by Clare Jayne
For a moment Ishbel did not understand, the words remaining a blank to her, then the implication sank in: Lord Moray and Lady Sarah were having an affair. If they had spent the whole night together, then neither could be the killer. “No wonder the duke told Miss McNeil that Lord Moray could not be trusted around women. It was not her he was trying to keep out of Lord Moray’s sights; it was his daughter!” She tried to clutch at the dissolving case. “Are you absolutely certain of this information?”
“I’m afraid so, Miss,” Mr Cassell said. “They were both at Lord Moray’s house when the duke was being killed.”
She sat still, taking in this blow.
“And now,” Mr MacPherson said grimly, “we are down from two suspects to none.”
“One,” she corrected him, although she hated to say it. Four sets of eyes fixed upon her with interest. “We are unfortunately left with the person we never wanted to suspect: Miss McNeil.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
SILENCE FOLLOWED Ishbel’s words, then Harriette said, “Do you mean that the two of you put us all through such a scandalous business for no reason? The Town Guards were right all along, and that must be the first time those words were ever uttered!”
“There must be other possibilities,” Mr MacPherson said, getting to his feet and pacing to the library window then back again. “We accepted that Lady Sarah and Lord Moray were the most obvious suspects, so we looked no further.”
“We wondered briefly if someone in love with Miss McNeil might have killed the duke, but Tim Harrison, the man she was previously close to, was proven to have no motive. There might be someone else who loves her.”
“Joe Fillinister has always shown great affection for her.” Although the fact he was the one who had asked them to take on the case made him an improbable suspect. At the moment, though, she would consider anything.”
“That is not possible.” Mr MacPherson looked uncomfortably at Harriette, who raised an eyebrow at him, then he said to Ishbel, “Joe is of the same nature as... others we know who will never marry.”
“You two, out!” Harriette snapped at the unfortunate valet and caddy. Mr MacPherson managed to pay Mr Cassell for his help, then the men fled. Harriette then rounded on the two people who remained. “It astonishes me to learn that you would speak of such matters with each other, let alone that you would let yourselves be overheard by common men who could repeat your conversation to countless others!”
“I trust my valet’s discretion entirely,” Mr MacPherson said in a stiff, offended tone, “and we have no reason to doubt that Jed Cassell’s sole wish is to help us catch a murderer.”
“Just the same, you forget yourself in speaking of such things to my unmarried cousin.”
Ishbel responded to this: “I insisted some time ago that Mr MacPherson keep no secrets from me during an investigation, no matter how forbidden the subject might usually be. We spoke about such feelings because it was necessary to the case.”
“Hmm.” Harriette’s expression remained severe. “I suppose I will have to trust you to find more appropriate matters to converse about in my absence.”
She got to her feet, shook out the skirts of her gown, glared at them both, and then marched from the room.
“Forgive me. I should not spoken about the subject in front of your cousin,” Mr MacPherson said.
“We must speak of anything we need to in order to get this murder solved,” Ishbel answered. “I think we should talk immediately to Mr Fillinister, to find out if we could all be mistaken about Miss McNeil’s innocence.”
“He will probably be at the theatre at this time.” He got to his feet and she followed him into the crisp air outside. When they were seated in his carriage, the vehicle heading to its new destination, he said, “I do not know if any of this is useful now, but Rabbie learned from the lady’s maid that Duke Raden found out that Lord Moray was courting his daughter and had a terrible argument with her.”
Clinging to one final hope on the matter, Ishbel said, “Could Lord Moray and Lady Sarah not have slipped out of his house to kill the duke? This does, after all, give them both an extra motive to commit murder.”
“I am afraid there is no possibility left of their guilt. Jed spoke to someone – a woman living on the streets – who saw Lady Sarah arrive at the house in the middle of the night and leave again before dawn, both she and Lord Moray visible to the woman.”
“They could still have hired someone to commit the crime.”
“Jed thought of that. None of Lord Moray’s servants left the house in the night and none of Lady Sarah’s servants liked her enough to do such a thing for her. She certainly could not have got a suitor to have acted for her and put herself in his debt, given her relationship with Lord Moray. Jed even asked amongst the criminal classes if Lord Moray had put out word of a job he needed someone for, but this never took place.”
Then they really were innocent. What an infuriating thing, Ishbel thought, that they should both have the characters of murderers, when neither of them were.
They arrived at the theatre, where scenes were being rehearsed on stage by several actors in front of the empty rows of seats. Mr Fillinister immediately approached them, his hopeful face reminding Ishbel of everything he had done to try to prove his friend’s innocence. He took them to an empty dressing room where they could speak privately, closing the door behind them.
“The two people we were looking into are innocent of the murder,” Mr MacPherson told him and Mr Fillinister face crumpled.
“Have you no one else to consider?”
“Not that we can think of.”
“A suspicion is all we need,” Mr Fillinister insisted, a hand on Mr MacPherson’s arm as he entreated them both. “Just enough to convince a jury that there were others with a better motive than Kenina who could’ve killed the duke.”
