by Issy Brooke
Adelia knew that Edith had little interest in Theodore’s books. Her daughter was eavesdropping on the business plans. A few letters had arrived for Edith and Adelia had recognised some of the correspondence. In spite of Edith’s haughty dismissal of her sister Mary, she had evidently been writing to her. Mary had found new purpose lately in overseeing a horse-breeding business, from a suitably respectable distance as far as the everyday dirt and muck went, and though Edith had sneered she was “mercenary Mary”, everyone knew that money wasn’t Mary’s real motivation in going into business.
Edith was hatching a plan but Adelia could not think for one minute what that plan was. It seemed to involve spidery diagrams and lists.
Harriet sat with Adelia that morning in a patch of warm sunlight in a ground-floor day room. It was quiet and secluded. Adelia stared morosely out of the window at the scrubby lawn surrounded by twiggy bushes. “What do you think the inspector is doing?” she said, time after time, frustration making her want to kick at things. If she had an ounce more energy, she would have taken her new bow and gone out to the archery butts. If now wasn’t a time to fire arrows into the air, when was? “He has evidence now against Mr Montgomery. He ought to act.”
“No doubt he is checking and double-checking it. If he gets it wrong and arrests the wrong man, two weeks ahead of the charity dinner, he will look a fool.”
“If he turns up to the dinner with no arrest at all, he will be even more of a fool.”
“Perhaps not. He could just talk about the progress of the case.”
“He will be pilloried for the lack of progress. If he has information he would not be able to share it without prejudicing the case so the speech he gives will be naturally light and sparse. Everyone will be annoyed because they don’t understand policing and how long it takes to discover anything. They want it all presented to them in a dramatic fashion with all the boring bits taken out.”
Harriet began to laugh. “And that’s why you and Theodore do what you do, isn’t it? You’re like the police, but with the boring bits taken out. Unfortunately you are both finding that you will not always be so lucky as to be in charge, able to career forwards with sheer abandon, scattering convention and method to the four winds.”
“Theodore has never scattered method to any winds. He is a model of method.”
“No, that’s just what he thinks about himself, and you all encourage that idea of himself. But that’s turned and bitten you on the elbow, hasn’t it?”
“How do you mean?” Adelia asked in astonishment.
“It is ever the way,” Harriet intoned smugly. “Me and the bishop talk about such things often.”
“So ungrammatically?”
Harriet shrugged. “We speak as the people speak, to better connect with the lower orders,” she replied.
“Slattern.”
“Snob.”
“Fair enough. What revelatory insight were you about to bestow upon me?”
“Theodore is a man with emotions like anyone else. Emotions are messy and cannot be explained. Our passions run through our veins and make us behave in strange ways. He thinks he is separate to all that, and you allow him to believe it. But would that not make him unhuman in some way? Even Mr Frankenstein’s creation, pieced together from dead flesh, felt things; felt a yearning for connection and for love. It was also keenly roused to anger when rejected and spurned. So now, with all the strains of the past week telling upon him, poor Theodore is quite awash with emotions that he has always told himself he does not have. He does not know what to do with them. He doesn’t even have words for them. What else is he going to do, but get roaring drink, have an impossible argument, and flee in the night? Now he will be licking his wounds at Ivery Manor, quite unable to work out what has happened and what he ought to do next.”
Adelia let the speech sink in. “If you are correct,” she said slowly, “and I am in no way agreeing with you, not yet, what do you think I ought to do about it? Because I know where this is going,” she added, shooting her friend a dark look. “You mean to tell me that it’s all down to me. I have to repair things. I have to make it all right. As usual.”
“You are still prickly with the alcohol and the hurt, the resentment and the bad night’s sleep,” Harriet said casually. “So I would not decide to do anything yet. Have a bit of a pray. That generally helps.”
