The Earl's Mortal Enemy

by Issy Brooke

  “Please do call me Samuel, as you once did. We are alone.”

  “And we ought not to be, Mr Froude.” He had asked her to call him by his first name before once before and she had refused him then, as she refused now. He was being rude to press her on the matter. “Shall we move along to one of the parlours? It is chilly down here.”

  “You have a cloak. Why not put it on and walk with me in the gardens? I would love to talk with you.”

  “About what?” she asked as pleasantly as she could while all her internal alarms screamed no.

  “Oh, let’s talk about old times. New times. What you’ve been doing in your life. What your plans are for the future. Whether I might be able to render any assistance. Any assistance.” He smiled and she shuddered at the insinuations oozing from his words.

  “I am perfectly content in my life,” she told him, keeping her voice loud to counter his whispers. “You may assist me most greatly by continuing to be open and honest and helpful to Inspector Prendergast and my husband.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I do not think it at all wise for Lord Calaway to be involved in the investigation here,” he said. “It muddies the waters. The chain of command is unclear. His motives and loyalties might be ... tested.”

  “The chain of command is very clear. Inspector Prendergast is in ultimate control. And my husband’s loyalties are to justice.”

  “Justice? Surely family comes above all else.”

  “What are you getting at, sir?” she demanded.

  “Nothing, dear Adelia – please don’t mistake me! I merely wish you to be absolutely certain that if, Heaven forbid, something were to come to light which placed certain members of your family under suspicion, that Lord Calaway would be able to face those facts with the unflinching attention that they deserve. For justice, of course.”

  “I am sure that he thinks of nothing else. I shall go and remind him of his duties this very moment. Good day, Mr Froude.” She pushed past him, even though he was blocking the passageway, elbowing him out of the way and striding as quickly as she could into the more inhabited areas of the house.

  Suddenly she wanted to pin the murder on Mr Froude very much indeed.

  Just out of spite.

  HARRIET HAD BEEN GROGGY and pressed Adelia for everything that she had missed when Edith’s horde of relatives had arrived. Every time Adelia tried to speak about her worries about Alf, she took too long in framing her words, and Harriet had jumped in with another off-the-cuff remark about something else. In the end Adelia gave up. And she had to admit to herself that she had not tried very hard.

  Later that day, as dusk fell and thoughts turned to dinner, Adelia steeled herself to go and speak to her daughter. She braced herself ready for battle before tapping on the door.

  She found a very small, contrite and tearful Edith curled up in blankets on a long couch by the dark window. A low light came from a lamp on the table. She had a notebook closed on her lap, and as soon as Adelia entered, she burst into a stream of apologies.

  “Mama, I have written to every single person – there they are, ready to go in the post if you could possibly arrange that?” She pointed to a pile of letters. “And I did not merely apologise. I have written proper messages, ones which speak of boring stuff and everyday life, ones which ask about their families and so on, just as you once taught me. And I thank them for their kindnesses. I even read some of the pamphlets though I am not sure about the merits of boracic acid. Anyway, look. You can check them if you like.”

  “Oh, Edith, I trust that you have done what you say. I have no need to check up on you.” Adelia came to sit alongside her. “What on earth possessed you to behave in such a way? The scandal will linger for weeks. If there hadn’t been a murder here, I fear the local area would never stop talking about you.” She didn’t mention Mrs Ingram but no doubt that woman had already heard and was rubbing her hands in glee. There would be a lot of people at the charity dinner looking intently at Adelia and nudging the people alongside them. How the Calaways have fallen and become mired in scandal!

  “I am sorry. These people just plague me endlessly and I thought that if I came here to recuperate, at least I’d have a little peace. But no, here they were nonetheless, determined to dog my every step.”

  “You make it sound as if you are being hunted.”

  “It feels like that.”

  “But they don’t wish you any harm.”

  “Harm will come of it, believe me.”

