Lady Beware

by Jo Beverley

  Despite the treasured note, Thea spent two days braced for scandal, duel, or both, but also tussling with her reaction to violence. She had to come to terms with it to marry Darien. She wished she could lie to him, but when she told him she loved him, loved all about him, it had to be the truth.

  Her mother drove her to distraction by asking too often why Darien hadn’t stayed long enough to speak to her, and wondering why he still didn’t visit, but on Saturday, she said, “Ah, well, he’ll be at church tomorrow.”

  So he would. Thea spent the day in a mindless daze.

  When they arrived at St. George’s, however, Darien hadn’t yet arrived. Thea tried not to watch for him, but she found so many excuses to turn to look that her mother asked if she was all right. The service was about to begin. Was he truly so determined to avoid her?

  Then a verger passed a note to her father, who read it, then murmured, “Darien won’t be able to attend.” His lips were tight.

  Thea’s heart beat with fear and she needed details, but the organ played and they all rose. Instead, she prayed. Had Darien found Foxstall and fought him? Was he fleeing the law, or lying wounded?

  She prayed as never before for his safety, and for another chance. Her blind terror finally convinced her that she could not live without him.

  Once they were out of the church, she demanded, “What happened to Darien, Papa?”

  “An unpleasantness at his house.” Her father was attempting to appear relaxed as they strolled toward their waiting coach, but Thea knew something was terribly wrong.

  Surely, however, he wouldn’t speak of a death as an unpleasantness? And “at his house”? That couldn’t mean a duel. She wanted to hurry there, but as usual they had to pause every few steps to exchange greetings.

  Then Thea noticed whispers that felt horribly like those first days.

  “A bloody corpse!” someone hissed.

  She turned, trying to guess who’d said it. Darien’s corpse?

  “Thea.”

  The sharp reprimand made Thea turn back and replace her smile. But they’d been waylaid by Lord and Lady Rotherport now, an older couple but eagle-eyed gossips.

  “Quite horrible,” Lady Rotherport was saying, bright-eyed, “but given the family, perhaps understandable.”

  Murdering the current Viscount Darien?

  “I don’t see the relevance,” the duchess said. “Darien’s family has nothing to do with someone killing a pig.”

  “A pig?” Thea gasped.

  “Shocking,” her mother agreed, but with a sharp look that commanded Thea to control herself.

  “It took place in the Hanover Square gardens,” Lady Rotherport protested. “At night. In the exact spot where Mary Wilmott was found.”

  Thea might have turned faint except for relief that Darien was unhurt. Physically, at least. This must be horrible for him. “Who would do such a thing?” she asked.

  “A trail of footprints led from the carcass to Cave House,” Lord Rotherport said with relish. “Just as before. The poor Wilmotts.”

  “Fortunately they’ve left Town,” the duke said, sounding bored.

  “Only Lady Wilmott, Yeovil. Sir George is soldiering on.”

  By killing pigs in the garden? Thea wondered. Mary Wilmott’s still-grieving father might be driven to such extremes. She’d known Darien shouldn’t be living in that house.

  Thea’s mother took charge. “Come, Yeovil, we must go and offer our support to Lord Darien. Such a tiresome inconvenience for him.” She led the march to the waiting carriage. Thea followed, feeling something would burst from her effort to appear as if bodies and blood were simply tiresome.

  As soon as the carriage moved off, Thea’s father said, “Sarah, dear….”

  “If we don’t go, it will look as if we’re abandoning him.”

  He sighed. “Very well.”

  As they rolled into Hanover Square, however, they heard angry voices. The duke leaned to look ahead. “A mob. No, Sarah, it will not do.” He instructed the carriage to continue along a quiet side of the square and leave.

  “But Darien…,” Thea protested, craning to see his house.

  “Is well able to take care of himself.”

  “Maria’s house isn’t far from here, Charles,” the duchess said. “We shall go there and send someone back to find out what’s going on.”

  The duke agreed to this and gave the order.

