They’d agreed to convene in one of the private parlors at Fenton’s the next morning and Robert was impatiently awaiting his guests. The relief of being out of Broughton House had been immeasurable, particularly after Broughton’s unsubtle attempt to direct Robert’s thoughts into believing Oliver was a murderer. Every time he pictured Oliver’s panicked expression as Dr. Redmond and Broughton had arrived home that night he wanted to flay Broughton alive.
A knock on the door drew his attention back to the present as one of the maids brought in a tray of coffee and other victuals and placed them on the table. Her exit was swiftly followed by the arrival of Andrew, Mrs. Giffin, and Miss Harrington, who brought the snap of the cold easterly wind with them in their pink cheeks and disheveled locks.
It didn’t take long for bonnets to be discarded, cloaks to be set aside, and for the four of them to be seated around the table. Miss Harrington produced a stub of pencil and a piece of paper that was already covered in writing.
“Well, where shall we start?” she asked.
Andrew Stanford raised his hand. “I went to Almack’s and checked the subscriptions book for the ball the night the dowager died. Dr. Redmond was present.”
“Damn,” Robert said. “So we still can’t discount him.”
He turned back to Miss Harrington. “Tell us what happened with Mr. Bentley.”
Miss Harrington talked, and Sophia Giffin added her impressions, building a picture of the events leading up to the disaster on the boating lake that made a terrible kind of sense.
“Mr. Bentley entrusted me with the rubies.” Miss Harrington laid a flat green velvet jewelry box on the table and opened it to display a sumptuous ruby and gold necklace that shone even in the shadows of the room. “And even more importantly, with these.” She placed two pieces of paper on the table. “One is the original bill of purchase from the jeweler to Lieutenant Broughton. The other is Lady Bentley’s receipt from the jeweler for the same rubies.”
Andrew Stanford whistled. “That’s pretty damning, although there is still no direct evidence to convict Broughton of murdering Lady Bentley or anyone else.”
“I know.” Miss Harrington sighed. “Mr. Bentley also asked us to convey his apologies to you, Major. He said that he misjudged you and appreciated your effort to save his mother’s life. When he first approached the scene, he thought you were strangling her.”
“Now I come to think of it, her neck was rather red,” Robert admitted. “I assumed that was because we’d had to drag her out of the lake. But maybe Broughton wanted to make absolutely sure that she wouldn’t rise to the surface and be saved. . . .” He shook his head. “Not that it matters. For all intents and purposes she was dead once Broughton realized she might know what had really happened to the jewelry.”
“But why couldn’t he leave the matter alone? With the dowager dead, surely the whole thing would’ve been quickly forgotten?” Miss Harrington asked. “Lady Bentley had her jewels and the satisfaction of knowing she’d won in the end.”
“Not if Mr. Bentley insisted on carrying out his threat to bring the matter to court. Everything would’ve come out in public. Broughton couldn’t afford for any suspicion as to his need for money to be revealed, or all his creditors would’ve been dunning him.”
“But Lady Bentley had already decided to tell her son the truth, hadn’t she?”
“Yes, but Broughton didn’t know that or even exactly what evidence the Bentleys had. I suppose he decided to err on the side of caution.”
“And took advantage of the collision on the lake.”
“I asked Anna about that again last night. She said that Mr. Bentley was originally making right for them, but seemed to think better of it and eased back. It was her boat that collided with the Phillips boat, which became entangled with the Bentleys and tipped everyone overboard.”
“So Broughton might have managed that, too.”
“Yes.” Miss Harrington sat back. “I also spoke to Hester Macleod and she gave me a sample of her handwriting. She did write the labels, but she insisted it was Lieutenant Broughton who made up the elixir. Of course, if it comes down to it, Broughton can claim to have no knowledge of this particular bottle of medicine because it looks like Hester made it and one would assume it was given with Dr. Redmond’s approval.”
“So, again we can prove nothing,” Robert said. “And if Broughton’s story about Oliver’s culpability is accepted, then he will get away with murder.”