  “How? Why?” Adelia asked. “I am at a loss but I do want to understand. You feel very pinned down, I can see that, but do you even understand yourself why you feel so trapped when you are clearly not?”

  “Not entirely. I just know that I am not the person they want me to be. I am a free spirit and they are all of the old guard, mama, with expectations that I cannot meet even if I wanted to try – which I don’t, and I won’t.”

  Adelia wondered if Edith was scared of failing to meet those expectations. Sometimes, it was easier not to try at all, rather than to try and to fail. She understood that but it was a realisation that Edith was going to have to reach alone.

  So Adelia changed the subject, saying suddenly, “Well, you have met my expectations in London. I have not yet thanked you for your help. I know that Charlotte let us down somewhat but you did all that you could have done, and for that I am grateful. I am also pleased that I was not on my own in the city. And I must say that I enjoyed your company.”

  Edith’s face was an absolute picture.

  “Edith, what’s wrong?” Adelia asked, laughing.

  “I don’t think you’ve ever spoken to me as if I am an adult before.”

  “We have not been together as adults before this,” Adelia said. “Leaving home and getting married does change a woman, however much you want to evade it. Not all change is bad. Now, tell me what interested you so much in the printer’s shop?”

  “I can barely remember! Oh – yes. I was thinking how marvellous it was to be able to swiftly produce so much information.”

  “You and your information! First you were talking about hotels and railways, then you were asking about how Mr Nett organised everything. And now printers! I begin to wonder if you are hatching some kind of plan?”

  “No, of course not.”

  But Edith smiled. And Adelia did not press her on the matter. Some things needed to germinate in silence.

  THEODORE WAS HEARTENED to hear from Adelia that Edith had written apologetic letters to everyone she had insulted. He had spent most of the day on his own, as Inspector Prendergast had left the house temporarily on some unnamed business, and the constables who were dotted around the place were as silent as implacable statues. Froude and Montgomery were closeted together in the study with their plans all scattered around on tables. There were maps and timetables, hotel booklets and catalogues from rival organisations. It was almost as if they had decided to ignore the loss of their business partner, and were happily forging ahead as if nothing had happened. It was now exactly one week since Halifax had been killed but he was already apparently forgotten.

  Alfred Pegsworth was not included in their business planning meeting, of course, and he had no duties assigned to him. Quite where he was, and what he was doing, was a mystery.

  Theodore had asked Adelia to look into her brother’s dealings more closely but she had not come back to him with any useful information. He went looking for Pegsworth at various times throughout the day, but was unable to find him anywhere, and the bored constables all claimed to have had no sight of him at all. Theodore was growing increasingly concerned. Had the man fled? Did that prove his guilt? What on earth was he going to tell Adelia?

  Pegsworth did finally reappear again that evening, turning up in time for dinner. He looked confused when Theodore asked him bluntly where he had been all day. “Just in my rooms, mostly,” he said.

  “I came to look for you there.”

  “When? I might have taken a turn around the gardens
.”

  “It has rained all day.” Theodore didn’t add that he had been walking the gardens himself at one point as it would have undermined his point.

  “It was only light rain and it doesn’t bother me. Anyway, I am here now. Was there something I could help you with?” Pegsworth smiled fawningly.

  Theodore wanted to wash his hands. There was something so very grubby about the man. Everything he said seemed to invite doubt and suspicion. He merely shook his head and passed through into the dining room.

  He tried to watched everyone as they ate, listening to all the conversations at once. Froude and Montgomery were as thick as thieves – Theodore had to stop himself from laughing when he had that thought. But it was true. They leaned towards one another, talking in low voices. When Theodore strained to eavesdrop, the conversation seemed only to be of mundane business matters. Pegsworth rarely spoke. Adelia tried once to jolly everyone into light, convivial banter but it fell flat. Edith mostly stared at her plate and picked at her food without enthusiasm. Only Harriet seemed to be enjoying herself. Theodore watched her sourly. That woman could have a shindig in funeral parlour, he thought.

