Silence in the Library

by Katharine Schellman

  “Well, he certainly did not marry to please his sons,” Frank said, laughing ruefully. He slid his cards in absent circles on the table, not really paying attention. “The sad part is, I think Winnie and I might have got along well under other circumstances. But suddenly discovering that my father had married—so quickly—and then meeting her like that—” He broke off suddenly, glancing up. “I beg your pardon; I am sure you’ve no wish to listen to my woolgathering.”

  “Frank, I need you to be honest with me,” Mr. Pierce said, his gaze sharpening under his bushy eyebrows. “These Bow Street fellows, for all I dislike them, seem convinced that your father’s death was no accident.”

  Frank looked ill. “Sir—”

  “No, I must say my piece.” Mr. Pierce looked uncomfortable but determined. “Do you think there is any chance that this new Lady Wyatt could have been the one to do him harm?”

  Frank’s eyes grew wide, then narrowed, his brows drawing down into a frown. “A little thing like her?” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t see how she could have managed it. And …” He shrugged. “She certainly doesn’t gain from his death. Once you see the will, sir, you will understand.”

  “What does the will say?” Lily asked, trying not to sound too eager.

  But her father still glanced at her dismissively. “That is hardly your concern, Lily. In fact”—he glanced at the clock—“should you not be leaving for your entertainment?”

  Lily would have protested being shooed out of her own home, but her outrage was spoiled by Carstairs entering to announce Jack, who was calling to escort her to the Harlowes’ dinner. The captain entered the drawing room with his normal ease, then stopped in the doorway. Lily wondered whether he was more surprised by her father’s presence or Frank’s.

  “Good evening,” he said politely. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

  “Lily was just preparing to leave,” Mr. Pierce said, giving her an arch look. “Were you not?”

  Lily sighed, rising. “I was.”

  * * *

  Jack didn’t speak again until they were in the hired carriage he had brought to call for her. “What was he doing there?”

  Lily didn’t have to ask who he meant. “I told you. He and my father are close.”

  Jack snorted, arms crossed as he glowered from a corner of the carriage seat. “Strange time to be paying social calls, after his father is murdered.”

  “It was not precisely a social call. My father was named a trustee in Sir Charles’s will to share responsibility for looking after Arthur’s interests. Frank informed him of it tonight, then stayed for a game of cards.”

  Jack sat up. “Your father has seen Sir Charles’s will?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But when he does—what are the chances you could ask him about it?”

  Lily sighed. The thought had occurred to her too. But … “He would be unlikely to oblige me. And even if he said yes, it would be a risk. He would want to know why I was asking, and then he might tell Frank.”

  “And you don’t want him to know you are helping the Runners, even though you insist he is not guilty.” It wasn’t a question but a flat statement, accusatory and suggestive.

  Lily stared at him, surprised. “You do not believe me?”

  “I prefer proof.”

  “Which Mr. Page has sent you to find. Have you had any luck?”

  There was a clamor out in the street, and Jack glanced out the window briefly before turning back, shaking his head. “Not yet. And until I do, you should not be casually playing cards with a man who might have killed his father.” He sat forward, his expression fiercely protective. “Even you must see what a risk that is.”

  Lily was about to protest, but she remembered the strange intensity in Frank’s eyes, the twist of anger to his mouth, and shivered. “I can understand his not wanting to remain at home right now, though. Can you imagine walking past the room where your father was murdered? And then having to do it again, half a dozen times a day?”

  Jack fell silent for a moment, and Lily thought it was in sympathy until he spoke again. “Just promise me you will be careful.”

  “I always am.” She smiled at him. “And this time, I promise to tell you before I do something reckless and dangerous.”

  “I would rather you not do it at all,” Jack said, glowering in his corner once more.

  Lily reached over to pat his arm. “Yes, but we both know that is unlikely.”

  * * *

  The gathering that night was small by London standards. Only fourteen people sat down to dinner, including the hostess and her husband. Though Lily knew few of the other guests and only one or two beyond nodding, it was still a cheerful, entertaining meal. The group was lively and friendly, made up of society friends, neighbors from the country who found themselves in town, and acquaintances of Mr. Harlowe’s from Parliament. The talk ranged from politics and the many troops being recalled from France to the newest craze among the dandy set for waistcoats striped in five different colors.

  Earlier in the year, when Lily had first returned to London society, she had appreciated small gatherings because they gave her a chance to find her feet again without feeling overwhelmed. Now she was glad the small numbers prevented her from getting lost in her own thoughts.

  She also did not fail to notice that the party included several single gentlemen, nor the eager introductions from Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe that accompanied them. When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Lily cornered her friend at the tea cart.

  “You know you are not at all subtle,” she pointed out, holding out her cup. “You seated me between two of the four unwed gentlemen here. And one of the others is Captain Hartley.”

  Margaret Harlowe only laughed as she poured. “Subtlety is overrated. I prefer to be successful at my endeavors.”

  “And if I have no interest in providing that success for you?” Lily asked, trying not to sound too irritated. Or too interesting—the last thing she wanted was for the other women in the room to add their opinions to the discussion.