“A bit of a pray?” Adelia said incredulously. “I know you are a bishop’s wife but I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
Harriet was unabashed. “It helps in all sorts of ways. I’m going to wander down to the kitchens and talk to the cook about treacle. I’ll leave you here to reflect on things. You need to give up this whole murder thing, and concentrate on your family. What are you going to do about Edith?”
“Shake her until her brains realign and she starts behaving with more wifely decorum.”
Harriet rolled her eyes, bit her tongue, and left Adelia alone.
BUT SHE WAS NOT ALONE for long.
Perhaps Mr Froude had been watching and waiting for his chance, or perhaps it was sheer co-incidence, but not ten minutes after Harriet had left, he tapped on the door and slipped into the room.
“Lady Calaway, a moment of your time, if I may?” he asked, and because he had spoken politely and not tried his luck with using her first name, she agreed and allowed him to take a seat.
“Mr Froude,” she said. “How are you today? Is everything to your satisfaction? I can only apologise, once again, for the trying circumstances in which you find yourself but I am assured that it shall not be for much longer.” Politeness was always a good default position to take.
He smiled. “Everything is perfectly satisfactory and that is entirely to your credit as a magnificent hostess.” He cleared his throat. “Must we be so formal?”
“I feel that we must. It would be a mistake, Mr Froude, if we were to allow any remembrance of our shared past to tinge the present.”
“Would it? Can we not remember and celebrate the good things that we shared? It need not threaten your present domestic bliss. And I am in sore need of good things at the moment, Lady Calaway.” His smile had died before he began speaking. He sat up straight but his fingers were knotted together and twitched with anxiety. His face was lined, more lined than she had realised. He was presenting a mask of confidence and calm resilience, but underneath that he was beginning to crumble.
She said, “I do have sympathy for your position, Mr Froude. But I am not sure what comfort I can really offer. I am sorry.”
“I understand. Perhaps it is my position as a widower – twice widowed, did you know that? – and my advancing years that makes me think of the past rather more than I ought to.”
“I was aware of your two sad losses, and I was truly sorry to hear of it,” she said. She tried to remember if she had sent a card of condolence at any point. She should have.
“And no heir, either,” he continued, gazing past her and sighing as he looked, not out of the window, but back to the past.
It was another comment that tugged at her heartstrings. She leaned forward. Her movement brought his attention back to her and he copied her position. “Who will inherit?” she asked as kindly as she could.
“Oh, my sister’s son. If there is anything to pass on, that is.”
“Are you not hopeful your fossil business will be a success?”
“I am losing hope. You may have noticed that Mr Pegsworth is no longer a part of things? I am sorry but with the latest news that he was stealing from you, his own sister, it was inconceivable that we should allow him to continue with us.”
“I quite understand. Why was he brought into the business, may I ask?”
He twitched. “He was not in the business. He helped on the side. Even there, I’ll confess that I made an error of judgement, allowed charitable thought to cloud my reasoning. I suppose I take comfort in the fact that such mistakes are easily made. I was led to believe he would be a useful extra person. Mr Halifax
persuaded me before I had got the measure of that man himself. I was briefly convinced that Mr Halifax was an asset and while in that state of ignorance, he convinced me to bring Pegsworth too. I asked around and was informed he was connected to this great family – your great family – and that he had no debts at the banks. You can see why I did not feel uneasy at first. Indeed, the connection to you was ... an asset.”
She had it. He just wanted to use poor Alf. “But once you met him, you must have seen he was not this asset you had first thought he was.” At least, not to the business.
He smiled wryly. “Absolutely. But I had made a promise to Halifax. I decided, I am afraid, to allow them both to continue with us while we did the preparatory work here, tramping around. They could do the tedious tasks while Montgomery and I undertook the more cerebral work. Once our company was running, in the spring, the situation would be reviewed. If they had proved useful, they would remain. Otherwise ...” Froude shook his head.
“I see. It was never a partnership of equals, then,” she said.