  When they retired, joining Adelia, Edith and Harriet in the drawing room, they were all surprised to see Inspector Prendergast had returned, somewhat later than planned. He looked up and smiled as they entered, and even Theodore could feel the mood change in every single man around him.

  “Hello, gentlemen. Do forgive my intrusion; I shan’t stay long. Another demand on my time, I am afraid; I have to be somewhere early tomorrow morning and intend to make a start on the journey tonight.”

  “Have you come to tell us the investigation is at an end?” Froude demanded.

  Adelia blinked and made eye contact with Theodore. He tried to nod very slightly in return. He had noticed it too; Froude’s curious turn of phrase. Pegsworth expressed it more naturally by saying, “Are you going to tell us who the murderer is?”

  Froude turned his head and looked disdainfully down his nose at Pegsworth, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. But he didn’t say anything.

  “Although I am not yet at liberty to reveal everything, yes, it is true that I wanted to be the first to tell you that things are, indeed, coming to an end.” Prendergast got to his feet and brushed his trousers down with an exaggerated movement.

  Theodore thought, he’s bluffing, perhaps. Adelia will be able to tell for sure.

  “Won’t you stay for one drink, as you have come all this way?” Froude said, sidling up to him.

  “No, thank you. I must be getting off. I have a very big day tomorrow.”

  “Oh, pray tell?”

  Prendergast smiled again. “All in good time, Mr Froude. Good evening, Lady Calaway, Lady Ivery, Mrs Hobson; good night, gentlemen.” He started for the door.

  But the room was large and the door was some distance away; Froude planted himself directly in his way. “One brandy for the road.”

  Something flickered across Prendergast’s face. Was that triumph? If so, what was he celebrating? But he had travelled quite a distance if his only purpose was to tell them he was about to have a big day; there must be more to his plan. He could have counted on someone insisting that he stay; this could all be set up. A bluff, perhaps, to unsettle people. Theodore watched him carefully.

  The inspector nodded thoughtfully at Froude. “Very well, then. I shall take a small glass, though, if you please.”

  He was instantly steered to a small card table by the fire and plied with a very large glass of brandy, which he accepted with a small murmur of token protest and thanks. Froude stuck to his side, and Theodore made sure to be on the other side of the table. Montgomery looked disdainfully at them all, and took himself off to sit a little apart. Pegsworth hovered, apparently unsure of where he ought to place himself.

  Unexpectedly, Froude leaned back and gestured to Pegsworth. “Come and join us, make up the four for a game; why not?”

  “I don’t really play – anything.”

  “Yes, you do. You lost a great deal that time we were at Porcini’s, don’t you remember? But it doesn’t matter tonight because you’re flush with cash at the moment, aren’t you?”

  “Well, no, not really.” Still Pegsworth did not sit down. He pulled at his cuffs miserably, clearly longing to be gone from there.

  “Yes, you are. You’re doing very well, and I for one am pleased to see it. We all are, aren’t we, Monty?”

  Montgomery looked up from the flames into which he had been staring morosely. “Yes, certainly.”

  “And we were wondering how you came by such a windfall,” Froude went on. He was shuffling the cards endlessly, almost hypnotically. “Was it a win on the horses? Or a shrewd investment lately come good? Do share, old chap.”

  “It’s not really done to talk about money in polite company,” Pegsworth said.

  “I agree,” said Adelia firmly. “This is not the time nor the place, gentlemen.”

  A decent man would have heeded the warning from the hostess.

  Mr Froude did not.

  “Come now! I am simply speaking in admiration of whatever luck or talent has brought our Pegsworth such good fortune!”

  “No, I say, you’ve got it wrong. It isn’t true.”

  “Not true that you have come into money? Look at your suit, man! Brand new! Look at your shoes! This is not the same Pegsworth whom we knew last month.”

