Deadly Affair: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance)

by Lucinda Brant

  Alec tossed the damp towel aside and scraped back his curls to tie them at the nape of his neck with a riband he found on the well-ordered dressing table. Well, that was a first! The contents of his travelling toiletries case: Tortoise shell hair brush, clothes brush, ivory comb, sharpened razor, engraved silver etui with its hinged lid slightly ajar should Alec wish to use the implements within the case, a neat coil of black silk ribands, nail file at right angles to the set of brushes, sandalwood cologne from Floris, two pairs of polished shoe buckles; even the engraved silver button belonging to the Cleveley livery Tam had given him (he must have left it in a frockcoat pocket) all were set out neatly, rather too neatly, and in an order known only to Jeffries by the exact positioning of each personal grooming implement.

  “So, Jeffries, who is it that requires an urgent word? Or is it something far more entertaining you wish to tell me? Has Mr. Fisher started a fire in the kitchens or Mr. Halsey insulted one of the guests with his apostrophizing on the immorality of Bristol’s slave traders?”

  Hadrian Jeffries did not move a facial muscle. He did however lower his eyebrows.

  “Mr. Barr wishes a word with you at once, my lord. He was most insistent. I told him he must await your lordship’s pleasure, and sent him away. Would you care for me to dress you now, my lord?”

  Alec saw the quick frowning glance directed at his bare feet and stood, removing his hands from the banyan’s pockets. “Very well. I must look my sartorial best for dinner with Mrs. Bourdon or my uncle will never forgive me.”

  “It was about Mrs. Bourdon that Mr. Barr wished to have words, my lord,” Jeffries said, taking the banyan and offering stockings and smalls.

  “Have words? That sounds ominous. Was Barr ominous?”

  “Yes, my lord. He tried his best but was in such a state of agitation that he failed to convey his wishes in any meaningful way.”

  Alec threw a crisp white linen shirt over his head and slipped on a pair of velvet breeches, saying once he had tucked in his billowing shirt and buttoned the falls, “Agitation? With being denied an audience with my esteemed self or something else?”

  “He was already agitated when I answered his incessant rapping on the outer door, my lord. Being denied an audience with your lordship’s esteemed self only increased his distress.”

  Alec mentally rolled his eyes as he stood before the long looking glass and expertly tied the linen stock about his throat. Did the man not recognize irony? Esteemed self indeed! Tam would have smiled. Perhaps Jeffries was nervous and he should give him the benefit of the doubt? He allowed Jeffries to shrug him into an oyster silk waistcoat with embroidered pockets and buttons and to fuss for a moment with its fit then waved him aside to sit on the dressing stool to slip his stockinged feet into a pair of polished black leather shoes; Jeffries securing the plain silver buckles.

  “Do you know why Barr was in a state of distress?”

  “One of the guests… No it was a visitor to one of the guests. Yes, that was the right of it,” the valet explained with satisfaction as he rose up to stand by the dressing table. “A gentleman visiting the guest in the Arch apartment caused an uproar—”

  “The Arch?” Jeffries had Alec’s full attention. “Mrs. Bourdon’s rooms?”

  “Yes, my lord. That was why Mr. Barr insisted he must speak with you. He says you are known to Mrs. Bourdon and—”

  “First tell me about Mrs. Bourdon’s visitor.”

  “As I said, my lord, the visitor caused a bit of a fracas amongst the guests. According to the water boy… Apologies, my lord,” Jeffries said abruptly, a tinge of color in his cheeks, “I should not repeat what I did not myself see.”

  “You may if you think the source a reliable one. And, Jeffries, it is ‘sir’ not ‘my lord’. You are my valet.”

  To Alec’s surprise Jeffries blushed, smiled and nodded.

  “This visitor..?” Alec said with as much aloofness as he could muster, for he was confident that Mrs. Bourdon’s visitor was none other than Sir Charles Weir. “Don’t spare the details if you think them pertinent.”

