by C. J. Chase
She stroked a finger across the smooth surface of the ivory, eyes downcast. “How did it break?”
“I stepped on it.” Julian retreated to his chair.
Her chin jerked up. “You what?” A dark smudge stained her cheek on the site of her occasional dimple. A bruise?
“Accidentally. It fell to the floor when the doctor moved Fleming’s sheets.”
The magistrate tapped his knee. “Miss Vance, can anyone verify your comb has been out of your possession all this time? Did you tell anyone? Report it lost at the time?”
Wariness and vulnerability, even fear, flickered in the wide hazel eyes. “No, of course not. Why would I concern anyone else? It’s of only sentimental value.”
“Then perhaps you would share the circumstances of how an item of sentimental value went missing three years ago.”
“I—I had gone for a walk. And when I got back to my room, I noticed it missing. I looked for it later, but never found it. Perhaps Mr. Fleming discovered it during his visit here.”
“So despite the snow covering the ground, he stumbled across an item missing for three years. And then he tucked it between his sheets?” Mr. Mason brows rose dubiously.
Miss Vance’s fist curled around the shattered pieces, but she offered no further explanations or excuses.
“Young women frequently share such sentimental items with men as an expression of their affection.”
“I never gave Mr. Fleming any indication of a-an attachment!”
A rather telling reaction. Julian leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “Then what is your theory to explain how it came to be in the man’s bedchamber, Miss Vance? We know it wasn’t in his bed last night when the footmen carried him there.”
“Surely, I don’t know and I can’t speculate. I was never in his chamber until those minutes before his death. Indeed I didn’t even know which chamber he occupied until yesterday.”
And yet she had managed to discover Julian’s chamber within hours of his arrival here.
Mr. Mason drummed his fingers against his knee. “Yesterday, Lady Teresa suggested Mr. Fleming spoke much about you, Miss Vance. Did he ever express such an interest to you, in either word or deed? Perhaps offering gifts or seeking your opinions or requesting your time?”
“I...” She stared at the rigid clasp of her hands. “Mr. Fleming accosted me Sunday while I was returning from a visit with a friend. Lord Chambelston arrived and intervened.”
“And where did this...dispute take place?”
“Just this side of Norford.”
The magistrate glanced at him, brows raised. Julian nodded. “Yes, that event happened as Miss Vance says.” Ugly suspicions crowded his thoughts. Fleming’s harassment when he caught her alone Sunday afternoon. Her reaction to Fleming at dinner and later at the piano.
The magistrate rose from his chair and paced to the fireplace. “Miss Vance, we have reason to believe Mr. Fleming was murdered. Today.”
“Murdered...today?”
“A couple hours ago. Three at the most.”
“But the attack was yesterday.” She uncurled her fingers and stared at the comb, as if to draw strength from its presence. A smudge identical to that on her cheek darkened her palm, like Lady Macbeth’s spot that wouldn’t wash away. Was Leah Vance also an accessory to murder?
No, she couldn’t have poisoned Fleming. Not with her own hands, if Dr. Grant had presented them with an accurate timeline of the events. But whoever planted the comb—whoever intended to see her thusly accused—didn’t know of her venture off the estate this afternoon.
Julian waited for her to offer the name of the man who could provide her defense, but she held her silence like she had guarded so many other secrets. Who was the man that she would protect him so? Julian leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “You see why we have a problem, Miss Vance. While we endeavored to discover the identity of the strangers who thrashed Fleming during his ride yesterday, someone in this household poisoned him in his bed today.”
Chapter Ten
Leah slogged up the stairs to the schoolroom, the magistrate’s final instructions to remain at the house still reverberating in her ears. As if she had anywhere to go even if she wanted to escape. She had no money, only a few worn clothes and two similarly indigent relatives. If the magistrate questioned her further, the truths about three years ago would eventually come out—truths she didn’t want to face, didn’t want to remember. Worse, truths that would end her employment and suggest a reason she might want Fleming dead.