  Theodore had been watching Froude intently. When he glanced over at Pegsworth, he thought he caught the tail end of a quick gesture from him to his sister. Adelia was glaring not at Froude but at Pegsworth. They shared something, some meaningful look that Theodore could not decipher.

  Then she stood up and walked over to the card table. While all eyes were upon her, Pegsworth simply legged it out of the room without bidding anyone farewell. Adelia clasped her hands in front of her, the closest she could get to folding her arms in annoyance without looking like a fishwife on market day, and said, “Mr Froude, I beg of you, for the sensibility of the ladies present, please do show a little decorum and desist from your ... your somewhat enthusiastic line of questioning. Thank you.”

  “Enthusiastic?” he said, smiling. “Yet in the past, you were full of enthusiasm yourself.”

  Theodore felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. For the second time that day, he wanted to knock Froude’s head from his shoulders. Was the man drunk? He ought to throw him out.

  He wished, suddenly, that he could.

  Adelia breathed in deeply but whatever it was she was going to say, she thought twice of it. She stepped back, inclined her head at Prendergast, and said, “Good night, gentlemen.” She whirled around and stalked out.

  After a moment, Harriet followed her. Edith was left sitting helplessly in her chair.

  Froude continued to shuffle the cards.

  Prendergast knocked back the last of his drink and left abruptly.

  Theodore watched as Froude calmly began to lay out a game of patience. Then he glanced at Montgomery, who was very deliberately ignoring everything and was now pretending to read a book.

  Edith rang a bell and a servant came to wheel her out.

  It felt like there were hidden currents all around, and Theodore was in danger of losing his footing completely. He kept a close eye on them all but nothing further was said. The clock ticked. After a further fifteen minutes, Montgomery snapped his book closed and left without a word. Theodore got up too, and it sent a signal to Froude that it was time to end the evening. Froude left.

  Theodore was alone. He wandered the room briefly, set a few chairs straight, and was then chased out by a maid who wanted to see to things properly before she could finally go to bed herself.

  He trudged upstairs. On a whim, when he got to the corridor that led to the guest rooms, he slipped that way as silently as he could. He peered around the corner but the passageway was empty. He could hear a voice and he crept along towards it.

  Pegsworth was stan
ding in the doorway to Froude’s room, facing into the room, jabbing his finger. He was clearly halfway through an argument and Theodore guessed it was about his earlier public humiliation.

  “...because you always hated me, from the start, and it has to stop,” Pegsworth said. “You know who my sister is. A dig at me is a dig at her. You’re a gentleman and you know that’s not fair.”

  “It’s only because of who your sister is that I tolerate you at all.”

  “Yes, your manner changed when you heard about her, didn’t it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Go to bed. You’re a foul wretch.”

  “I’ll tell them that you threatened me.”

  “Try it. They won’t believe you. You will mess it all up. Like this.”

  “Like this?”

  “You said you could get me a room here.”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “Before. But it was you who ended up here while the rest of us were at the inn.”

  “You worked it to your advantage though, in the end.”

  Froude’s voice had a sneer in it. “Not quite! Not when they all turned up. You’re a worm, Pegsworth, and you fail even at that. Go to bed, I say.” His voice got louder and Theodore realised he was stepping towards the door. Theodore pulled back and continued to listen, but nothing more was said. There was a heavy sigh, and the click of a door closing, and then another.

  He went to his own room. Adelia was already asleep.

  Seventeen

  Adelia went to Alf’s room the next morning before breakfast. She had hardly seen him lately. On the one hand, she had not been looking very hard for him, but it was quite clear that he wasn’t mixing with everyone else. Theodore had mentioned that he had been unable to find him to ask him some urgent questions, and she herself had noticed that Alf wasn’t easy to pin down. She tapped on his door and received no reply.

  She couldn’t barge in. She stood in the corridor, looking up and down, aware that she didn’t really want to be caught by the other guests. A maid flitted past at the end of the passageway, and Adelia set off after her, catching her up just before she disappeared behind a green door.