agent at Kurland Manor. Foley will give you further directions. I suggest you stay at a coaching inn tonight and leave in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” Smith took the letter and slowly counted the coins Robert handed him. “I think this might be too much, sir.”

  “Then keep an account of your spending and we can settle up when you return.”

  “How do you want me to contact you?” Smith cleared his throat. “I can hardly come back here.”

  “That’s a good point. I’ll give you the address of a family I’m acquaint
ed with here in London, the Hathaways. You can meet me there.”

  “Thank you, Major Kurland.”

  Robert nodded as Foley reappeared clutching his heart as if the stairs had finally defeated him. “My butler will walk you out.”

  So what had Oliver Broughton meant when he’d begged his manservant not to reveal his location to his family? Whom was he more scared of, his brother or his grandmother?

  Eventually, Foley returned, his breathing even more ragged. “I gave Smith the Hathaway address, sir, and sent him to the correct inn to connect with the Saffron Walden coach tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, Foley.”

  “He seemed a nice enough lad.”

  “He’s certainly loyal, but in this instance, that loyalty might cost his former employer his life.” Robert accepted the brandy Foley poured for him and slowly sipped it. “If he completes this task satisfactorily, I might consider taking him on myself.”

  “As your valet, sir?”

  “Possibly, but I’d want to see whether he likes Kurland St. Mary first and that he won’t pine for the city. I have no intention of spending much time here in the future.”

  “But surely once you take your place in the House of Lords, you’ll have to be in London quite regularly, sir.” Foley hesitated. “You do wish to take your seat?”

  “Baronets aren’t entitled to a seat in the Lords, Foley. But I might consider a run for Parliament instead.” Robert frowned. “Devil take it, if I do that I’ll have to find somewhere more permanent to live, won’t I?”

  “Do you wish me to inquire as to suitable properties, sir?” Foley literally brightened. “I am rather lacking in occupation at the moment. The Broughton butler is resistant to my offer to help him restructure this house in a more efficient manner.”

  “You can certainly begin some inquiries for me, Foley.” Robert sighed. “I’ll have to pay closer attention to the matters being addressed in the lower house and decide whether I wish to become involved, and on which side.”

  “I’d be delighted to help out, Major.” Foley refilled the brandy glass. “Do you wish to own a town house or an apartment, or will you merely be leasing something until you settle down more permanently?”