“Delighted,” said Jane, curtseying. “Did you really want to dance or did you have news for me?”
“A bit of both,” said the Beau, leading her into the line of a measure. “Your instincts are, as always, unerring. As well as a single fishbone which was loose, not lodged, in Lady Julia’s throat, there were fragments of down. Was that approximately what you were expecting?”
“Either that, or the lint of a heavy piece of wool,” said Jane. “Then it is definitely murder. What of the new servant?”
“Again, you were quite right, a new footman, who declared that he wouldn’t stay in a household of death. The agency he was supposed to have come from had never heard of him.”
“I suppose he wasn’t the sort of man who could pass as the, er, Captain Hackum to a Miss Laycock?” asked Jane.
“Lady Armitage! Should I be shocked that you know such terms?” said the Beau.
“Not unless I should be shocked that you recognise them,” said Jane. “I have a potential suspect who has been dressed as a footman but looks, I am told, like a bouncer at a house of ill repute, but one who has never been a pugilist.”
“I wish I could say that tallies, but unfortunately this footman is a man who has no distinguishing feature. As you might say, he excels in being very ordinary looking,” said the Beau. “A man of average height, not strikingly handsome nor unpleasantly plain, no feature out of ordinarily large or small, middle coloured hair, middling build.”
“In short, the sort of man who makes an ideal man to use for killing people and walking away afterwards,” said Jane. “The danger is to see murder where there is none, as people do genuinely have accidents. Indeed, I think the only way we can surmise that murder has been done is if the main beneficiary has an unassailable alibi.”
“Using the services of another while he establishes himself or herself elsewhere. Yes, I see,” said Popham.
“It is the only explanation if this is a spree of killings and not pure accident,” said Jane. “That young Mr. Pelham has a definite and established alibi seems to suggest that it is an organised murderer or murderers for hire, not mere coincidence. You have the background, my dear Beau, so I will leave it up to you to establish which beneficiaries had clear alibis, since those who did not will tend to indicate a death which is purely coincidental within the deaths which are not. And then we might start looking to see if there are Jacobite sympathies amongst those who appear to be suspicious beneficiaries. I believe you might wish to check the alibi of Paul Strode, Viscount Ashall as well, when his cousin drowned. I might be going too far in wondering about that, but at the moment, any death which is not long expected by the doctors must be suspect until or unless shown to be otherwise.”
“Indeed. If it is a Jacobite ring, getting a young man who will be a duke one day is quite a coup.”
“If it is a Jacobite ring. Beau, have you considered that it might be purely a murderer for hire? We must not be obsessed with Jacobites, just because of one misguided fool. After all, if one wants a job done in society, one hires someone to do it, whether that is a butler, a chaperone, a governess, an undertaker or a rat-catcher. How big a step is it to have a secret murder agency?”
“By Jove, Lady Armitage, you are quite right,” said the Beau. “I had been looking on it as a secret society approaching potential sympathisers, and trying to work out who might be the next to be approached, and so far, I’ve been well off in my guesses. If it is some underground agency which is approached by those with inconvenient relatives, well, I should be hard put to have every heir to every fortune watched.”
“There is, however, an anomaly where Pelham is concerned, which I will concentrate on, now that it is shown that the death of Lady Julia is proven murder,” said Jane, grimly. “And I urge you that a normal investigation into that should go ahead, in order to possibly flush someone out by panicking them that the perfect murder has gone wrong.”
Beau Popham nodded, and they parted briefly in order to dance through the measures of the dance as they had moved to the top of the line. When they came back together, he said,
“And what was this anomaly, Lady Armitage?”
“That Lawrence Pelham laid a bet that his great aunt would live into her eighties. Another man whom I did not know wagered that she would not live a week in these inclement conditions. I thought at first how horrible that the first payment from his inheritance would be a debt of honour over something so traumatic; but then, to me, the whole concept of betting on things like that is strange and horrible.”
The Beau shrugged.
“And yet, people do that sort of thing all the time.”