  “According to the boy who carries the hot water,” Jeffries said, bringing his features under control, “one of the lads who was at the base of the stairs helping an elderly dowager with her portmanteaux, witnessed the visitor come charging down the main staircase two steps at a time and without a care for who was coming up them. The visitor rudely bumped the Miss Musgraves, two elderly spinsters who I am told are the aunts of the Baron Stoke and regular habitués of this establishment, and one of the Miss Musgraves fell back against the railing and dropped a hatbox, two hats crushed under a footman’s feet who went to her aid. The lad said the visitor had his left arm folded up across his chest and was clutching his wrist as if he’d broken it, or he’d scalded his flesh with boiling water. But that wasn’t the worst of it, my—sir,” he said, finally drawing breath. When Alec nodded, he continued. “The visitor had a look upon his face that the lad said could only be described as sheer terror. Like the face of a murderous dog who is about to swing from the end of a Tyburn rope and knows that he is for Hell. It was that sort of face.” Jeffries frowned. “One of the footmen, a very irregular fellow who was taken to task the moment he uttered the question, was bold enough to enquire of the terrified gentleman if he had seen a ghost!”

  When Jeffries paused for effect Alec realized it was his cue to ask the obvious.

  “And had the visitor seen a ghost?”

  The valet nodded, eyes wide. “Yes, sir. That was precisely what he replied. That a ghost had come back to haunt us all!”

  “That was the visitor’s exact words? A ghost had come back to haunt us all?”

  “To the word, sir.”

  Alec could not hide his surprise; not at the thought of a specter haunting the premises, but that Sir Charles Weir, one of the most self-possessed men he knew, would react in such a melodramatic fashion had he indeed been in the presence of an apparition. Alec was inclined to the opinion that Weir was more likely to coolly question the specter as to whether it was indeed a ghost, rather than show any signs of panic, even if he was convinced he was in the presence of the supernatural. So what had his old school friend seen in this apparent apparition that had so shocked him as to cause a momentary lapse in reason and usual behavior?

  “Do you know what the visitor did next, sir?”

  Alec had no idea; what he did know now was that Jeffries was partial to the melodramatic and that he expected him to ask the question, so he did:

  “What did the visitor do?”

  “I am embarrassed to say, sir, but he covered his face with his hands and burst into tears, like a child who had fallen and hurt itself or perhaps been taken to task by its nurse for its bad behavior. It was truly shameful. Sir,” Jeffries added in a whisper, a quick furtive glance over his shoulder, “do you think Barr’s is haunted?”

  Not only partial to the melodramatic but a believer in ghosts! He was glad to amend his initial impression of Jeffries: not dull, merely nervous at trying his best to be the perfect gentleman’s gentleman. He glanced at the faultless alignment of his personal grooming items and stopped at the razor. Still, the last thing he needed was a valet prone to nerves, in any situation.

  “No,” Alec replied flatly, “I do not believe Barr’s to be haunted. Did the fellow who confided this mention where the visitor saw this specter?”

  “The visitor did not mention a specific room, sir, but a person.”

  “Person?” This did surprise Alec. “He recognized the ghost?”

  Jeffries nodded vigorously, eyes wide.

  “Yes, sir. I suppose that must be the reason Mr. Barr was so insistent he speak with you.”

  “With me? About a ghost? Why?”

  Jeffries moved closer to the dressing stool, as if he did not wish to be overheard by the living or the dead.

  “It’s the occupant of the Arch apartment,” he said in a loud whisper, gaze darting left and right and then back at Alec. “Mrs. Bou
rdon: She’s the ghost.”

  Plantagenet Halsey grimaced with the pain of straightening his arthritic knees but he was determined to stretch to his full height to stare the barrel-chested footman who blocked access to the apartment eye-to-eye. The servant was as wide as he was tall and filled the doorframe; stockinged legs with their impressively large calf muscles were splayed and his muscular arms with their thick forearms were crossed against his massive chest. He was just the sort of strongman to be found keeping the peace in a local Bristol cathouse when merchant seaman were given their shore leave, except this hulking brute wore livery and the frockcoat had silver buttons. What was he doing at Barr’s? But the old man did not have the time or the inclination to find out. He just wanted the fellow removed from obstructing access to Mrs. Bourdon’s rooms, and he wanted him gone at once, and so he had demanded of the mute bulk and every servant sent to pacify him until the owner of the esteemed establishment, Mr. Barr himself appeared before him, countenance schooled to be as retractable as the old man’s was intractable.

  “Get that brute out of the way,” Plantagenet Halsey ordered, menacing his Malacca headed cane about, “and open that door!”