He sneered. “Equals! Good God, no, never. It was a partnership between Montgomery and myself, though Halifax thought he made up a trio, and heavens knows what Pegsworth thought. And now, knowing what we now – now Pegsworth’s truly base nature has been revealed – indeed, I am struggling to see why he’s even allowed to remain here. His actions against you and your family have been unforgiveable. What a betrayal! I can barely countenance it.” He clenched his fist. “I am sorry, Adelia, but I am utterly furious on your behalf.”
This time she did not correct his slip in using her name. There was something about his anger that made her continue to soften in her attitude towards him. He mirrored what she felt about him. How often had she been duped by Alf, simply because she wanted to believe that he was better than he actually was?
“Thank you,” she said. “Your concern touches me.”
He raised a weak smile, pleased. “And as for Mr Montgomery...”
“What?”
He had lowered his voice. They leaned in even more closely towards one another. “You have spoken of our partnership. But I heard about the man’s past,” he said. “I know what you discovered about him in London, and I know that Inspector Prendergast, in his own slow and ponderous way, is investigating him rather deeply. I know that he was in business, now, with Halifax and that together they duped some of the finest minds in palaeontology.” He shook his head. “He does not yet know that I know. I confess I have no idea what I ought to do next. The moment word gets out about Montgomery’s past, all will be lost. His bad name will discredit the entire business. We shall be sunk. All my plans will come to nothing. And all my money lost.”
“I see,” she said. She felt terrible for him.
“I fear that the only option for me now is to put an end to the business before we begin, and cut all my ties with the man before his name tarnishes mine.”
“I think, sadly, that you are correct. And you were friends, weren’t you? How awful to lose both a business and a friend.”
He nodded, swallowing. “That is so very true. It is a huge blow. Devastating. And of course, it means that ... well, as Inspector Prendergast keeps saying, and you have reminded me, this case will soon be over. I expect that Prendergast is, even now, simply finalising the evidence before he makes the arrest.”
“Of Mr Montgomery?”
“Well, yes. Who else could it have been? We all know, now, of Mr Pegsworth’s unfortunate actions which, while deplorable, ensure he is not a murderer and that must be some small comfort to you, at least. Your family connection remains untarnished.”
“It is. Oh, Mr Froude, I confess I can hardly get it all straight in my head.”
“You look tired. But no wonder. Who can sleep in times like these? Is there anything I can do for you that would make things easier? Anything at all. Simply say the word. I want you to know, Adelia, that I really did love you. It almost doesn’t matter to me that you rejected my offer of marriage, because I did not want to marry you to possess you. I only wanted, and only ever want, you to be happy. And if you were happier with Lord Calaway, and happier here, then I must be content with that. No, in fact, I must be more content. If your happiness is the most important thing in my life, and it is, then I am glad you rejected me and found love here instead.”
They were beautiful words expressing a beautiful sentiment. She was moved to reach out and clasp his hands in her own. “Thank you, Samuel,” she said.
A movement caught her eye. She gazed past Mr Froude to the window.
A dark shape was filling the frame, and the flapping of its cloak was the movement that had alerted her.
Harriet stepped right up to the glass. Only her upper half was visible now. She looked furious. Adelia gave a cry and pulled back, ripped her hand from Mr Froude’s, but it was too late. He turned his head to the window but Harriet had already gone.
“Mrs Hobson was at the window,” Adelia said in a rush, getting to her feet. “Oh, I fear she may have misconstrued what she just saw.”
“She is your dear friend and I am sure she will believe you when you tell her the truth,” he said mildly and with a total lack of concern for her reputation. His smooth words reminded her of all the bad that she had once seen in him.
“You don’t understand,” Adelia said but that was all she had time to say before her best friend burst into the room, still wearing her outdoor clothes, and launched herself at Mr Froude with wild rage in her eyes. Clearly she had not spent long in the kitchen.
He jumped back and Adelia inserted herself between the pair, putting out her hands to stop Harriet from making another attack. “Stop it!” she commanded, her shout making her head throb. “Mr Froude, please leave.”
