Death at Blenheim Palace scs-11

by Robin Paige

  “What time?” The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “Why is that important?”

  “We need to establish who saw her last,” Charles said, “and when. The Duchess and Lady Sheridan retired early.

  Northcote left the Saloon not long after you and Miss Deacon went into the garden, saying that he was going up to bed. Winston and I went off to the smoking room, where we stayed until past eleven, and then went upstairs. I left Winston at his door, and neither of us saw Miss Deacon after she went out with you.” He paused. “Did you take leave of her in the garden? In the Saloon? Or upstairs, perhaps?”

  There was a silence. “In the… the garden,” Marlborough said in a despairing tone. He turned toward the fire, his hands behind his back. And then, when the silence had lengthened still further, he added stiffly, “We had a… a bit of a row, if you must know.”

  Winston opened his mouth to say something, but Charles shook his head. To Marlborough he said, “What kind of a row?”

  Marlborough’s narrow shoulders became taut. He did not turn around, but Charles could guess the look on his face by the strain in his voice.

  “Gladys-Miss Deacon can become upset very easily. Her feelings.. matter to her, you see. They matter enormously. Her heart is so tender, and when she cares, she cares with such a passion that it is.. astonishing. Somewhat frightening, in fact. One does not quite know how one ought to take it.”

  He turned suddenly, holding out his hands and saying angrily, “The deuce of it is that she can’t seem to understand how things are done! How a man in my position must behave. What’s proper and what’s not.” The anger held a desolation. The Duke was like a boy who has seen something he cherished taken from him through no fault of his own, and now believes that he has lost it forever.

  His voice dropped. “Miss Deacon-Gladys is very like her mother, you know. Nothing is ever enough for her. She always wants more, and then more, and more. And when she can’t have it, she… well, she can become rather childishly violent. It won’t do, of course. That sort of thing really doesn’t, but there it is. That’s what we rowed about.” He stopped, and dropped his head, and then sank back down in his chair, hiding his eyes with his hand.

  Winston said nothing, but his glance at Charles spoke volumes of embarrassment and chagrin.

  Charles thought he understood what had happened. Gladys had pressed the Duke for some sort of verbal pledge as openly declarative as his light, impulsive touch on her wrist at table. Perhaps she had insisted that they go away together. Or even that Marlborough separate from his wife, unthinkable as that was. When he refused, pleading public scandal, she might have become distraught. A woman scorned can be dangerous, Charles knew, and Gladys Deacon-willful, impulsive, untrustworthy-seemed to him to be a potentially dangerous woman. Believing herself rebuffed, Gladys might have even threatened the Duke with some sort of public exposure, which would undoubtedly terrify him. What would he do then? To what lengths would he go to keep her from creating a public scandal?

  But Charles said nothing of this. “What time did you leave her in the garden?”

  “Ten, half-past,” Marlborough said dully. “Perhaps as late as eleven. I don’t know.”

  Charles doubted that. The Duke struck him as a man who always knew what time it was. “Did anyone see you after that hour? Your valet, perhaps?”

  Angrily, Marlborough started up. “What the devil gives you the right to pry-”

  “Sunny,” Winston said, laying a cautioning hand on his cousin’s arm. “If Miss Deacon can’t be found, the police may have to be involved.”

  “The police! No, no!” the Duke said wildly. “We can’t have the police! Anything but that!”

  “Well, then, let Sheridan have his head,” Winston urged. “He’s a good man. We can trust him. Northcote can go to the devil if he likes, but we absolutely must find Miss Deacon.”

  “All right, damn it.” The Duke’s voice was thin and flat. “The answer to your question is no, Sheridan. I did not require my valet’s services when I retired. No one saw me after I… after I left her.”

  Winston coughed slightly. “Well, then, perhaps someone saw you this morning, when you went off to the lake to go fishing.”

  The Duke tensed, then seemed to force himself to relax. “No. I.. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and dressed and went out very early. It was still rather dark.”

  There was a polite tap at the door. Stevens, the butler, appeared and motioned to Charles with a white-gloved hand. “If I might have a word with you, m’lord,” he said quietly.