  Tam and Janie ducked out of the way of the swishing cane, to stand behind the old man as the proprietor threw his head back, the tip of the cane narrowly missing connection with his pointy chin. A couple of footmen standing by the staircase took a few steps forward, eager to bear witness to an altercation between their nose-in-the-air employer and the feisty old guest. With a visitor earlier screaming down the stairs that he had seen a ghost, the day was shaping up to be one worth talking about over a pint at the local.

  “I must regrettably inform you, sir, that it is not possible for me to open that door,” Mr. Barr said at his most conciliatory and with a frozen smile reserved for visitors who enquired as to the cost of staying a night at the exclusive lodging house; if one had to ask one did not stay.

  “Not possible? Of course it’s possible, damn it!” growled the old man. “Mrs. Bourdon has asked for our presence and so she shall have it!” He glared at the impassive barrel in the doorway and back at Mr. Barr and swished his cane from the proprietor to the servant. “Tell this oaf to move his large carcass!”

  Mr. Barr cupped his hands at his chest and continued to smile yet was aware of the growing crowd in the passageway at the top of the stairs. Joining the two inquisitive footmen, who pretended to be about their duties of standing and waiting in the passageway should a guest require their services but with ears very much open, was one of the Miss Musgraves whose gloved hand was dug deep in her velvet lined reticule as if searching for something and behind her her maid. And at the old man’s back was his young redheaded companion and for a reason unfathomable to the proprietor, Mrs. Bourdon’s wan-faced maid stood beside him.

  “My dear sir. Mr. Halsey. My profusely humble apologies that a mute giant obstructs that door but I am unable to do as you request. I feel it would be for the best to await the arrival of Lord Halsey whose liberty of conversation is required in this matter.”

  Mention of his nephew cooled some of the heat from Plantagenet Halsey’s tone but he was no less belligerent.

  “Liberty of conversation? This isn’t a whist party or some dowdy dowager’s damn soiree! There isn’t time for conversation!”

  “There is always time for conversation, dear sir. And I must insist. It is to his lordship that I will most ardently address my concerns.”

  “Concerns?” The old man blustered, a wild-eyed look about at the cluster of onlookers before turning back to the proprietor. Taking a step closer he growled in an under voice, “Have you any idea what is going on behind that door?”

  The proprietor’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped.

  “It is not this select establishment’s practice, nor will it ever be while I am owner, to have ideas of any kind about what takes place behind the doors and in the rooms occupied by my esteemed guests, Mr. Halsey,” he enunciated with a sniff, and loud enough for the cluster of onlookers to overhear. “Barr’s caters to the quality—”

  “—quality of the gold in the coin we carry if enough of it crosses your greasy palm!”

  The snigger and a snort came from one of the footmen eavesdropping, who instantly dropped his chin to his chest and shuffled behind the elderly Miss Musgrave, back up against the wallpaper.

  “Sir! Mr. Halsey!” blustered Mr. Barr. “I must tell you that…”

  But Plantagenet Halsey had stopped listening. As much as he wanted to beat his cane over the head of the pompous Mr. Barr, such was his angry frustration, instead he turned a shoulder to Tam, who, at the jerk of the old man’s grizzled head, came close to his ear.

  “Have the girl take you up to Mrs. Bourdon’s rooms via the servant stair. If any of the staff give you trouble you’ve my permission to knock ’em down. Your paramount duty is the care of Mrs. Bourdon. Understand me?”

  Tam nodded grimly and with a signal to Janie, the two turned and disappeared, Janie leading the way through the labyrinth of servant passages down to the kitchens.

  Thinking the old man had sent the youth and the maid to fetch Lord Halsey, the proprietor said patronizingly, “I have already requested Lord Halsey’s presence, sir. I merely await his pleasure.”

  “Rightly gave you the brush off, aye?” Plantagenet Halsey again pointed his cane at the servant guarding the door. “What do you expect his lordship can do about Mrs. Bourdon’s condition? He ain’t an apothecary and he ain’t—”

  “Yes! Yes! If you please, sir, there is no need for you to state the obvious. Had I known—”

  “—a man-midwife.”