“We still don’t know that he murdered anyone, Robert.” Andrew tapped the list. “All we know is that he is desperately in debt and we assume he needed to gain control of his grandmother’s finances before his father returned to see what a mess he’d made of everything.”
“Which gives him all the motive in the world.”
“To prove that he poisoned anyone, we’d need evidence from the body. And finding that despite Orfila’s and others’ work is still a dark art.”
Robert rubbed an impatient hand over his jaw. “Do we know what was in that bottle by Oliver’s bedside yet?”
“Not yet. I have someone from Fletchers analyzing it for us. He’s very discreet.”
“Then the only thing I can think of to do now is have an honest conversation with Dr. Redmond.” Robert looked around the table. “Does everyone agree?”
“I wonder if Broughton intends to cast the doctor as the other villain of the piece?” Miss Harrington asked. “One has to suspect that if anyone doesn’t believe that Oliver was responsible, Broughton might need to produce another likely culprit.”
“And Dr. Redmond is the Broughton family physician. I’ve found out some interesting information about him,” Andrew said. “Did you know that he attended Eton and knew Oliver rather well before he met the lieutenant?”
“Are you suggesting . . . ?” Robert didn’t want to discuss Oliver’s personal proclivities in front of the ladies, but Andrew simply nodded.
“One has to wonder about that, doesn’t one?”
“About what?” Miss Harrington demanded, her attention swiveling between Robert and Andrew. “Why would Dr. Redmond countenance the murder of someone he was friends with? Do you think he expected Broughton to pay him, too?”
Robert stood up. “Perhaps we should go and alert Dr. Redmond to his peril. Where might we find him at this hour of the day?”
“I believe he has an office on Harley Street; we can visit him there,” Andrew said. “I’ll escort the ladies home, and then I’ll come back and pick you up.”
Miss Harrington made a huffing sound and stared pointedly at Robert. “You must promise to tell us what transpires with Dr. Redmond.”
“Naturally, Miss Harrington. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”
Andrew paused at the door. “If you would prefer it, Miss Harrington, I could escort Mrs. Giffin home and you could go with Robert to visit Dr. Redmond?”
“But she wouldn’t be chaperoned,” Sophia Giffin said.
The sudden fall in Miss Harrington’s hopeful expression stopped Robert’s instant denial of her claim to be present at the crucial interview.
“I’m sure one of the maids here at the hotel could accompany us.”
“Then that’s settled.” Andrew winked at Mrs. Giffin. “You can take my carriage, Robert, and Mrs. Giffin and I will quite happily walk back to the Hathaways’ house.”
“To what do I owe this honor, Major Kurland, Miss Harrington?”
Robert took the seat offered to him in Dr. Redmond’s study and waited until Miss Harrington settled beside him. Despite his relatively young age, the physician occupied a respectable set of consulting rooms on one of the best streets in London and appeared very at ease in them.
“We wished to talk to you about the recent deaths in the Broughton family.”
“Such a tragedy.” Dr. Redmond shook his head. “The dowager countess was an elderly lady who tended to ignore my advice and insisted on medicating herself. I confess that I wasn’t terribly surprised wh
en she succumbed to heart failure, although the timing of her death was rather unfortunate.”
“In what way?”
Dr. Redmond’s eyebrows rose. “I simply meant that dying at a subscription ball at the most exclusive club in London was bound to create just the sort of publicity a well-to-do family strives to avoid.”
“Ah, I see, how vulgar of her.”
“Is something wrong, Major Kurland?”
“There might be. If the dowager’s death was understandable, what do you make of Oliver Broughton’s decision to throw himself off a window ledge?”
Dr. Redmond flinched and dropped his gaze to his desk where he began to rearrange his notepads. “I . . . regret Oliver’s death more than I can say.”
“Do you feel responsible for what happened?”
“Of course I do.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand why he wasn’t getting better. I tried everything—”
“May I ask,” Miss Harrington interrupted him. “What exactly did you imagine was wrong with Oliver in the first place?”