Ishbel, sitting in the room’s only chair, leaned towards him. “Is it possible you were wrong? Could Miss McNeil be the guilty person?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve known her for longer than anyone else and I swear to you that she couldn’t have done this. She’s innocent – you have to believe that.”
She and Mr MacPherson looked at each other and, believing Mr Fillinister’s certainty, Ishbel nodded.
“All right,” Mr MacPherson said, “then we must start again and find other suspects. You told me that Tim Harrison was not still in love with her, but could any of the other actors have such feelings?”
“No. Two of the troupe are married to each other; two more are having an affair; Alex and I are incapable of that kind of love for a woman. The others are too new to the group to have formed such an attachment and, in any case, never showed a partiality to Kenina. There’s no one here to suspect. It must be someone connected with the duke.”
“Then we will find them,” Mr MacPherson said firmly.
“The courts have set the trial date,” Mr Fillinister told them.
“Already?” she exclaimed, horrified. “When?”
“The fourteenth day of December. Less than three weeks.”
“We will do all we can,” Ishbel told him, but his eyes remained bleak, haunting her after she and Mr MacPherson left him in the empty room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
CHIVERTON’S MOTHER was feeling sufficiently strong to join the family at the dinner table that night for the first time since she became ill, which gave the gathering a happier atmosphere than it had had in years and managed to put a smile on even his brother’s face. They discussed Fiona’s coming-out ball, his mother and sister lit up with pleasure at the opportunity to make plans for the event, instead of having their decisions made for them. Chiverton hoped Fiona would exercise her usual good sense while being courted and would not hurry into marriage in a desire to escape the restrictions of her current life.
They were all in the drawing room when the butler announced Mr MacPherson’s unexpected arrival. Chiverton left them to go and greet his
friend, who reluctantly gave his greatcoat to the butler, face pinched with cold, as he said, “I was hoping you would be willing to give me a fresh opinion on this business with Duke Raden.”
Pleased to be trusted with this, Chiverton took him into the gaming room and fixed them both a glass of whiskey, while Ewan told him the events of the day. Chiverton listened intently and sympathised over their investigation leading nowhere.
“We must learn all we can about Duke Raden,” MacPherson said, sitting opposite him, a cards table beside them, “in the hope that this will show us the killer’s identity.”
“Had he no one at all but his daughter to inherit his estate?” Chiverton asked, absently shuffling a pack of cards. “No distant relative?”
“There was no such person at his funeral service or wake and, of course, we cannot ask Lady Sarah, when she knows we suspected her.”
“He was such a likeable man.” Chiverton turned over the King of Diamonds as he thought over what Alex had told him about Raden. The Duke had sounded more interested in love than power or money and had treated others with kindness. “I find it hard to believe that many people could have had cause to wish him harm.”
“Lord Moray said – if anything spoken by him can be believed – that the duke did not take his responsibilities seriously. Who, other than a relative, would he have looked after? Servants? No, Rabbie said they had liked their master. Could he have had another mistress before he met Miss McNeil?”
“Bound to, I should imagine, and a spurned lover’s fury seems more likely to me than anything else, given what I know of him.”
“It is certainly a possibility.” MacPherson looked cheered by the idea.
“Let me ask about,” Chiverton said. “People are less suspicious of me these days, now that they know what you are up to.”
MacPherson nodded and gave a smile. “Thank you.”
Chiverton summoned a carriage as MacPherson’s rattled away, quickly changed his outfit and travelled to a club that was popular with the highest levels of male society. As he bought himself a drink – surrounded by the smell of alcohol and tobacco, and the sound of conversations and men making bets on cards and dice – he wondered who would be the best person to approach. He needed a gentleman who would know all the gossip about a Duke and would not immediately discern that Chiverton was acting on MacPherson’s behalf.
His gaze settled on Lord Bentley, the young heir to the Wutherham estate, who was hovering nervously around an older group, who were playing dice. His family had influential friends but the lad did not mix in the same circles as Chiverton’s friends, he himself only receiving an introduction through a casual acquaintance.
He walked across the room, greeting several people as he did so, and clapped the boy on the back. “Lord Bentley, I haven’t seen you in months. How are you?”
The boy turned, brightening at the attention. “Never better, Mr Chiverton. Yourself?”
“Having been discussing Duke Raden’s death with a friend, I am feeling the fragility of life and am, therefore, in great need of a drink.” He held up his glass as he spoke and Bentley smiled.
“Has a date been set for the trial of the Duke’s killer, do you know?”
“His mistress, you mean? The current one, at least. I believe the trial will take place in December, although there are rumours that others had a better motive than she for the murder. You might have heard more than I on the subject, your family being so well connected.”
Bentley leaned slightly nearer to say, “Duke Raden was known to have a great affection for ladies of all types, both during his marriage and after his wife’s death.”
“I wondered if he might have left a previous mistress when he courted the actress, someone who might have killed him in a fit of jealous passion.”
“I hope not. My brother’s friend’s cousin, Lord Asquith, is actually in contact – romantically speaking – with the Lady of the Night Duke Raden used to visit.” Bentley gestured to the gentleman who was reclining in a chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, ready to trip up anyone blinded by the tobacco smoke.