  Charles excused himself and went out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. “Yes, Stevens?” he asked. “You’ve learned something?”

  Mr. Stevens, despite his age and frailty, held himself like a man of some personal authority, as well he might, Charles thought. The task of being butler at Blenheim must be a formidable one, not least because of the size of the place.

  “Forgive the liberty of the interruption, m’lord, but I believe I may have uncovered the information your lordship requested. Alfred, one of our footmen, has some information he would like to impart.” Stevens motioned to a tall, well-built footman who was standing several paces behind him. “Alfred, this is Lord Sheridan, the gentleman who is making inquiries on behalf of His Grace. You may tell his lordship what you witnessed.”

  Alfred stepped forward. Like Mr. Stevens, he was wearing morning dress, white gloves, and his own hair, which Charles infinitely preferred to the idiotic business of powdering.

  “I saw Lord Northcote, m’lord,” Alfred said in a voice that had something of the north country richness in it. “I had late duty last night, y’see, sir, and I was just lockin’ the east door when he came flyin’ down the stairs.” Alfred’s eyes were bright, and Charles thought that he was relishing the report.

  “Did he have anything with him?” Charles asked. “And what was his demeanor?”

  “He had his Gladstone in his hand, sir. And his demeanor, if I may be permitted, was abrupt. Hasty, y’might say. He came down the stairs like the devil himself was after him. He didn’t speak a word, just shoved me to one side and dashed out the door.”

  “If I may be permitted an observation, m’lord,” Stevens put in ponderously. “This sort of thing is most irregular. We are not accustomed to such behavior on the part of our guests at Blenheim. It appears that Lord Northcote said nothing of his departure to anyone-that he did not even take proper leave of Her Grace.”

  “Irregular, indeed.” Charles looked at Alfred. “Was there a horse waiting for him, Alfred? Or a motor car?”

  “No, sir,” Alfred said, shaking his head. “He was afoot. I thought p’rhaps-”

  “His lordship does not wish to know what you thought, Alfred,” Mr. Stevens said in a tone of rebuke, “only what you saw. You may go.”

  “On the contrary,” Charles said. “What did you think, Alfred?”

  Alfred spoke tentatively, as if he were not accustomed to being asked his opinions. “Well, I thought p’rhaps his little talk with the young lady in the garden had changed his plans, m’lord, and that he’d decided to walk into Woodstock and stay at one of the pubs. P’rhaps catch the early train out in the morning.”

  Charles was opening his mouth to ask about Northcote’s talk with the young lady in the garden, but Mr. Stevens interrupted.

  “Just to inform you, m’lord, that the train goes at six,” he said. “Gentlemen guests with next-day business in London occasionally prefer to stay in the village, so that they don’t rouse the household with an early departure.” He pulled himself up with an expression of deep offense. “They do not, however, rush out of the house in the middle of the night.”

  “I see,” Charles said. “You mentioned Lord Northcote’s talk with the young lady, Alfred. That would be Miss Deacon, I take it. When did that take place?”

  “Oh, that was earlier, m’lord,” Alfred said. “About half-past ten. Yes, it was Miss Deacon. She was alone in the garden, and he went out, and they talke
d. Well, he talked, mostly. I could hardly keep from seeing them, could I?” he added diffidently. “They was right under the Saloon windows, and I was putting out the lights.”

  “I’m sure you couldn’t avoid noticing them,” Charles said, with a small smile. “Do you have any idea what they were talking about?”

  Alfred shook his head. “No, m’lord. But it did seem that Lord Northcote was… well, put out, is how I’d describe him. Heated, if you don’t mind my taking the liberty, m’lord.”

  It was always a marvel, Charles thought, how well-informed the servants were about matters that family and guests thought were entirely private. “And the young lady? How would you describe her?”

  “Oh, cool, sir,” Alfred said promptly. “Entirely cool. Hardly had a word to say. Which made his lordship even more…” He searched for a word and found it. “Inflamed sir.”

  “Did you see either of them leave the garden?”

  The footman shook his head. “I had other duties to attend to. I drew the curtains and left the room.”

  “And what time did you see Lord Northcote leaving the house?”