“I assumed he’d merely suffered from the same gastrointestinal complaint Broughton had, and I treated him accordingly, but he also seemed . . .” His voice trailed off. “Why are you asking me all these things? Do you have Broughton’s permission to question me and interfere in the private affairs of his family?”
Robert crossed one booted foot over the other. “We don’t have his permission, because we suspect he wouldn’t give it to us. Are you aware that Lieutenant Broughton is seriously in debt, doctor?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you also aware that he is quietly telling people that Oliver poisoned his grandmother in a fit of jealous rage and then killed himself because of his ‘unnatural leanings’ and his guilt over taking a life?”
All the color bled from the doctor’s face. “That can’t be true, Broughton wouldn’t—”
“I hate to disappoint you, Doctor, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’ll blame Oliver for everything, and bury him and the dowager in the countryside where no one will ever think of them again. Is that what you want?” He paused. “I understand you knew Oliver from Eton. Will you forget him as easily as his brother will?”
“No,” Dr. Redmond whispered. “How could I?”
“Which brings me to my next question. Was Lieutenant Broughton really ill after Almack’s?”
“Yes, of course he was. Why do you ask?”
“Dr. Redmond, let me be blunt. You were at Almack’s that night. Did you conspire with Lieutenant Broughton to poison his grandmother?”
With a stifled groan Dr. Redmond covered his face with his hands. “Conspire? I’d hardly call it that. Coerced might be a better word, or even blackmailed.”
“Are you suggesting Broughton forced you to help him? Why would he do that?”
“Because of Oliver. Because he knew—” Dr. Redmond’s breath shuddered out. “A year or so ago Broughton sought me out and made me believe he was interested in my scientific studies. I must admit that I was flattered by his attention and I needed a patron to introduce me to the right people. He also introduced me to Oliver, not realizing, I assumed, that we already knew each other from Eton. I did my best to keep away from him. Eventually Broughton told me that he knew what I’d done and that if I didn’t help him he’d expose me to my colleagues as a . . .” Dr. Redmond glanced at Miss Harrington and stopped speaking.
Robert nodded. “I understand. So you agreed to help him dispose of the dowager.”
“Yes, the dowager countess was extremely frail anyway. Broughton suggested that a slight increase in her self-administered heart medicine might hasten her end. He didn’t mention anything about needing money and, having met the dowager on several occasions, I could see how one might grow to hate her.”
“How did you intend to accomplish your goal?”
“As I said, the dowager was already brewing a tea made of foxglove seeds and leaves to aid the regularity of her heart. I did speak to her about the dangers of such a concoction, but she wouldn’t listen to me. William Withering had already made a study of foxglove, or digitalis as it was more formally known in 1785, which advocated its scientific use as a modern therapeutic, so I considered it marginally acceptable.”
Robert nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes, but what exactly did you change in the medication?”
“I made the tea more concentrated. That’s all.”
“And what effect would that have?”
Dr. Redmond shrugged. “As I said, it increased the likelihood of the dowager having a heart attack.”
“In fact, you were shortening her life.”
“Yes.”
“So what happened at Almack’s? Did you misjudge the dose?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” Miss Harrington sat forward, her gloved hands clutched tightly together in her lap.
“Broughton asked me to make him a new vial of the concentrated digitalis, as he was running out. I gave it to him at Almack’s that night. I ended up leaving earlier than I intended because I saw Oliver storm out in a rage and I tried to talk to him.” He sighed. “I believe I just made things worse. By the time we’d finished arguing, the dowager must’ve been dead. I suspect I was meant to be available at Almack’s to confirm the dowager’s death from natural causes, but in my haste to confront Oliver, I wasn’t there.”
“So it’s possible Broughton chose to administer the poison himself?”
“I really don’t know,” Dr. Redmond said slowly. “It was only when I saw the dowager’s body that I realized something was wrong. Not only was her heart badly damaged, but she bore additional signs of arsenic poisoning.”