Chiverton smiled as he took another sip of his wine. “How interesting.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
EWAN CALLED upon Lady Morrelly, his aunt, the next morning. She had the footman show him into her sewing room, where she sat with a piece of embroidery he had seen half-completed for at least the past five years. On a chair beside her sat Aloysius, her cat, who was staring fixedly into the left-hand corner of the room. Ewan instinctively followed the cat’s gaze but could see nothing there other than the brightly striped wallpaper.
He kissed his aunt and sat in a damask-upholstered chair opposite her.
After asking about her health and Aloysius’s health, he said, “I wondered what you could tell me about Duke Raden. Anything you know.”
“His daughter is of marriageable age,” she said at once, predictably. She had been requesting to be told of his upcoming nuptials since he turned sixteen.
“Anything else?”
She sighed in disappointment at his lack of helpfulness in her marital plans for him. “We were all awaiting the announcement of Duke Raden’s marriage, until his untimely death ruined Rachel’s dreams.”
“Rachel?” he asked, confused.
“Mrs Rachel Ainsley is the widowed lady he had been showing a marked interest in, although his attentions were less clear in recent months.”
When he fell for Miss MacNeil, presumably. “Was Mrs Ainsley annoyed at his apparent change of heart?”
“She believed, as we all did, that he was simply busy of late. She is a wealthy lady from an excellent family, who developed a clear liking for him. He would have been a fool to turn away from such a match.”
Indeed! And how would Mrs Ainsley have felt if she knew she had been replaced in his affections by a working-class actress?
“Meeow!” said Aloysius loudly, standing up and staring over Ewan’s shoulder into the left corner.
Ewan jumped and looked sharply behind him. The fact he could see nothing there somehow made Aloysius’s focus more, rather than less, disturbing.
His aunt looked up from her embroidery. “You seem a little nervous today, dear.”
* * *
Ewan called upon Miss Campbell after seeing his aunt. She was in the drawing room with Lady Huntly, who looked at Ewan as though he was a disobedient child in need of a scolding.
“Your footman left that for you,” Lady Huntly said, gesturing with her fan towards a letter with a seal on it that he instantly recognised. “Apparently you are now so frequent a visitor that your staff are under the impression you are living here.”
“My apologies for any inconvenience,” he said, ripping the seal and unfolding the letter. He quickly read through it. “It seems as if we have two more possible murder suspects to consider.”
“How wonderful,” Lady Huntly responded, her tone dripping sarcasm. “You can find ways to scandalise Edinburgh society even further.”
“Perhaps we should talk in the library,” Miss Campbell suggested with a meaningful look at her cousin that the lady ignored.
“If you wish,” he replied willingly.
They left Lady Huntly to find someone else to insult and took their usual seats in the large room, then Ewan told her what his visit to his aunt had revealed.
“I believe I met Mrs Ainsley at a musical evening some time ago,” Miss Campbell said. “She certainly seemed a determined lady and for Duke Raden to have publicly courted her, then not carried through and proposed, would have been deeply embarrassing. Did the letter tell you something more?”
“It was from Chiverton. I spoke to him last night and he said he would ask questions about the duke on my behalf, believing people might be more open with him now that our investigation is generally known. We wondered if the duke might have had a mistress before Miss McNeil, whom he cast aside when he met her, and that seems to have been the case.”
“Did he fi
nd out her name?”
“Yes: Cathy Smith. However, he says she is not believed to be in the least respectable, moving from one man to another. I know you do not pay attention to such things but perhaps I should speak to her alone – your reputation has suffered enough over this case and also I do not wish to cause any further problems between you and Lady Huntly.”
She hesitated, biting her lip, and he wished he could find a way to make her life easier. She was good at this investigative work, but everyone was treating her as if she was behaving in an immoral manner, which was opposite of the truth.
If she would agree to marry him, society would be more tolerant. For a moment he almost did repeat his offer of marriage: he loved and admired her so much; just the sight of her face always lifted his mood. She would never accept a proposal for such a reason as respectability, though, and would he really want her to? No, he wished for her to return his feelings to the point that she wanted more than anything to marry him, and he was not sure that that would ever be true.
“Very well,” she said at last.
His heart stuttered, having lost what question she was answering and been lost in his own dreams. Then he realised what she was talking about and disappointment ran through him.
He bowed and left her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ISHBEL WAS annoyed with herself for letting Mr MacPherson go alone to speak to the duke’s former acquaintance. She had given in and behaved as society would have wanted and she hated the thought of one day giving up all work, this and her university studies, out of fear of society’s censure. She would not let herself be cowed again.
She went to speak to Harriette, having to wait until her cousin had finished speaking to the French chef about the menu for an upcoming dinner party she was holding.
When the man had left, looking peeved, Ishbel said, “Do you know where I might encounter Mrs Ainsley today?”
“She is not a particular acquaintance of mine and I do not often see her at the entertainments I am invited to, but I believe she has a weakness for anything of a musical nature. You might find her at Sir Andrew Liddleton’s gathering this afternoon, as he has a renowned pianist playing there. I can obtain an invitation for you but I have a charitable meeting I need to attend and Lord Huntly will be delivering a lecture at the College, so you would have to go alone.”
