‘He didn’t kill her,’ Grandmamma said with a careless wave of a wrinkled hand. ‘Why would he? He had her right where he wanted her, whenever he wanted her, the stupid hussy!’
‘This is no occasion for crudity.’ Sophia curled her upper lip. ‘He was passionately in love with Connie, but she was a free spirit and wouldn’t allow him to tie her down. That infuriated him.’ Sophia recommenced her pacing as she articulated her thoughts. ‘He has a terrible temper when roused to jealousy, is unaccustomed to not getting his way and we now know exactly how he retaliates when people go against his wishes.’
Grandmamma clucked her tongue. ‘Men of Chichester’s ilk do not fall in love. They have more sense.’
‘Then I am very sorry for them, or at least I would be if Lord Chichester had not killed my sister. I have not had the dubious pleasure of making his acquaintance, but I know a great deal about him from the things that Connie implied in our correspondence. He is not sensible. He is egotistical, demanding and struts about like a peacock puffed up with self-importance.’ Sophia rolled her eyes. ‘As though being born to a position of privilege makes him any better than the rest of us.’
‘It does. You think yourself so versed in the ways of the world, young lady, yet you ain’t even learned that much.’
‘Yes well, I certainly agree that he looks down with derision upon us lesser mortals. But Connie wasn’t cowed by all that pomposity, and he must have found that infuriating.’
Grandmamma huffed. ‘Get it through your head that Chichester didn’t kill your sister. Even if he did, you couldn’t possibly exact revenge against such a powerful man, and would only make a fool of yourself if you attempted it.’
‘Revenge? Revenge you say?’ Sophia fell into the chair across from her grandmother, the old lady’s warning having had the opposite effect to the one she’d intended. The half-formed intentions of exacting revenge that had been percolating through her head since first seeing her poor sister’s body had now developed into fully-fledged determination.
‘I know that look, missy.’ Grandmamma shook a gnarled finger at Sophia. ‘Don’t go thinking you can submit one of them articles you are so keen on writing to the newspapers.’ She tutted. ‘A woman expressing her opinions publicly in writing is almost as bad as your sister flaunting herself on the stage. I don’t know why my son can’t keep better control of his daughters. When I was a gal we knew what was expected of us and we didn’t disappoint our elders and betters. Us gals waited for the right offer of matrimony and then settled down to a life of domestic obedience.’
‘How very dull you make it sound,’ Sophia muttered.
‘Anyway, the newspapers will never print anything slanderous about such a powerful man. He would crush them if they tried it.’
‘Ah, botheration, so he would. Still,’ Sophia said, brightening. ‘There’s nothing to say that a letter to the marchioness wouldn’t create a few fireworks.’
‘That won’t serve either. I’m sure the marchioness knows that her husband keeps a mistress, even if she prefers not to know who she is. Most of ’em do, you know. She’s probably quite happy about the arrangement and doesn’t want to know the identity of any rival for her husband’s affections. Your letter would barely cause a ripple. The marchioness would dismiss your claims and then join forces with her husband to protect their precious name, which is all that would really matter to either of them.’
‘Damn.’
‘Language!’
Sophia flashed a mirthless smile. ‘I learned it from you.’
‘And I heard it from your father this morning,’ Grandmamma said, softening her acerbic tone. ‘He claims not to have a daughter named Constance, and has no interest in burying her. That expense will fall to me, I expect.’
Sophia wrinkled her nose, unsurprised by her father’s rigidly unforgiving nature. Equally unsurprised that Connie had rebelled against it. Sophia felt like escaping her family’s cloying clutches too. Her mother had high hopes of marrying her off to their boring neighbour, who was being annoyingly persistent with his attentions, not attaching any significance to Sophia’s disinclination for the union. So much pressure was being brought to bear upon her that Sophia had made an excuse to come up to London and seek her sister’s advice, well aware that Connie would have convinced her to make a strike for independence.