  “Just going twelve-thirty, sir.” Alfred slid a glance at Mr. Stevens. “I was a bit delayed in my rounds. I’m meant to lock the east door at midnight.” He hesitated, then went on eagerly, “I understand, sir, that you’re trying to find a missing-”

  “That’s enough, Alfred,” Stevens broke in. “You may go now.”

  “No,” Charles said. “I want to hear this. Go on, Alfred. You were asking about the young lady who’s gone missing?”

  “Well, yes.” Alfred knit his hands together nervously. “Y’see, I know her, m’lord.” He paused and dropped his eyes. “And I’ve been worried about her.”

  Charles stared at him in surprise. It was hardly the response he would have expected from a footman. “You’ve been worried about her?”

  “Well, yes,” Alfred replied. “You see, I-”

  Stevens rustled nervously. “M’lord, if I may be so bold, I hardly think that this matter should be of concern to-”

  “You say that you know the young lady who’s disappeared,” Charles said firmly, taking no notice of the butler.

  “Yes, m’lord.” Alfred, too, seemed to have forgotten Mr. Stevens. His eyes were fixed on Charles, and there was something like hopefulness in them. “I know her from before Blenheim. From Welbeck.”

  “I… see,” Charles said, feeling as if ideas that might have seemed merely incidental had suddenly become vital, ideas that concerned Gladys Deacon. “Then you were at Welbeck, too, I take it.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Alfred said earnestly. “It was my second place as footman, y’see, and the young lady and me, we-” He stopped and drew in a deep breath as if he were not quite sure what to say next.

  “Quite right, Alfred,” Stevens said with a dark look. “His lordship is not interested in the experience of a footman at Welbeck, or a young person who-”

  “But I am interested,” Charles said. “And I am most particularly interested in the young lady.” He was surprised to hear that Miss Deacon had become familiar with a footman, but perhaps it was not so extraordinary, after all. She had more than a hint of her mother’s famed recklessness about her, and young ladies were often known to be attracted to the handsome young men who served them. He was also somewhat bemused that Alfred would be so ingenuous as to tell him this, but he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Go on, Alfred,” he said encouragingly. “Tell me more. You were saying that you met her when you were both at Welbeck. That was recently, I assume.”

  “Yes, m’lord. It was my last post before comin’ here, m’lord.” Alfred was speaking eagerly now, leaning forward. “After we left th’ Abbey, we went down to London and spent a few days together, and then-”

  “Alfred!” Stevens exclaimed with a horrified look. “Remember your place, young man! You are speaking of a lady!”

  “A lady?” Alfred looked suddenly confused. “But I-But I wouldn’t say that she-”

  Charles put his hand on Alfred’s sleeve. “No matter, Alfred, just go on with your story. You and Miss Deacon spent a few days together in London. And then you came here. Did she come with you, or later?”

  Alfred’s eyes went wide. “Miss… Miss Deacon?”

  “Yes,” Charles said impatiently. “Miss Gladys Deacon, the young lady you saw last night in the garden, talking with Lord Northcote. You were saying that-”

  “Oh, but it’s not Miss Deacon, m’lord!” Alfred exclaimed, with something like relief in his voice. “No, not Miss Deacon, at all, sir. It’s Kitty I’m speaking of.”

  “Kitty?” Charles blinked. “And who is she?” He turned to the butler. “Stevens, what the devil is going on here?”

  “If your lordship will permit me, it seems that Alfred has inadvertently misled us.” Mr. Stevens gave the footman a sharply reproving look. “It appears that he has been speaking not of Miss Deacon, as your lordship and I might have naturally assumed, but rather of one of our housemaids, a certain Kitty.”

  This was beginning to sound like a melodrama. “And this… this Kitty-she’s gone, too?” Charles asked.

  “So it would seem, sir, although I was not informed of her absence when it occurred. Mrs. Raleigh, our housekeeper, has just informed me that the girl left without giving notice. And Her Grace, who is understandably anxious, has requested that I make inquiries about her at the Black Prince, in Woodstock, where she recently went to meet a.. a certain person.” He shot another dark glance at the footman. “It appears that Alfred is somewhat concerned about her, as well.”