“Yes, people do that sort of thing all the time, but usually the hale and hearty relative does not die within the week. And what if the wager was a way of paying the fee for the killing to be carried out?”
The Beau stared, and then they were whirled around in the frenzy of the dance once more, and promenaded back to the far end of the line. He spoke.
“Lady Armitage, horrible as that suggestion is, I fear that you may be quite correct. I have learned over the years that where there is a complex solution and a simple solution, in nine cases out of ten, however unlikely it seems, the simple solution is the one which is correct. Openly betting on the survival of one’s relatives is so staggeringly, mind-numbingly simple that I am almost left bereft of speech.”
“You must be shocked indeed,” said Jane, demurely.
“Madam, you are a hard woman,” said the Beau.
“Indeed; I expected to be a governess,” said Jane.
“I wager you’d have managed even the most unruly of boys, too,” said the Beau, appreciatively. “But it certainly makes a lot of things fall into place, and moreover makes it easier for anyone who wants to get rid of a relative than sneaking around to some seedy little place off Bear Alley or some such location.”
“I’ve never even heard of Bear Alley.”
“It’s notoriously a haunt of money lenders,” said Popham. “And I was associating in my own mind the idea that someone short of the readies might know of such a place, and thus fall in with another kind of villain.”
“Hmm, not an idea to discard out of hand,” said Jane. “Perhaps you might investigate such places; and in case my idea was entirely wrong, you might also consider having people look through the newspapers in the classified advertisements.”
“Nobody is going to advertise themselves as a killer for hire,” said the Beau, as the dance ended and he led her back to her seat.
“Are you really that naive?” said Jane.
“I resent that,” said the Beau, “But presumably I should take it that I really am that naive.”
“There are adverts for abortifacients and abortion doctors in the newspapers,” said Jane.
“There are?” the Beau was shocked.
“They advertise such and such powders, or a skilled doctor, who might relieve female problems and congestions of the womb,” said Jane, calmly. “And if called on it, they would tell you that this refers to those women whose monthly fluxes are sluggish and painful, and since the same herbal remedies are used for these painful occurrences as are used to abort a foetus, nobody can complain.”
“By Jove!”
“And it occurred to me that someone might advertise, either as a doctor able to remove obstructions and blemishes which are ruining your life, or possibly as fortune tellers, able to tell you how to improve your life.”
“Good grief! Jane Armitage, I am naive and I bow to the Queen of Wickedness!”
“You are, Mr. Popham, the most complete hand,” said Jane, severely.
Chapter 12
There was something of a disturbance when the Prince Regent arrived, just before the doors were shut and locked at eleven. He greeted all the patronesses with easy grace, and cast a look round. Seeing Jane, wearing the parure, he made his rather portly way over to her. Jane dropped a deep curtsey. Like the other men, he was conventionally clad, but in deference to hi
s mother he wore a plain black waistcoat and a black cravat. Convention would permit him to avoid dancing, but dancing was also a matter of politics and business, Jane supposed, permitting him moments of relative privacy on the dance floor with agents and wives of agents, to hear news and pass it on. For a prince, she suddenly realised, dance was not an avocation for pleasure, but a necessary part of ruling the country.
“Your Highness; I am so pleased to meet you, to thank you in person for such a beautiful and poignant reminder of your late mother, as a memento for my part in bringing that horrid little man to justice,” she said.
Prince George laughed in genuine amusement.
“Alas for the designer of grand stratagems and infernal machines, to be reduced to ‘that horrid little man’,” he said.
“My husband and I refer to him as ‘the even younger pretender’,” said Jane.
“I like that. You and your husband are most witty,” said the prince. “I was wondering if I might engage the first waltz with you? Lady Lieven says you dance it.”
“I would be honoured,” said Jane. “All the world knows how accomplished you are on the dance floor.”
“Not got the stamina I used to have, but tol lol,” said the prince. “Hear you’ve had Popham working for his pay.”
Jane laughed.