  “—the young woman’s predicament was so advanced I would have advised her that taking up residence in the Arch apartment was not the most wisest of choices. Barr’s is a respectable address for well-bred and genteel clientele. A private residence would have better suited her purpose.” He looked over the old man’s grizzled hair at the elderly Miss Musgrave who had finished rummaging in her reticule for nothing in particular and who was now boldly staring at him, and dropped his voice to that of a conspiratorial whisper. “Had I known then what I only discovered this morning, I would not have taken Mr. Bourdon’s immoral coin, despite him paying handsomely for the exclusive use of the Arch apartment, and I mean to refund him the balance of his immoral coin as soon as it can be arranged.”

  “Aye? Immoral coin? What are you flabbering on about, Barr? The woman in that room is married and if you are implying anything else, I—”

  “So she would have everyone believe,” Barr bravely interrupted, voice a thin whisper. “But, after what was revealed to me this morning, I have serious doubts the marriage ceremony conducted in the Arch apartment she now occupies was a Christian union under the auspices of Church and state.”

  The old man ground his teeth.

  “I don’t care for your insinuations, Barr. Explain yourself!”

  Despite his guest’s blazing gaze, the proprietor took a step closer.

  “Tell me, sir, is it not an odd set of circumstances that less than a twelvemonth ago the young woman was married to Mr. Bourdon in the very rooms she now occupies, not in a house of God as is the usual and proper place, and by the strangest of clerics, a shabby fellow who looked more beggar than vicar, two servants acting as witnesses to the union. Naturally I respected Mr. Bourdon’s wish for privacy and I did not think it so odd at the time—”

  “Bourdon’s untied purse strings stopped your brain turning a cog or two, did it, Barr?” Plantagenet Halsey quipped, though his ears had prickled at the description of the clergyman: It had to be Blackwell. He waved his cane. “You said circumstances. What else?”

  The proprietor smiled a thin, self-satisfied smile of superiority, believing his guest was beginning to incline to his way of thinking.

  “The newly married couple spent a week ensconced in the apartment and then they departed, for where I know not! Mrs. Bourdon has stayed in that very apartment upon th
ree separate occasions since the day of her marriage, arriving alone, without her husband, and in the most improper of circumstances!”

  There was a squeaking gasp and then a cough. It came from the elderly Miss Musgrave. In his self-deluded self-confidence that the uncle of Lord Halsey was beginning to show signs of coming round to his way of thinking, Bernard Barr had allowed his voice to rise above a whisper. He now quickly coughed and lowered it again.

  “And although I had my suspicions at the time, I am not one to disbelieve my guests, but after what I discovered in the pages of the letter addressed to me by—”

  “Improper?” interrupted Planagenet Halsey, gaze hardened; his question was whisper quiet.

  “Would you not call it improper for a female to stay at a lodging house without her maid in tow, and bringing with her a child of an age that anyone who can add two and two would soon realize was not born in the wedlock of her marriage to Mr. Bourdon?”

  “Did she receive visitors while she was stayin’ here?” the old man asked, conveniently ignoring the proprietor’s pertinent question.

  Bernard Barr’s eyes went very wide. “I beg your pardon? This, Mr. Halsey, is a reputable establishment!”

  “So other than the child, Mrs. Bourdon saw no one, no gentlemen callers whatsoever?”

  “As to that, sir, my position as proprietor of this most esteemed establishment makes it impossible for me to answer you,” Barr replied, face alight with color, thinking of her most recent caller just that very morning; a well-dressed gentleman with a bouquet of flowers whose exit had been melodramatic to say the least, had raised many an eyebrow and too many questions.

  So Mrs. Bourdon had had visitors and male visitors at that! That did not mean there was anything improper in the visits, and Plantagenet Halsey refused to believe there had been, whatever Barr’s insinuations to the contrary. He would stick with his first impression of Mrs. Bourdon until he was told differently by the woman herself. He sighed. He was beyond being annoyed with this moralizing windbag and having given Tam what he considered ample time to enter the apartment via the servant stair, his anxiousness for the welfare of Miranda Bourdon returned tenfold and he pointed the tip of his cane at the inert beefy footman, but addressed the proprietor. “It won’t be a reputable establishment for much longer if Mrs. Bourdin don’t receive the care and consideration she and her unborn babe require and you are the cause of their deaths! Now tell your big oaf to move his elephantine carcass and open that door; and don’t give me tripe about needin’ my nephew to be present!”