  Thea had seen no sign of Darien in the square, thank heavens. She was frightened, but as much by the mob as the vile act. These days, with such hardship in the country, a mob seemed to form over any little thing, and they could rapidly get out of hand. Innocent people had been hurt and even killed, and often the rich and powerful seemed a natural target. A mob didn’t heed whether the inhabitants of a private coach were careless oppressors or those who worked hard to ease suffering.

  There’d been no blood-splattering for weeks, but Darien had kept up the habit of checking the front of the house before his ride each day. There’d been no mischief at all until today, when there’d been blood. Only traces this time, but a bloody handprint on the door.

  He’d gone to the kitchens to tell Ellie to clean it up and continued on to the stables. Why hadn’t he looked around and found the bloody footsteps? He could have had the whole mess cleaned up before anyone saw it. As it was, he’d returned from his ride to a tense atmosphere in the stables. He’d shown nothing, but he’d signaled to Nid without getting off Cerb.

  Nid had come alongside and told him the gruesome story. “Load of idiots, sir, thinking you’ve gone stark mad and taken to murdering pigs. But the mood’s ugly.”

  Darien’s instinct was to confront, to fight, but he knew when caution was wisest. He’d no mind to be trapped in his house by an angry mob, perhaps stirred up for some particular purpose. Foxstall? He was sure the man would want to do him harm.

  “Go to the house,” he instructed the groom, “and tell the Prussocks to get out if they can. If not, they’re to stay away from windows, and not put themselves in danger to protect the house. You, too. I’ll be back soon to restore order.”

  He rode to Van’s. He only remembered when he got there that he was supposed to be at St. George’s, cementing his reputation of worthy piety and friends in high places. He laughed bitterly. However this turned out, Sweet Mary Wilmott and Mad Marcus Cave would be on everyone’s lips again, and he’d be back to the beginning.

  Was this Foxstall’s revenge? He was capable of it, but it was too mild. He’d not think social embarrassment punishment enough.

  He found Van and Maria about to leave for church, but they discarded that to hold a startled analysis of the situation. A couple of their servants were sent off to discover more, and a message was sent to the Yeovils at St. George’s.

  Speculating did little good, and when Van’s servants returned, they could only report that the mob was growing in size and turning nasty. Even though the remains were of a pig, it had been roughly dressed in a woman’s blue gown, so some still insisted it was a person. Even some of those who believed it was a pig were saying that it had been killed to hide human blood.

  “With talk of mad Caves, I assume,” Darien said, head in hands.

  “They’ll soon discover no one’s missing,” Maria said, “which will put an end to that, at least.”

  “How?” Darien demanded, looking up. “They’ll not find anyone missing from Hanover Square, I hope, but I’m sure some woman went missing in London last night, so why not assume she was my victim? The only difference between me and Marcus being that he was too insane to cover up his crime.”

  “Then we have to discover who did do this,” Van said, “and why. The family of the girl? The Wilmotts?”

  “No, I can’t believe that,” Maria protested. “They’re decent people. Lady Wilmott is out of Town and Sir George isn’t that sort of man. If he took any action, he’d confront you in the street, Canem, or even spit in your eye. Nothing sneaking like this. This,” she added, fro
wning, “is peculiar. Do you have any enemies?”

  Darien laughed.

  “I mean personal ones.”

  He decided not to mention Foxstall. “Not of this dimension, no.”

  “Then who would want to wreck your attempt to restore your family’s reputation?”

  “Admiral Sir Plunkett Dynnevor?”

  “This isn’t a joking matter,” she said severely, “and he’s in Gibraltar.”

  “And he’d hardly go to such lengths to prevent his daughter marrying your brother,” Van pointed out.

  “Why not? I would if I were him.”

  “Let’s keep our tempers,” Maria said. “People don’t do things for no reason. What was the reason?”

  Darien rose to his feet. “Perhaps it’s not a person. Perhaps it’s Marcus’s cursed spirit.” The others stared and he added, “I’m not entirely joking. I think the house is haunted.”

  “’Struth,” Van said. “You really must abandon it. Move in here.”