“He has more contacts than we do in the right places to undertake certain enquiries,” she said. “Our own men make enquiries for us as is appropriate for their skills and abilities. And Caleb and I are eyes and ears.”
“Tell me, do you think it a Jacobite plot?” he asked quietly.
“I am coming to the conclusion that you may be easy on that head, sir, and that it is merely a sordid plot involving base greed,” said Jane.
His shoulders relaxed.
“I am glad to hear that,” he said. “At least, it is intolerable that there should be a sordid plot, but a treasonous plot is a trifle nervous.”
Jane resisted the governess urge in her to quote Shakespeare ‘uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,’ since the regent was not yet king and it was tactless. She smiled austerely.
“Indeed, I have always found it a nervous business when helping my husband’s work has made me a potential target for villains,” she said, “And I can appreciate that for you the fear I have sometimes felt for my children must be greatly magnified, since all your subjects are your children, to whom you have a responsibility. I cannot imagine how worrying such things must be.”
It was the right mix of flattery and kindly understanding, and the prince expanded proudly.
“It is my duty,” he said, waving a hand. “But it is nice that it is recognised. Ah! They are playing our tune,” as a waltz air struck up, and he drew Jane onto the dance floor. Jane was pleasantly surprised that he was still remarkably light on his feet as well as skilled, and dancing with him was a pleasant experience. The ever-changing holds of the German waltz were intimate but never improper; his highness appreciated an attractive woman, but he was no lecher. Jane chatted with him about inconsequential matters, telling him how impressed Caleb had been by the beautiful royal Christmas tree, and that they planned to institute the custom Queen Charlotte had brought, in her memory, and as a loyal gesture to the crown. It pleased the prince, and he kissed Jane on the back of the hand as the dance ended.
“By Jove, Lady Armitage, if Sir Caleb had not seen you first, I would have been honoured to have been a suitor of yours,” he declared.
“Why, I declare myself much flattered,” said Jane, with a curtsey, hoping that he would not try to persuade her to be his mistress.
“Ah, and you are plainly a couple much in love; I envy you,” said the prince, sighing gustily, before turning away to mingle.
Jane reflected dryly that if she had not felt the charisma the man really did carry with him, but had heard a report of his words, she would have declared him a maudlin old fool. Well, it was now plain why so many people were so loyal to him, despite his debts and foolishness.
Jane made her way over to Mrs. Fielding, who was with Lady Caroline.
“I see that Cora has made a hit with the young men, Mrs. Fielding,” she said. “She looks lovely tonight, quite angelic in sheer muslin over silver tissue, how wise you were to keep her gown so simple!”
“Thank you; she seems to have taken very well,” said Mrs. Fielding. “She has a number of suitors. Even Falkrington has danced with her, the marquess, you know, he inherited recently.”
“Indeed?” Jane pricked up her ears.
“Yes, though goodness knows his grandfather had been rehearsing after dying any time the last nearly twenty years, since Gerard Falk the older, Falkrington’s father, that is, turned up his toes getting caught on the continent when the peace of Amiens ended so suddenly. He insisted on fighting and refused to tell them he was a viscount and could have been ransomed. The younger Gerard has been viscount since he was eight or nine, and by all accounts doing most of the paperwork for the marquisate most of that time, no wonder he’s a stuffy stuck up prig.”
“You know the family?”
“Only through gossip, Lady Armitage.”
“Ah, of course. Do you have a suitor you favour for Cora?”
“Well, I cannot say that I like Mr. Ambrose Tyler much. He is the sort of dandy who cares more for his own appearance than for the well-being of any lady he may be with. He is the kind who would snatch a lady’s umbrella if it came on to rain because satin spots in rain. Rather like that Popham fellow you have danced with. ”
Jane laughed.
“I’ve met a few of the type,” she said. “Popham is at least an amusing fribble. Are there any that you do like?”