She twisted the knob of the schoolroom door and trudged into the room. The scratching of quill on paper whispered from the table where Lady Caroline and Molly still drew pictures. Teresa glanced up from the desk where she yet sat. Nothing and everything had changed in the few brief minutes of Leah’s absence.
Teresa closed her book. “What did the magistrate want, Miss Vance?”
A murder suspect, it appeared. “He’s still investigating the circumstances surrounding Mr. Fleming’s death.” Would Chambelston divulge what he knew about Leah’s association with the radicals? She seemed destined to hang despite agreeing to betray her cousin and his friends.
“Poor Reggie! I can’t believe he is gone. I should have tried harder to stop those villains!” Teresa’s distress darkened the heavy black crescents under her eyes. “If only I had done more—”
“Stop!”
A hitch of her breath conveyed Lady Caroline’s apprehension at Leah’s sharp tones.
Leah swept across the room to Teresa’s side and dropped her voice in volume, if not intensity. “You are not to blame for being unable to rescue your cousin against the strength of five men.”
“But if I had done as Reggie instructed and ridden back for help—”
“Doubtlessly he would have died alone out there at their hands before any assistance arrived.” Leah covered Teresa’s cold, trembling hand with one of her own. “You did the best you could under horrifying circumstances. You distracted at least one of his attackers, possibly forestalling them long enough your cousin yet lived when help arrived.”
“And it was all for nothing. My best wasn’t good enough.” Bitterness edged Teresa’s voice and clouded her eyes. “Reggie died anyway.”
Leah peeked over her shoulder and met Molly’s uneasy gaze. “Perhaps you should escort Lady Caroline to her chamber. No doubt she could use a light repast.”
Molly nodded and slid the girl’s chair away from the table. “Come, Lady Caroline. We’ll ask Anna to get you some food.”
Caroline obligingly accompanied the maid.
Leah waited until the door shut behind them before sharing the remaining—worse—news with Teresa. “What you did wasn’t for nothing. The magistrate doesn’t believe your cousin died from the blows he sustained yesterday.”
Teresa blinked, her blue eyes a blend of self-recrimination and confusion. “But then...”
“Poison.”
“Poison! But—but how? When?”
Leah considered the magistrate’s last words before he had dismissed her with instructions not to leave Rowan Abbey. “This afternoon, I believe.” Whatever poison the assassin had administered, he had done it in sufficient dosage to kill Fleming in a very short time.
“Who would want to kill Reggie?”
Probably any number of women. Leah’s stare fell on the chair Molly had vacated only moments ago. How many others had Fleming abused during his visits over the years? Add in any male servants who might be infatuated with one of them or susceptible to a financial inducement, and suddenly everyone in the household—with the exception of Lady Caroline and possibly the dowager—became a suspect.
But the magistrate had focused on Leah—because of a hair comb lost years ago.
“Teresa, this morning you told Mr. Mason your cousin expressed an interest in me. What did he wish to know?” Fortunately Lady Sotherton had halted the magistrate’s further inquiry. Did she know of Fleming’s misdeeds? Or
did she fear her nephew had developed a serious interest for a most unsuitable—that was, unendowed—female? Whatever the reasons, Leah was truly grateful Teresa hadn’t provided the magistrate with additional grounds to believe her a murderer.
“Oh, just little things. Where you hail from. Where you go on your day off.” Teresa’s guileless blue gaze shimmered with the remnants of her grief. “I suspect you fascinated him.”
Leah started to protest, then paused. Perhaps Teresa’s sunny naïveté was to Leah’s advantage. After all, a woman hoping for a marriage proposal from a man above her station would hardly want to see him dead.
* * *
“Can you tell me what we are searching for, my lord?” Mr. Mason paused in the center of a Persian rug and surveyed Fleming’s chamber.
“Not exactly.” But Julian would know it when he saw it. “I thought we might find a few clues into Fleming’s interests and activities.”
