by M C Beaton
Betty let out a gasp of amazement. Revealed stood the most beautiful rocking horse she had ever seen. The sun from the skylight above the staircase shone down on its dappled, painted flanks, on its crystal eyes, on its shiny leather saddle with the silver stirrups and on the long, white mane of silk hair.
The knocker on the street door sounded again and the second footman went to answer it. The Duke of Collingham and Captain Jimmy Dunbray made their entrance. At the same moment, Simon appeared at the top of the stairs, crying "Oh, Aunt Betty, is it for me? In truth, is it really for me?"
Betty turned from making her curtsy to the Duke and Captain Jimmy to answer him, a smile of pure love lighting up her face at the sight of the child. At the same moment, James the footman, fascinated by the beauty of the great toy, had been stroking the silk mane and suddenly let out a sharp cry. He drew his hand back, blood running from his finger. "I'm sorry, my lady," he said to Betty. "I cut my finger on something. . . ." He stopped and turned white, a look of surprise crossing his face. "I . . ." he began again, and then he began to shiver violently.
Simon had reached the hall and had started running toward the horse. "Don't touch it!" cried the Duke hoarsely and Betty, who had been standing in shocked surprise, jumped into action and seized Simon before he could reach the horse.
Captain Jimmy ran to the footman's aid, loosening the man's cravat and shouting to Bella to fetch the physician.
Lady Hester came flying into the hall, a loose wrapper over her nightgown, her lace nightcap dangling down her back, crying, "What's amiss? What's to-do?"
Captain Jimmy's cherubic faced turned quite white as he slowly lowered the footman to the floor. "He's dead, Dolph," he said to the Duke.
The Duke walked forward and delicately lifted back the silken mane of the horse as it stood shining under the shaft of sunlight from the skylight.
A wicked spike, thin and evil, sparkled in the sunlight. A shocked silence fell on the onlookers as the Duke stepped back, his handsome face grim. The rocking horse, set in motion, rocked slowly back and forth, the crystal eyes winking and the faint breeze engendered by the gentle motion causing the silken threads of its mane and tail to float to and fro.
"Poisoned," said the Duke, his voice thin and strange. "The spike was poisoned with something. Here, you! Bella, or whatever your name is, take the child and the ladies away from here until Captain Dunbray and myself deal with the authorities. It should be a simple matter to find who purchased this toy."
Simon could not quite believe what had happened. He half stretched a chubby hand toward the wonderful horse but Betty seized his hand and pulled it down. "Come away, Simon," she said gently. "Come with Aunt Betty. Do not touch it. It is bad. Come away."
Simon, thought the Duke, so that is Simon. And then his mind turned to the more serious matter of the murder. For murder it undoubtedly was.
He found to his irritation that Lady Hester was still standing in the hall. "Lady Hester," he said sharply. "This is no place for you. Captain Dunbray and myself will deal with all that is necessary. There is no need to distress yourself."
"I ain't distressed," said Hester, "not in a missish way. But this is my house and that there was my footman and I've a right to find out what's going on if only to tell his ma back at Westerby."
She stood with her hands on her hips, her wrapper falling open to reveal a rather tawdry nightgown. The Duke averted his eyes. Hester, he reflected grimly, was definitely a blacksmith's daughter. No lady of any delicacy would have remained on the scene.
The authorities in the shape of first, the watch, then the Bow Street Patrol and then the magistrate appeared. In the opinion of Bow Street, the footman had died of natural causes for, it transpired, one of them had had an aunt who had cut her finger and had subsequently died of gangrene. Faced with the Duke's rage, however, they promised to investigate and at last departed with as little enthusiasm for their task as it was possible for anyone to have.
When Hester was alone with the two men again, she startled them by suddenly bursting into noisy, gulping tears, amazing in one who had remained so controlled throughout the proceedings.
"Come, now, Lady Hester," said the Duke testily. "I told you this was no place at present for ladies. I suggest . . ."
"Boo! Hoo-hoo!" wailed Hester in an utter abandonment of grief and clutching her rough tresses with both hands and tugging them furiously.