  “Somewhat concerned!” Alfred exclaimed hotly. He clenched his fists. “I’ve been off my head with worry, is what I’ve been!” He turned back to Charles with a look of entreaty. “I know you’re not the police, m’lord, not that I’d be wantin’ the police, since I cert’nly hope it won’t come to that. But Mr. Stevens says you’re making inquiries, m’lord, and I was hopin’ you’d be able to find out what happened to Kitty.” He choked back something that sounded like a sob. “I just know that something’s gone awful wrong, sir.”

  “So it was a housemaid who was with you at Welbeck,” Charles said, beginning to see things in a new and different light. “Kitty, you say?”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Alfred replied hopefully. “That’s her name. Kitty Drake.”

  Kitty Drake. Charles pressed on. “But perhaps you were also acquainted with Miss Deacon during your service at Welbeck, Alfred. I understand she was a guest there.”

  “Miss Deacon, m’lord?” Alfred’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, not to say acquainted, of course, m’lord. But you’re right, she was a guest there. She and Lord Northcote both.”

  “Ah,” Charles said. “And did the two of them seem to be… on friendly terms?”

  “Oh, yes, m’lord. Quite friendly, especially her. Not at all like here. Once I even-” He stopped suddenly, his eyes going to the butler as if he expected a rebuke, then back to Charles.

  “Please go on, Alfred,” Charles said. “I am not asking you to repeat gossip or carry tales about the guests. But Miss Deacon disappeared last night, and anything you know about her, even something that seems entirely incidental, may help us to find her.”

  “Miss Deacon’s gone missing, too?” Alfred asked, taken aback. “Well, I don’t really… that is, all I know is what I saw, m’lord. At Welbeck, I mean.” The footman looked flustered.

  “And that was-” Charles prompted.

  “Well, they was kissing,” Alfred said hesitantly. “In the Welbeck conservatory. And he was telling her that he loved her. And then he gave her something in a box. I couldn’t see what it was, actually, but she said she thought it was beautiful and she kissed him again, and said she’d have him.”

  Charles felt his eyebrows go up. “It was your impression that she agreed to be engaged to Lord Northcote?”

  Alfred nodded. “And then she came here, and a few days later, Lord Northcote ca
me, and it didn’t seem like-” He stopped. “I mean, it seems like Miss Deacon and His Grace-” He was flushing from jaw to temple. “Miss Deacon… well, she was very cool to Lord Northcote, and warm to His Grace, if your lordship will forgive me.”

  “Yes,” Charles said. “Yes, indeed. I see.” This whole affair was beginning to seem extraordinarily complicated. He took a deep breath and turned to the butler. “You said that Kitty Drake went off without notice. When was that?”

  The butler drew himself up. “The housemaids are not my responsibility, as I am sure your lordship is aware. But I believe that it was the beginning of this week. I-”

  “It was Friday, sir,” Alfred interjected, “which would be nearly a week ago. And she left without saying a word to me, which she would not have done, I’m sure, sir, and without asking for her wages. And she left her trunk, too, Ruth says.”

  “Ruth?” Charles asked.

  “Another of the housemaids,” Stevens said.

  “Her roommate,” Alfred put in. “And she met somebody at the Black Prince, a man with a red beard, m’lord, and I’m thinking that-”

  “Alfred,” Stevens said firmly. “Lord Sheridan has a great deal to do just now. If he wishes to know further details of this housemaid’s precipitous departure, he will ask to be informed. Now, go back to your duties.”

  “Thank you, Alfred,” Charles said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  Yes, helpful. The evidence against Northcote might be circumstantial, but it was very strong, Charles thought regretfully. Very strong indeed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.

  Sir Winston Churchill

  Winston turned away from the window as Charles Sheridan came back into the Duke’s study.

  “Marlborough was feeling indisposed,” he said apologetically. “He said to tell you that if you have additional questions, he’ll be glad to speak with you later.” Marlborough had not been quite so accomodating-he had, in fact, said that Sheridan could go to the devil and stay there, by damn-but Winston wanted to put his cousin in the best light. This was family business, after all. The honor of the Marlboroughs was at risk, and a mistake could come at a very high price.