But would she find the courage to follow advice that hadn’t actually been offered? If she returned to Hertfordshire and still refused to smile at the stuffy neighbour, a serious dispute would ensue. All well and good, but what was the alternative? She had little money of her own and couldn’t live on the unpredictable amounts she earned from her journalistic endeavours. She could move in with her grandmother, but that would only be changing one bad situation for another.
Connie’s death afforded her a reason to remain in London to seek justice for her sister. She had not the slightest intention of going home until she had at least tried to get to the truth, even if that did mean staying in Highgate and being lectured about duty and responsibility every two minutes.
‘I will make the arrangements for Connie, Grandmamma,’ Sophia said, inwardly sighing as she thought of the dent that would make in her precious savings. Be that as it may, Connie deserved to be cared for in death by the only member of her family who had truly loved, admired and understood her.
‘I’m not sure your father would approve of that.’
‘I really don’t care. Papa is being his usual stubborn and unfeeling self.’
‘But he still deserves your obedience and respect, as do I.’
‘Oh, this is intolerable.’ If Sophia remained beneath her grandmother’s roof for another day she would probably finish up committing a murder of her own. Perhaps she could live in Connie’s rooms, at least until the arrangements for her funeral had been made and Sophia had managed to formulate a plan to make Chichester pay for his crime. It might seem a little ghoulish, taking up residence in the very rooms in which her sister had been brutally murdered, but it would strengthen her resolve and make her feel closer to Connie. Besides, needs must.
She turned when her grandmother’s maid of all work entered the room.
‘A Mr Milton here to see you, ma’am,’ she said.
‘What does he want?’ Grandmamma asked.
‘It’s in connection with Miss Saville. He says that he acts for Lord Chichester.’
Sophia let out a low growl. ‘Does he indeed,’ she muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Show him in at once.’
Chapter Four
Otto followed the maid, who took him in the same direction as the raised voices he’d heard even before knocking at the door. He found himself on the threshold of a small parlour. A fire blazed, but only some of the smoke found its way up the chimney. The residue sent choking billows back into the room, leaving a sooty film on everything it touched. The space felt stuffy and overheated. The wizened old lady sitting in front of the hearth seemed inured to the atmosphere, probably accepting it in return for the heat the fire provided to ease the pains in her stiff joints. Otto suppressed the urge to recommend the services of a proficient chimney sweep.
His eyes were drawn to the other person in the room and his mood improved exponentially. There was nothing stiff about the magnificent young creature who prowled with lithe grace around the limited amount of space that was not cluttered with furniture. Her pacing only paused for a moment upon Otto’s appearance. She swirled to face him and treated him to a blistering scowl, anger and sadness competing for dominance in her remarkable silver-grey eyes. Otto was left in no doubt that the anger was directed at him for reasons he had yet to determine. The sadness, he assumed, was for the senseless loss of her sister.
‘Do I have the honour of addressing Mrs Larson?’ he asked, reluctantly turning away from the angry young beauty and addressing the old lady.
‘That you do. You are here at the marquess’s behest, I imagine.’
‘Miss Larson?’
‘Don’t you Mis
s Larson me!’ The young woman tossed her head, causing a dark spiral of curls to escape its pins and cascade over her slender shoulders. If she noticed, she seemed not to care about her dishevelment. ‘If you are a friend of Chichester’s, you are no friend of mine and we have nothing to say to one another.’
‘Sophia! Where are you manners?’
Sophia gave a hysterical little laugh as one hand sliced dramatically through the air. ‘My poor sister is dead, probably at the hand of this man’s monster of a friend, and all you are concerned about is politeness.’
She really was remarkably pretty, Otto thought, unoffended by the ire she directed at him, and more interested in the fact that she considered Chichester to be the perpetrator of the crime. She was pretty in a more natural way than her famous sister, he decided. They were both blessed with heart-shaped faces, high cheek bones, finely etched features and expressive eyes. Sophia, he was now in a position to attest, possessed a wide forehead over a face that tapered attractively towards a wide mouth, a neat little chin and a long, slender neck. But unlike Connie, whom Otto had seen perform once or twice, Sophia was making no effort to impress him with her beauty or her wiles. A well-dressed man of Otto’s ilk probably looked as out of place in this small parlour as he felt, but Sophia clearly wished him in Scotland or beyond.