"It's all happening again," she wailed. "First the old Marquess, then Jane and Lord Charles, and now she's out to murder Simon—and not one shred of proof can I find against her."
"Who?" demanded the Duke, startled.
"That there Mrs. Bentley, that's who."
"Come, now, Lady Hester," he said, eyeing her utter abandonment of manner and dress with distaste. "I beg of you to calm yourself."
"Boo, hoo-hoo!" roared Hester even more loudly.
What gentleman could ever consider holding this slut in his arms, thought the Duke angrily and then glared in surprise. For Captain Jimmy had taken as much of the tall Hester in his arms as he could and was stroking her rough hair and making soothing noises in her ear.
"Tea is what you need, dear Lady Hester," cooed Jimmy. "And we must be brave so as not to frighten little Simon, musn't we?" And Hester gulped and nodded and meekly allowed herself to be led away to the drawing room.
I am the only sane person here, thought the Duke irritably. He had a longing for action.
He returned to his own home, called for his secretary, and began to issue instructions. It must be easy to find where such a magnificent toy had been made and, therefore, who had sent it. His servants wandered far and wide throughout the day, always coming back to report failure. He bethought himself that he had not called on the Bentleys and made his way to number ten, Huggets Square.
Fanny was pale and subdued and had lost her usual social manner. Mrs. Bentley, on the contrary, was all smiles and graces. He refused an offer of tea and came straight to the point.
"Mrs. Bentley," he began, "a most distressing thing happened today. I called on the Ladies Hester and Betty . . ."
"Dear me," murmured Mrs. Bentley sympathetically.
"On the Ladies Hester and Betty," repeated the Duke firmly. "While I was present, a rocking horse was delivered as a present for young Simon. One of the Wester-by footmen was stroking the mane when he caught his hand on a spike and fell dead. It appears the spike was poisoned, although as yet the authorities are unable to trace the nature of the poison. In short, someone meant to kill little Lord Westerby. Overcome by shock, Lady Hester accused you, Mrs. Bentley, of trying to kill the boy and of having killed her stepfather and then Lord and Lady Welbourne."
Fanny sat very still and quiet, looking at her hands in her lap. Frederica, her sister, let out a silly squeal of laughter and then raised a nervous hand to her mouth. The Duke watched Mrs. Bentley closely.
She sat quite calmly, pouring tea for herself with a steady hand. And then she began to speak in measured tones. "I am afraid, my lord duke, that you do not quite understand the background of the Westerby family. Hester and Betty are the daughters of the Westerby blacksmith, a rough, boorish peasant, very violent in his ways. He married Sally, another peasant. When the blacksmith died, the first Marquess took this Sally as wife. Now my husband had, I admit, won the Westerby home and estates from Westerby at a card game. Not unusual in these times? Jane, the Marquess's daughter by his first marriage, asked Lord Charles Welbourne to win those estates back. This she did by promising to become his mistress, should Lord Charles succeed. Lord Charles did succeed—by playing with marked cards and tricking my husband. Mr. Bentley was always fair and of a trusting nature himself. The deception was too much for him and, it is said, he took his own life. The Westerbys were overcome by guilt, as they should be, which is why we live on their charity."
Here the Duke could not help staring at the magnificent collar of diamonds around Mrs. Bentley's neck. Surely the Westerby generosity and will to atone did not go t
hat far.
"Simon, the first Marquess," went on Mrs. Bentley, "died mad. There has always been madness in the Westerby family. Lord Charles married Lady Jane Lovelace but shortly after she gave birth to little Simon, their horses took fright at something, their carriage overturned, and both were killed. A straightforward accident. Lady Hester has always been strange and rough and wild in her ways and cries murder at the slightest opportunity."
And she went on eating cakes and pouring tea.
"Madam," said the Duke gently, "you have forgot. I was present this morning. The footman died. The toy was meant for the boy. The toy was meant to kill the boy."
"Then it was none of my doing," said Mrs. Bentley. "Come, Your Grace, I am no Borgia. Should I be insane enough as to wish to murder someone, then I should do it in a very simple manner and not with theatrical tricks such as a poisoned rocking horse."
"Are you accusing Mother of being a murderess?" demanded Frederica hotly while her sister, Fanny, still sat immobile, looking at her hands.