  “After this?”

  “Especially after this.”

  “No.”

  “He’s right, Van,” Maria said. “To move without clearing this up would look very bad. In fact—”

  The door knocker rapped. They all fell silent, perhaps all feeling the same wariness. But how could trouble follow Darien here?

  The footman came in. “The Duke and Duchess of Yeovil are below, ma’am, and Lady Theodosia Debenham.”

  Maria smiled with relief. “Bring them up, Simon.”

  They all rose to greet their guests, but Darien felt this was another straw on his breaking back. He didn’t want the Yeovils involved in this sordid mess. Especially Thea. He risked a look at her and caught an expression of furious militancy.

  Don’t, love. Don’t side with me.

  The details had to be recited again.

  “A dress,” the duchess said, shocked.

  “A pig,” Thea said, but thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t it be hard to acquire a live pig in Mayfair?”

  “And transport it,” Maria said. “They squeal.”

  “Or get it into a dress,” Van pointed out. “There might be some line of inquiry there.”

  “But not yet,” the duchess said. “Darien, I fear it is necessary for you to return to Hanover Square. Your absence could be seen as guilt or flight.”

  “It could be dangerous,” Thea protested.

  “Your father and Vandeimen will go with him and take the coach, and I would hope the magistrates will have matters in hand by now.”

  If the duke looked wry, he obeyed his orders, but Thea rose, too, and came to Darien.

  “I’m so sorry this has happened,” she said, offering her hands without hesitation. “Take care.”

  He wished she’d stayed aloof, but he took her hands. As she’d ignored their audience, he did, too, and kissed each. “Your belief in me means a great deal.”

  Her features relaxed a little—disastrously. Her lips quivered until she bit them. He bowed and left before she broke. That would break him.

  Chapter 36

  The arrival of the Duke of Yeovil’s carriage in Hanover Square, complete with liveried servants, provided new excitement for the throng.

  Soldiers were preventing people from entering the railed garden, but the circumference was lined with gawkers. More were gathered around the bloody footsteps and threshold like ants around jam spots. Others simply hung around in chattering groups waiting for the next excitement.

  Darien’s emergence from the grand coach raised a cry. Someone shouted, “That’s the Cave! He’s already under arrest!”

  The duke simply stared around, and silence slowly settled.

  “Viscount Darien is not under arrest,” he said, clearly, but making no attempt to shout. “We are here to discover the truth of this tasteless prank.”

  Darien admired his simple dignity, and it had a general effect. Those who had not heard what he’d said received it murmured back through the crowd. There was no more shouting but the air was almost electrical.

  Two men came out of the gardens and approached—a military officer and a burly gentleman in civilian dress. They turned out to be Lieutenant Waring of the Horse Guards and Mr. Evesham, the magistrate.

  “Glad to have some assistance here, Your Grace,” Evesham said. “Nasty business, and they’re all out for blood, but there’s not really a crime, see? Not even a bylaw against killing a pig here, and nothing about being careless with the blood. But this lot”—he tilted his head toward the ear-stretched crowd—“I was afraid they’d string Viscount Darien up if he came here unprotected. Why I sent for the military.”

  He turned, and despite what he’d said, Darien could tell he thought he should arrest him for something. “What we need to do to pacify them, my lord, is search your house, if you’d be so kind as to give permission. Your staff won’t open up.”

  “On my orders. But I have no objection to an orderly investigation. Perhaps we can call upon a couple of the more worthy people from the onlookers, and if the duke and Captain Waring were part of it, all would be satisfied.”

  The magistrate turned and pointed to two men, both well dressed and sober. They turned out to be a Mr. Hobbs, a shoemaker, and Mr. Linlithgow, a banker’s clerk.

  Evesham bellowed out what was going on. He added a request that all go about their business, but no one took the suggestion. Everyone waited expectantly for the search party to report.

  Evesham stood by Darien’s side and Darien was glad of Van’s presence. The magistrate and the crowd resembled well-trained guard dogs—quiet, but ready to tear him to bits if he tried to make a run for it.