A very refreshing change, Otto decided, glad that he had decided not to abandon his mission simply because Chichester had dispensed with his services. He already sensed there was more to Connie’s murder than a crime passionnel, which is clearly what the murderer wanted the world to believe. Was that murderer Lord Chichester? Doubts were already running through Otto’s mind regarding his innocence, and it seemed that those doubts were shared by the lovely Sophia, who was not about to be fobbed off with condolences and platitudes. All to the good, he decided, eyeing her with speculative admiration. He enjoyed a challenge, especially one that would prove his worth to Torbay. Besides, he felt an overwhelming desire to make himself useful to Miss Sophia Larson in her quest to find justice for her sister.
‘You must excuse my granddaughter, Mr Milton,’ the old lady said. ‘She is not feeling herself. Pray be seated.’
‘On the contrary, Grandmamma, this is exactly who I am.’ Otto attempted to smile at her, unable to seat himself since she remained standing, hands now planted firmly on slender hips. ‘And if you have come here, Mr Milton, to assure us of your friend’s innocence then you have had a wasted journey. I shall never forgive him for what he did and—’
‘Please, Miss Larson.’ Otto held up his hands to stem her flow of angry words. ‘I came to express my sympathy and to—’
She sent him a scathing look. ‘And to make sure we don’t intend to cause trouble for Lord Chichester. I don’t suppose anyone cares too much for our finer feelings.’
‘Actually I came to establish the facts.’
She folded her arms and turned away from him. ‘Ask your friend—or master, or whatever he is to you. Nothing I say is likely to make the slightest difference. Now, if you will excuse me.’ She stormed from the room. ‘Meg,’ he heard her calling. ‘Help me pack. I am leaving here immediately.’
‘Leaving?’ Otto asked, easing himself into the chair opposite the old lady. ‘Is she returning to Hertfordshire?’
‘Why ask me?’ Mrs Larson replied with patent disinterest. ‘She does as she pleases, just like her sister always did. She has taken it into her head that Lord Chichester killed Connie and seems determined to prove it. I have told her she will never manage it and to let matters rest. Her sister was wilful. I always knew it would come to this.’ She sighed. ‘And now Sophia is becoming just like her, stubborn and lacking in the deference due to those of us with a right to expect it.’ She gave a dramatic sigh. ‘She won’t leave London, you just mark my words. Not until her sister is in the ground, the world forgets about her and moves on, and she realises her efforts are futile.’
‘She will remain here with you then?’
‘I doubt that. If she lives with me she must abide by my rules and she is too independently minded to pay any heed to them.’
‘But London is a dangerous place.’ Otto shook his head at the old woman’s intransigence. ‘You cannot just allow her to wander off—’
‘She is of age.’ The old woman shrugged a bony shoulder. ‘And there is nothing I can say that will change her mind. Besides, after what happened to her sister, she can hardly claim not to know of the dangers.’
Otto was appalled for the second time that morning by the selfishness of others. Sophia was still in shock and deeply upset. Any fool could see that much, yet her grandmother seemed totally immune to her distress and was prepared to allow her to wander wherever she liked, simply because she refused to behave with deference towards the bitter old woman. It beggared belief.
He heard footsteps immediately above his head and doors banging open and closed. Not trusting himself to remain with the old hag and remember his manners, he took his leave, but only went as far as the hallway. Once clear of the belching fire, he revelled in the cool air of the flagstoned passageway, leaned one shoulder against the front door jamb and waited. He was rewarded when just a few minutes later he heard Sophia struggling down the stairs, carrying a valise stuffed with her possessions that she hadn’t closed property. She wore her outdoor garments but hadn’t bothered to fix her hair. The same long curl dangled from beneath the brim of her bonnet, which was askew.
‘What are you still doing here?’ she demanded, stopping on the bottom step.