"Of course he is not, you silly," laughed Mrs. Bentley. "You must forgive my little Frederica, Your Grace. But it did rather sound as if you were accusing me . . ."
Put that way and faced with this calm matron, the Duke began to feel ridiculous. Whoever it was that was trying to kill the little Marquess, it was certainly not Mrs. Bentley.
"My apologies, madam," said the Duke, rising and making a magnificent leg. "I was naturally rather overset by the incident, but if I by any chance . . ."
"No, no, quite understandable. Fanny, do not sit so downcast or His Grace will think you are moonstruck . . . or in love with a certain gentleman who is not far from us, heh! Shall we see you at the Chudleigh breakfast tomorrow, dear Duke? . . . Good. Now my Fanny can smile again."
The Duke looked somewhat sympathetically at Fanny. Her head must ache like the very devil after last night, he thought. He was still intrigued by the mystery of the rocking horse, but somehow Lady Betty had dwindled in his mind. In retrospect, her behavior seemed gauche in the extreme and the little warm glow he had felt on discovering that the love of her life was a small boy had quite gone.
He decided to continue the investigations elsewhere.
He walked into the hall with a flourish of silks and lace, collected his hat and his tall cane, and made his adieux. Mrs. Bentley gave him a warm, sympathetic smile. "You must not worry overmuch, dear Duke," she said. "You will find t'was not poison at all but that the footman had some malady and was about to be struck down in any case."
After the Duke had left, Mrs. Bentley returned and looked thoughtfully down at her daughter, Fanny. "He will be at the Chudleigh's tomorrow, Fanny," she said in measured tones, "and I suggest you pull yourself together and try to repair the damage you have done. A little help from me and you will marry that proud duke yet."
Fanny raised her eyes slowly and looked at her mother. "Are you not concerned over the attempt on Simon's life?" she asked curiously.
Mrs. Bentley looked at her in surprise. "Why should I be? One small Westerby less makes the world a better place, I can assure you. Do not look so gloomy, Fanny. See how gay and sparkling Frederica is." Frederica snickered awfully. "Come along and we shall look over your wardrobe for tomorrow. Something perfectly killing, I think. . . ."
When the panic and fright finally settled down at the Westerby town house, the grim specter of murder began to retreat. Anderson, the butler, was diligent in his inquiries. It transpired that James, the footman, had been feeling poorly for some time and had been given to shivering fits and coughing bouts. Fear of murder was replaced by fear of typhoid or cholera and for one blissful hour Betty thought that Hester was going to weaken and let them all return to Eppington Chase. But Hester, recovered from her fright, was quite herself again, vowing they should forego the opera that evening and take Simon to the circus instead. Betty was about to protest but then she saw that the proposed treat had already banished the thought of the rocking horse from Simon's young mind and so she kept silent, only instructing Anderson quietly to take the toy and lock it in one of the attics when they were out.
The circus, which was over on the Surrey-side, was hardly an elegant affair but both sisters delighted in Simon's rapture and Bella's awe.
Hester thought fleetingly of the charm and concern of Captain Jimmy Dunbray, lamented that he was so short, and put him from her mind. Betty ceased to be plagued by a haughty, handsome face and a pair of emerald eyes. The Duke was too high in the instep by half. She would not go to the Chudleigh breakfast on the morrow. Better to return to her tranquil ways and stay at home and guard Simon, in case any more peculiar "accidents" should occur. Betty felt proud of Simon. He was no longer dressed in petticoats as were most boys of his age and rank but in breeches tied at the knee with ribbons and a silk coat with whale-boned skirts. His dark curly hair had been powdered for the occasion and Hester had given him a small dress sword to wear at his side. With his elfin face alight with happiness, Betty thought he looked heartbreakingly like his mother, Jane. Jane had married for love, thought Betty suddenly, but Lord Charles Welbourne had been a dashing, handsome rake, not cold and pompous like the Duke.
Most definitely, she would forgo the Chudleigh breakfast.
She had forgotten that Simon, too, had been invited and Simon was determined to go.