  In about fifteen minutes, the four men returned and reported, and Evesham bellowed it.

  “There is no sign of blood in Cave House, nor any sign of disorder or violence, and certainly no additional corpse. This has been idle and wicked mischief, and if the perpetrator is found, he will be punished. Now go about the Lord’s Day or I’ll have you dispersed by force.”

  That did cause a shift, and slowly people began to go back into their houses or out of the square.

  Darien went with the duke and Van into the garden to see the victim of violence. The blue dress was disconcerting, but the corpse was simply a pig, throat cut, and already a feast for flies.

  “Quite young,” Darien said.

  “Not even a year,” the duke agreed.

  “Easier to handle,” Van pointed out. “What do you think? Fifty pounds? A man could carry it without too much trouble, but as Maria said, it’d squeal.”

  “Drugged?” Darien suggested.

  “There’s a thought,” Van agreed. “At least it would die happy….”

  The magistrate broke in, seeming annoyed by the practical discussion. “But what are we to do with it, my lord?” he asked Darien.

  “It’s nothing to do with me, sir, but I’ll pay for it to be butchered and distributed charitably.” He moderated his tone. No point making another enemy. “Thank you for your excellent handling of this, Evesham. It could have turned destructive.”

  The magistrate warmed. “Indeed it could, my lord. And I’m pleased to see you cleared. These notorious crimes do linger, however.”

  It was a warning, but as the man went to make arrangements for the disposal of the pig, Darien wondered what he was supposed to do with it. He turned toward his house. “I’d be glad never to enter the place again, but I don’t run away.”

  “You could remove that damned dog from over the door,” Van said.

  “It’s carved in rock.”

  “Have it hammered off.”

  “So simple,” Darien said with a sharp laugh. “Very well, but not right now. Anything I do immediately will be seen as uneasy conscience.”

  “Then let’s get back to my place and sort this all out.”

  “Just give me a moment to talk to my staff.”

  Darien found the Prussocks in the kitchen, drinking tea that clearly had brandy in it. He supposed they were entitled to
it. “Where’s Lovegrove?” he asked.

  “Left, milord,” Mrs. Prussock said with a tight smirk. “Couldn’t take the strain, he said. Took the silver standish from the office, milord, and I don’t know what else.”

  “You couldn’t stop him?”

  “We were a bit at sixes and sevens, sir.”

  Darien reined in his temper. “Thank you for following orders. I’ll be out for a while. Needless to say, continue your vigilance. No one is to enter.”

  Could Lovegrove have staged the drama as concealment for thievery? It seemed unlikely for such a weak sot of a man.

  Darien went quickly up to his room. Nothing obviously missing there, but when he went down to the office, indeed the silver standish was gone. He kept his cash on hand, jewelry, and important documents in a safe here, which was concealed behind one set of shelves. Lovegrove shouldn’t even have known about it. Darien himself hadn’t until his solicitor had informed him. There were only two keys. He kept one on his person and his solicitor had the other.

  He swung the section of shelving open, unlocked the metal door, and found, as expected, nothing disturbed. It had been a wild idea, anyway. He knew enough of chronic drunkards to recognize a genuine one, and they weren’t up to complicated planning. He really wouldn’t have thought the valet a petty thief, though, either. A coward, yes, but not that sort of thief. Brandy, now.

  He was sure the Prussocks had used the valet’s flight as excuse for more thievery. Simply fire them or call in the Runners to investigate their crimes? That would certainly have to wait another day.

  But he decided not to abandon the place. He told Van, and then settled to study the neglected inventories. At least this meant he could avoid Thea.

  With Foxstall out there somewhere and this insane prankster up to mischief, the farther away she was and remained, the better.

  He didn’t make much headway with the records because of constant invasions. It seemed that every man he’d developed good terms with came by to show support. The crowding reduced him to laughter at one point, especially when St. Raven ruthlessly removed all the Holland covers from the drawing room and demanded tea. When it arrived, Prussock’s hair looked as if it was standing on end.