‘Come on,’ he said, taking the valise from her hand. ‘I have a cab waiting outside.’
***
Breathless with surprise, Sophia was unable to formulate a protest to the man’s outrageous assumption that she would go anywhere with him. He took her elbow in a firm grasp and propelled her through the front door that a wide-eyed Meg opened at his instruction. Sophia had two choices. She could struggle and cry for help. But her cries would probably be ignored simply because Mr Milton had an annoyingly commanding presence that the hoi polloi who frequented the streets in this area would find hard to countermand. The alternative was to allow him to help her into the hansom that waited outside his grandmother’s cottage and look for an opportunity to make her escape.
She glanced back at the windows, expecting to see her grandmother finally galvanised into protesting on Sophia’s behalf. The curtains moved but no protest was forthcoming, confirming what Sophia already knew. Her grandmother was as cold-hearted as the rest of her family and didn’t give two figs for Sophia’s safety. With a sigh of resignation, she dismissed her cantankerous relative from her mind and turned her thoughts to her more immediate concerns—Mr Milton’s abduction of her. Yes, abduction. There was no other way to describe his authoritative behaviour.
He could be in league with Lord Chichester, she reminded herself, waiting for panic to overwhelm her. He almost certainly was connected to the odious marquess in some way. But the panic never came. He was unquestionably a gentleman—possibly an impecunious one who would be happy to attend to the marquess’s less savoury business if suitably recompensed—but a gentleman nonetheless. Everything about Mr Milton told her that he was accustomed to mixing with the aristocracy. His superb clothing, his refined manner of speech and the casual assumption of control that she had already noticed—and which, to her considerable annoyance, she found fascinating—confirmed that supposition. Gentlemen were born, not made, and Mr Milton’s manner left no doubt about his particular birthright.
But Chichester was a man of considerable prestige, even amongst his peers, so Mr Milton might well have curried favour by ridding him of the inconvenience of Connie. Sophia loved her sister but was not blind to her faults. Connie had always enjoyed flirting, and perhaps more, with other men, even though Lord Chichester thought he had purchased exclusive rights to her favours. One look at Mr Milton and she would have been smitten—as much as Sophia was determined not to be. Looks were not everything. Except that in Connie’s wor
ld they had been, and Mr Milton, with his easy charm, elegant manners and dominant personality, would easily have had Connie just where he wanted her.
Sophia could be seated beside a murderer.
And she could also be the next on his list. Chichester couldn’t afford to have Sophia asking awkward questions or making public accusations that would damage his precious reputation. She wondered why she wasn’t in more of a panic, given her perilous situation. Perhaps because this was an excellent opportunity to gain a little more inside information—always supposing Mr Milton possessed any, or would be willing to give it up even if he did. Unlike her sister, Sophia didn’t have the first idea how to flirt, or to beguile men into indiscretion.
Common sense told her that Mr Milton would hardly try to do away with her in broad daylight in a hansom cab, and she would find a way to get away from him once she’d pumped him for information. Besides, a part of her felt safe with him, which confused her. He was her enemy and it would be disloyal to Connie’s memory to be swayed by his handsome features, his compelling eyes that were as brown as his thick thatch of hair, or the indolent little smile that constantly played about his lips. Sophia took comfort from the fact that abductors with murderous intent probably didn’t smile at their victims.
‘There is no need to manhandle me, Mr Milton,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘If you are offering to give me a lift in your cab, then it suits me to accept. You can take me to my sister’s rooms, if it’s no trouble.’
‘Good God!’ Mr Milton climbed into the cab and sat close, far too close, beside her. His muscular thigh pressed against hers but the seat was narrow and she couldn’t move away to avoid the contact. And she wanted to avoid it, truly she did. His intimate proximity and the knowing expression in his intelligent eyes befuddled her thinking and constantly made her forget that he was probably a desperate cutthroat. ‘Surely you cannot intend to move there? It will give you nightmares.’
Social Graces (Victorian Vigilantes Book 5) Page 5