Even at the age of six, Simon, Lord Westerby, was well aware of his rank, his standing in the community, and above all, that he was a man. For everyone knew that women were the weaker sex and the sign of a decadent country was when women took over the reins of power. They were all very well in their way, for producing sons, arranging the flowers and running the household. Simon, influenced in his cradle by the views of the times, was beginning to chafe under his petticoat government, much as he loved his aunts. So when the following day dawned bright and sunny and the hour of the Chudleigh's breakfast approached —three in the afternoon, for when else did one have breakfast?—he startled his aunts by declaring firmly that he had every intention of going, piping his authority in a shrill treble.
Hester was for boxing his ears and sending him to his room but Bella and Betty were more aware than Hester that young lords took upon them the rule of their estates and houses at an early age and advised her to go. "It is a pretty day, Hester," pleaded Betty. "And you have that vastly becoming new gown you have not worn yet. Perhaps Captain Dunbray will be there."
"It is no use wishing Captain Dunbray on me," snapped Hester. "He makes me look like a great maypole. Besides, he is Scotch, and Highland Scotch to boot, and there is rumour that he did not wish to fight for King George during the rebellion. Come, now, Betty. Would'st have me mate with a Jacobite?"
"That is just the sort of malicious gossip that someone like Mrs. Bentley or Mrs. Campford and her daughter, Belinda, might put about. Do you know that Mrs. Campford says that Charles had to marry Jane and that they had a liaison in Hampstead before they were married?"
"Oh, if I were a man, I would call them all out," sighed Hester.
"Well, you're not," said Betty with unwonted vigor. "You are a young lady like me. And you like parties and I do not. Only think of the effort it is for me to go."
"It is hard being a woman," grumbled Hester. "Already I am having to obey the dictates of a six-year-old boy. Very well, I will go. But powder my hair I will not. It itches like the devil."
"Oh, Hester, when did you last wash your hair?"
"La! Can't remember," said Hester laconically.
"Then I shall wash it for you," said Betty firmly, "and since it is an afternoon engagement, perhaps people will not think it so odd if you go without powder. Please, Hester."
"Oh, very well," sighed Hester, who always gave into Betty's soft requests where she would blithely have outfaced a sterner authority. "Only don't expect me to take a bath as well. That would be the outside of enough."
Betty compressed her lips. Hester should most definitely have a bath since even Betty knew it was the only way to keep those h
ighly democratic vermin at bay.
And so by the time they climbed into the carriage that was to take them to the Chudleigh breakfast, a pink and scrubbed Hester was feeling she had done more than enough to please her gentle sister for one day. Her heavy masses of hair had been dressed in shining curls and ringlets by Bella's clever old fingers. Betty had decided to forgo powder and pomatum as well and so her shining blond hair sparkled in the sunlight under the shade of a smart Leghorn bound with a wide silk violet ribbon. Betty's dress was of violet silk opening over a light green silk underdress and fastened with a long row of velvet bows down the front. Hester was wearing a gown of very rich brocade, blue on the surface and green underneath, with a narrow stripe of green running at regular intervals and a running vine pattern of small bright flowers and leaves between. This was arranged over a quilted petticoat of blue satin. Her hair was dressed with aritificial vine leaves and tiny blue flowers.
Bella was imposing in purple Paduasoy worn under a muslin apron embroidered with forget-me-nots. Her hair, now showing more white than before, was decorated with tall feathers, and she kept taking a small steel mirror from the pocket of her apron to admire the effect.
Simon's new awareness of authority ill became him. He sat stiffly beside Betty in the carriage, looking down his small nose at the passersby with disdain and Betty wished she had allowed Hester to box his ears. The boy badly needed a father.
The Chudleigh mansion was some distance from the town and so it was pleasant to be out among the fields after the noise and shouting and cruelties of the London streets where sometimes it seemed as if every man, woman and child were drunk. But what else could be expected in an age when the very guilds demanded payment from their apprentices in drink? When the undertakers union held a monopoly on shovels and if any coal heaver wanted a shovel he had to negotiate for it, those that drank the most being favored the most?
But that world rolled away behind them to be gradually lost in the cloud of smoke which always hung over the great city.