He took the chance immediately, lunging out of the room without another word. Harriet was torn, then, between pursuing him and staying with Adelia.
She tore off her cloak and flung it onto the chair Mr Froude had just vacated. She faced Adelia with folded arms.
“What in Heaven’s name was all that about?”
Twenty-one
“Sit down. I will tell you, but it wasn’t what it looked like.”
Harriet threw herself dramatically to the chair just as another tap came at the door. She jumped up again and got to the door before Adelia could move, slamming it open, ready to face down Mr Froude once more.
Instead it was Edith, in her wheeled chair, with a worried-looking manservant behind the handles. “Is mama in there?” she asked.
Harriet stepped to one side and allowed Edith to be wheeled in. The servant departed. Edith looked with curiosity from one woman to the other. “I heard a commotion and someone said Mr Froude had run past with a strange look on his face. When they said that, I thought of you, mama. What’s going on?”
“Why would you think of your mama in connection with Mr Froude?” Harriet asked, all her vitriol directed squarely at Adelia. She didn’t even look at Edith as she spoke, instead holding Adelia’s gaze with a challenge in her eyes.
“Oh dear,” was Edith’s response. “Mama...?”
Adelia sat down heavily. “Very well. He came in and spoke to me about the business, about the past, and about ... well, I did feel sorry for him.”
“He has no business at all in speaking about the past,” said Harriet sternly. “In fact that man ought to never speak to you at all. Tell us exactly what he said – every detail!”
Adelia glanced at Edith. But while the young woman was her daughter, her youngest daughter, she was also an adult woman with a husband and a house and a title that did not quite rival her own, but was significant enough. If she wanted Edith to behave as a grown mature lady, she needed to treat her as one. She cast her mind back to the start of the conversation with Mr Froude, and told them everything.
“Well,” said Edith at the end of it. “Mama, you have been thoroughly manipulated.”
“I agree,” said Harriet. “I don’t know whether to shake you for your gulli
bility or hug you for your idiocy. Poor Adelia. You wanted to believe him, didn’t you?”
“I did believe him. He has lost two wives, after all, and now his business is failing – who would not feel sorry for a man in that position?”
“I don’t,” said Harriet flatly.
“Nor I,” Edith put in.
“Do you agree with his suspicions of Mr Montgomery, though?” Adelia asked.
Harriet said, “Perhaps. We know Montgomery’s a slippery fish, now, don’t we?”
“He’s clever, though,” Edith said. “Clever in a book-learning sense but clearly not very good at all when it comes to reading people. He made a mistake in taking up with Halifax and clearly that gave Halifax some hold over him. I would wager that Halifax blackmailed Montgomery into vouching for him, so that Halifax could get into the business.”
Adelia nodded. “Yes. I heard Montgomery say he wasn’t working with Halifax out of choice. So yes! Blackmail.”
“And then Halifax brought Uncle Alf in. That was probably to do with money, wasn’t it, mama?”
“Maybe,” Adelia said cautiously, not sure how much Edith knew about Alf and his history.
She knew everything, it turned out. “Oh, mama, don’t take that tone with me. I know perfectly well that Uncle Alf is a cadger and a moocher – that’s what they’d say in London, isn’t it? He’s been borrowing money left, right and centre. Probably not just from you, but from anyone who could be persuaded to open their wallets. Who knows why Froude and Montgomery did agree to let Uncle Alf in, but I expect they regretted it almost immediately. I don’t think he’s a murderer, though,” she added. “Not Uncle Alf.”
“Then who is?” Adelia said. She answered herself after a moment. “Mr Montgomery?”
“He’s a proven cheat,” Harriet said.
Adelia nodded. He had always admitted to a dislike of Halifax. They had seen it themselves. And if Halifax had been blackmailing Montgomery about his past, which now seemed very likely, it gave him a strong motive. Froude was also a potential suspect but he had no need to actually kill Halifax. If he didn’t want him in the business, he could have simply said so, after all.