“And from there, a list of people who might wish him ill.”
“Yes.” Julian slid open the drawer where Caroline had...explored a few short days ago and held a candle aloft. The green ribbon still curled in its spot, but the gold locket nestling beside the silk had disappeared. “Come look at this.”
Mason sidled over to stand next to Julian. “My lord?”
“Several days ago I had occasion to see the contents here, and I noticed several items of a feminine nature.”
The magistrate lifted an end of the ribbon. “As I mentioned to Miss Vance, young men frequently collect such tokens from women who hold their affection.”
“So I considered. However, there was another article—a gold locket—which has disappeared. Such a piece would sell for a fair amount.” Or it would in London. But in rural Northamptonshire?
“You think the murderer stole the piece?”
“Or perhaps a member of the staff while Fleming was riding yesterday. But someone has an item that recently belonged to Fleming.”
“And it would behoove us to talk to that person. I’ll make inquiries in the villages. Such an article would be noticed.” The magistrate moved to the desk and rifled through a stack of papers.
Julian investigated the remaining drawers of the armoire, and discovered...nothing. At least the magistrate hadn’t asked how he came to know about Fleming’s cache of feminine trinkets. He pushed the last one shut and joined Mason at the desk. “Are you having better success than I?”
“That depends. Do you like horse racing?”
“Not especially. It isn’t a common form of entertainment on a ship.”
“Understandable.” The magistrate chuckled and passed Julian a paper of statistics with notes scribbled in the margins. “Fleming seemed to enjoy it, however. Do you suppose he owes money?”
“Possibly.” Likely, even. Julian moved the page to the light and stared at Fleming’s script, a memory niggling in his mind.
“Enough that someone would want to kill him? Except that wouldn’t explain how his enemy got into Lord Sotherton’s house.”
“He’d only need to find someone on the staff whose assistance could be purchased.” Like Miss Vance. Acid churned in Julian’s belly. Did anyone else in the house know of her dual loyalties? Perhaps even the same person who would deposit a comb—a comb with her name engraved into the ivory—in Fleming’s bed?
“Still, why kill a person who owes you money? You’d never get it back. Better to demand the funds from his brother. Doesn’t Viscount Killiane have an interest in politics? A man with those ambitions would be susceptible to blackmail. He might wish to rid himself of an embarrassing relative standing in his way.”
“The same could be said for Lord Sotherton. If we start requiring decency and decorum from the relatives of our political class, half the members of Parliament will be at risk of blackmail.”
Mason chuckled. “This morning you said Killiane had been informed of the troubles here. Have you received a reply?”
“I don’t know.” Julian tossed the paper onto the desk next to an empty decanter. The method the murderer used to instill the poison into Fleming’s system? “Come, we should ask Lady Sotherton. But not in this room.” He grabbed the candle and led the magistrate out of the bedchamber.
“I’m afraid now you’ll be sending Fleming’s family even worse news.” Mason followed Julian down the stairs and into the drawing room. “But hopefully, we can provide them with some comfort in this time of great distress if we identify the murderer.”
Julian gave the bell pull a yank. So many possibilities—and the magistrate seemed focused on only one.
“My lord?” The butler paused in the doorway, a salver outstretched.
“Ah, Hawkesworth, would you see if Lady Sotherton is able to join us?”
“At once, my lord. And if your lordship pleases, I’ve compiled the list of names you requested.”
“You are a wonder, Hawkesworth.” Julian seized the paper off the tray, flipped it open and skimmed the names in the butler’s neat script.
“Anything useful?” Mason dropped onto a chair.
“Not particularly.” Upwards of a dozen people had passed through Fleming’s chamber, from the dowager and her companion down to the footman and lowly chambermaids. Miss Vance’s name was significant only by its absence. But then, Julian knew she hadn’t even been in the house this afternoon. So why the prevarications? Why not simply provide them with her excuse? Unless she couldn’t disclose her friend’s name.