“And did you mention that to Broughton?”
“Yes, he suggested that I keep my mouth shut. When I protested that it was against my principles to lie about such matters, he showed me the bottle of digitalis with my handwriting on it. He said that if I didn’t keep quiet, he’d make sure he ‘found’ the bottle and would have no hesitation in denouncing me as his grandmother’s murderer.”
“Clever.”
“Yes.” Dr. Redmond cleared his throat. “So I agreed to keep quiet.”
“Because you were implicated in her death.”
“You don’t understand. I thought helping him shorten the dowager’s life would stop him blackening my name and reputation, and that he’d leave me alone. I thought it would make Oliver’s life easier, too, if the old harridan wasn’t there to bully him. But, of course, I was wrong.”
“With all due respect, Dr. Redmond, you didn’t simply ‘shorten’ the dowager’s life, you ended it by giving Broughton the poison you brewed,” Robert snapped. “I hardly think this matter reflects well on you at all. If Broughton is ever challenged about these convenient deaths, I suspect he’ll inform on you just as easily as he implicated Oliver.”
“God, no.” Dr. Redmond shook his head.
Robert made no effort to reassure the man. As far as he was concerned, he was almost as bad as Broughton. “I presume you thought the matter would be over when Oliver regained his health, as you expected him to do so.”
“But poor Oliver became worse.” Miss Harrington sounded far too sympathetic for Robert’s liking, but the doctor turned gratefully toward her.
“Yes, he became very weak and confused and was unable to keep most foods down. He also kept insisting he could see ghosts in the corners of his room. Broughton believed his mind was disturbed.”
“He would.” Robert couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Did you know Lieutenant Broughton has been conducting some scientific experiments of his own?”
“I was aware of his interest in such matters, yes. He’s been exterminating vermin using the scientific method to record and evaluate his findings.”
“Using what type of poison?”
“White arsenic, I believe. Why?”
“I’m not sure. Did you prescribe Oliver some of the dowager’s
rose-hip cough medicine as well?”
“I knew Oliver was taking it, but Broughton assured me that Hester Macleod had made the last batch, so there was no fear of the dowager having made a mistake.”
“I saw Oliver just before he died. His nurse had just given him the rose-hip syrup.”
“How do you know that for sure?”
“I spoke to her just before she was dismissed for incompetence, and I confiscated the bottle of medicine.”
Dr. Redmond half-stretched out his hand. “Do you have it with you?”
“It’s already being tested.”
Horror dawned on the doctor’s already ashen features. “You think Broughton killed Oliver, don’t you?”
Robert smiled. “Well, if you didn’t, who else could it be?”
Lucy glanced up at Major Kurland as he handed the maid onto the outside seat of the carriage and then helped her inside.
“You were very harsh with poor Dr. Redmond.”
“My dear Miss Harrington, he willingly conspired with Broughton to shorten the dowager’s life! In my book that makes him almost as guilty as Broughton. Does that not offend you?”
“Yes, but he certainly didn’t aid Broughton willingly. He did it out of fear for his reputation.”
The major’s expression remained stern. “And self-interest. What about his Hippocratic oath to do no harm to his patients?” Major Kurland snorted. “He only remembered that when he saw the dowager’s body and realized he might be implicated in a murder.”
“He obviously panicked.” Lucy smoothed down the gray skirt of her pelisse. “You have no concept of how it must be to make your own way in the world like Dr. Redmond had to do.”
“I’ve made my own way, Miss Harrington.”
“To a certain extent I suppose you have. Although, as far as I understand it, you need money to purchase a commission in a decent regiment and your family always had ample funds.”
“Only in this generation. My grandfather was a common laborer before he built his own mills and became a wealthy man. I’ve had to overcome my fair share of aristocratic prejudice.”
“And Dr. Redmond is the fourth son of an earl with no income to speak of, and from what I gathered at our meeting, a somewhat spotty reputation.”
Death Comes to London Page 21