“Well, he is not what you might call handsome, but I like Mr. Andrew Brasenose, who has a visage better described as ‘amiable’ than to attempt any encomium upon its beauty, because beautiful it ain’t, is not, I mean, but he’s a lovely gent, and he thinks the world of Cora. Has only a moderate fortune, but fortune’s not everything. Better to have a husband who thinks the world of her and only half a dozen servants, rather than be knee deep in second footmen’s assistant boot-cleaners, and have a man who beats you.”
“I agree,” said Jane, who had been in the situation of having to juggle half a dozen servants or so, and had still had a husband who beat her. Frank, however, had wanted to live above his means. She said, “Much comes down to whether Mr. Brasenose is happy to live within the confines of his moderate fortune, or whether he wishes to cut a dash and outspends the constable, in order to do so at such places as Almack’s.”
“Bless you, Lady Armitage, he’s dragged here by his fond mama to make an eligible connexion, and as far as I can tell, he don’t like fast living above half.”
“Well, then, so long as he’s not an inveterate gambler, or too fond of the horses, he sounds a most admirable young man,” said Jane.
“There! I thought when I first met you that you’d be the sort of woman to give good, straight advice,” said Mrs. Fielding.
“I do my best,” said Jane.
“Now, what am I reminded of ... oh yes, a friend of dear Caro’s wanted to know if you were the same Jane Armitage who had once been Jane Fairfax; she received a long and rambling letter from someone called Nessie.”
“Oh, that will be Agnes Fanshawe,” said Jane. “I was at school with her, and she’s something of a connexion of Beau Popham with several removes in the cousinship. To whom has she been writing?”
“A Rosalind, Lady Liddel; she said you would have known her as Rosalind Vaughan. Ah, I see you remember her.” Jane’s face had shown a flash of dislike before she schooled it. “I did not like her much, myself.”
“Rosalind Vaughan was the wealthy, pretty, accomplished girl in the class,” said Jane, “And I am still a better pianist than she, which irritated her no end at school. She shut my fingers in the pianoforte lid once, and apologised so prettily and falsely, when we were playing for the governors. On the whole she considered herself too good for N
essie and me; what on earth is Nessie doing in writing to her?”
“This is third hand, you understand, but apparently Lady Liddel came across her chaperoning some child to a country ball, and renewed the acquaintance, and was impressed that Beau Popham turned up and claimed Miss Fanshawe as a cousin, and showed her every courtesy. I think she supposes Miss Fanshawe to be expecting an offer from the Beau?” She looked a whole paragraph of unspoken questions at Jane.
“Highly unlikely,” said Jane. “The Beau respects Nessie’s ability to hold a household and look after Emma, which is the young girl’s name, a cousin and ward to the Beau. She is a lively girl with annoying brothers, who need a firmer hand than Nessie can manage, but the Beau does not find her restful.” Jane did not say that the Beau was driven to distraction by Nessie’s rather fluttering manner.
“Ah, well, I believe that this Lady Liddel is inclined to jump to conclusions; she asked Caro who Sir Caleb was, before he was knighted, and what made a man of wealth and distinction pick, and I am sorry, a ‘poor little dab like Jane Fairfax’.”
Jane laughed and laughed.
“Oh, she has heard the stories that he is the byblow of a royal duke and assumes one of those cheapskate skinflints has actually acknowledged and paid for one of their side issues?”
“I’m not sure if she has heard that story, but I understand he made a fortune on the Peninsula, looting the baggage train of Joseph Bonaparte.”
“I am sure that my husband would have been very happy to have diverted some of that poor fool’s wealth into merry England, but unfortunately for him, he was invalided out long before the opportunity for that arose.”
“Indeed? Well, I said she sounded like one who draws a bow at venture. Note her calling you a ‘poor little dab’, indeed!”
“At school, I have to say I was a poor little dab, the impoverished granddaughter of a vicar and daughter of an officer who died in the line of duty. I am sure there are those who similarly denigrate your daughter’s friend, Miss Evans, who will be a very pretty girl when she has lost her slight puppy fat, and has something which will outlast beauty, in being a kind, gentle and pleasant girl.”
Jane and the Sins of Society Page 10