Mason withdrew a handkerchief from his coat and mopped the perspiration from his shiny brow. “Hiking those stairs drains a man’s energy.”
“And we’ve kept you unconscionably past the dinner hour.”
“I do look famished, don’t I?” The magistrate placed his hands on his rotund belly and chuckled. Then his face sobered as Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. He jumped to his feet again. “My lady, may I offer you my condolences on the death of your nephew?”
“Good evening, Mr. Mason.” Tension exaggerated the lines around her mouth and the dark wreaths under her eyes that even the muted light of night couldn’t hide. “My brother is right. We have monopolized much of your time tonight.”
“I’m only doing my duty, my lady. I want to see this business handled correctly. How is the Dowager Countess Sotherton?”
“Sleeping now.” Elizabeth’s skirts swayed as she strolled into the room. “Thank you for your concern and attention, Mr. Mason. May I offer you a light repast?”
“Answers are all I need.”
“I’ll tell you everything I know, of course. Please, do sit.” She sank onto the settee.
“Thank you, my lady.” The magistrate resumed his seat. “Have you heard from Mr. Fleming’s brother or Lord Sotherton?”
“A note arrived from Benedict earlier this evening. Of course, he hasn’t yet learned of today’s tragic events. Benedict wrote that Killiane decided to call on his friend Mr. Warren.”
“Then he is not presently with Lord Sotherton?”
“He’ll join Benedict in London in time for Parliament’s opening. I don’t know what we’ll do about a service for dear Reggie, what with the new session of Parliament beginning later this week and his mother so far away.”
“I remember when Mr. Fleming’s mother lived in the district. What a dear, sweet lady who will be absolutely heartbroken. And you must be exhausted yourself, my lady. I’ll try to keep my inquiries brief. Mr. Fleming died from a lethal dosage of laudanum.”
“Perhaps his pain was acute and in his delirium, he accidently consumed overmuch.”
Julian selected the chair on the other side of the marble fireplace. “I highly doubt Mr. Fleming died by his own hand—either deliberately or inadvertently. The doctor discovered the laudanum bottle on the desk, not next to the bed where your footman claims to have left it. When I observed Fleming earlier today, he hadn’t the strength to rise from the bed, let alone hike across the room and back.”
Elizabeth’s pale features turned a ghastly shade of green.
“Are you suggesting William...?”
“Or someone else. William claims he administered the usual dosage, put the laudanum next to the bed and then left Mr. Fleming alone some minutes while he prepared for dinner. The butler corroborates his story about leaving Mr. Fleming’s chamber. Your cook says she didn’t send up any food or drink at that time. However, Mr. Fleming had a brandy decanter and glasses in his room. Perhaps not coincidently, we discovered the laudanum bottle on the same desk as the empty brandy decanter.”
“Then who might have killed Reggie?” Elizabeth’s restless hands fidgeted on her lap.
“Assuming William and Hawkesworth speak the truth, anyone could have slipped into Mr. Fleming’s room during those minutes when he was alone.”
Mason shifted, causing the chair’s frame to squeak. “We did make one peculiar discovery in Mr. Fleming’s bedchamber.”
Despite his proximity to the fire, a chill rippled down Julian’s back. At destroying the remnants of a woman’s reputation? “As yet, we don’t know how it relates to his death.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flickered to Julian before returning to the magistrate. “A discovery?”
“A hair comb belonging to Miss Vance—a rather personal item to be lost in so private a place as the man’s bedchamber. She has identified the item in question as hers, but I find her explanations for how it arrived in Mr. Fleming’s possession decidedly implausible. My lady, did anything concern you about Mr. Fleming’s relationship with Miss Vance? Did you notice anything unusual on that score? Has she ever seemed particularly friendly toward your nephew? Or perhaps markedly hostile?”
Elizabeth’s familiar frown reappeared, deepening the lines around her mouth. “I can’t recall any specific incidents. But then, I don’t recall Miss Vance wearing a hair comb at any time.”