  Margaret shrugged, looking unconcerned. “Then you needn’t marry any of them. Or you may marry one in a decade when you change your mind. But I like introducing interesting people to each other.” She smiled pointedly. “And you looked as though you enjoyed your conversation with Mr. Spencer and Mr. Clay.”

  Lily shook her head as Margaret turned to another lady to continue pouring. There was no use arguing over it. Margaret was enjoying playing at matchmaker too much to accept the hint easily, and as long as she wasn’t too overbearing, there was no real harm in it. Especially as she was right—it had been an entertaining dinner.

  “I suppose you are planning to inveigle Major Hastings into sitting by me when the gentlemen come through?” Lily said once they were alone again. “Perhaps to partner me at cards?”

  “I had planned to put you on the same side for charades.” Mrs. Harlowe was unabashed at having her plan guessed. The crowd around the tea cart had dispersed, the ladies settling themselves throughout the room to gossip and laugh. Margaret looped her arm through Lily’s as they strolled toward the windows. “You always carry the day at charades, Lily, and I do love showing off how clever my friends are.”

  “Assuming Major Hastings is interested in a clever wife,” Lily countered. “Or any wife.”

  “Of course he wants a wife. Soldiers make terrible bachelors. Mr. Clay’s conversation is delightful, and Mr. Spencer is the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on—he is so handsome that one barely notices he lost half an arm to Napoleon’s armies! So what is the harm in spending a few hours enjoying some attention?” She dropped her voice. “You cannot fill all your time with thoughts of murder, you know.”

  Lily turned just in time to catch the look of real concern in Margaret’s eyes before it was replaced by a teasing smile once more. “And what about raising their expectations? I should hate if your machinations gave them the wrong impression. And it is the wrong impression.”<
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  Margaret shrugged. “Well, I shall still place you on the same team for charades. The poor man needs all the help he can get.”

  Lily shook her head. “And that just shows how lacking in serious matchmaking intent you are, Margaret. I have met the major at your gatherings before, you know. I doubt he will enjoy the company of a woman who outdoes him at a game of wits.”

  “No, but Matthew Spencer will be impressed, and I like him the best of the lot,” Mrs. Harlowe said, clearly pleased with herself.

  “And what is the appeal of Mr. Spencer beyond his excess of good looks?”

  “I might truthfully say an excess of good humor, but I am far more mercenary than that. His family property in Hampshire is supposed to be very beautiful, and he breeds marvelous horses. I should love an excuse to visit.”

  Lily couldn’t help laughing aloud at her friend. Margaret smiled cheerfully, unashamed of the admission.

  “A lady of seven-and-twenty may still discover that she wishes to find a husband one day, and what are old school friends for if not to help when it is needed?”

  “Well, this lady is uninterested in matrimony,” Lily said. “But I am quite a wit at charades, and I look forward to dismaying any number of your gentlemen guests.”

  “Oh, you are no fun.” Margaret threw up her hands in mock despair. “Go be practical at someone else.”

  Rolling her eyes, Lily obeyed.

  The ladies had just begun comparing preferences for different seaside resorts when the gentlemen came through and the tenor of the gathering changed. Margaret went to pour once more as the men dispersed themselves throughout the room, the gossip and banter taking on a rather more daring, and occasionally flirtatious, tone. Lily was slightly flustered to discover that the Harlowes had managed to maneuver Matthew Spencer into her group near the windows. She hoped she wasn’t blushing as he gave her a friendly smile, but before he could say anything, another woman who clearly knew him well began quizzing him on the subject of his daughter’s education.

  “And when will you bring Miss Spencer to London?” the older woman demanded, once she was satisfied on points of music, languages, and history.

  “Not for some years yet, Mrs. Dawson,” Mr. Spencer said. Lily was impressed by how unbothered he seemed to be by the interrogation; if anything, he looked pleased to have the chance to discuss his daughter. “My Eloisa is still some time away from making her social bows, and she prefers the country to town. Her aunt and her governess take good care of her when I must be absent.”

  “And it’s a good thing this year, eh, Spencer?” Andrew Harlowe chuckled. “Or you’d be very crowded at the moment.”

  “And why is that?” Mrs. Dawson demanded.

  “Oh, my second, secret family is living with me in town this season,” Mr. Spencer said with a careless shrug.

  Mrs. Dawson’s silence was stunned. But Lily had caught the mischievous smile pulling at the corner of Mr. Spencer’s mouth, and she began laughing at the same time as Andrew Harlowe.

  Matthew Spencer’s smile grew as he shook his head. “Really, Mrs. Dawson, and here I thought nothing could ever shock you.”

  “Wretch,” she said, swatting him on the arm and blushing, but she laughed as she said it. Lily didn’t blame her. Mr. Spencer’s smile was like a force of nature. “What is the real reason, then?”

  “You have family living with you, do you not, Mr. Spencer?” one of the other ladies said.

  He bowed his head in assent. “My second cousin, Mr. Hammond. I was the relative with the most room to spare while his family settled into town.”

  Lily’s mind had begun wandering a little, but her attention snapped back at that. Something about Mr. Spencer’s cousin rang a bell in the back of her mind, though she wasn’t sure what. She cleared her throat. “And what brought your cousin to London this summer?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “My cousin and his wife and their three children and the nanny,” he said, though with such obvious good humor that it took any sting out of his words. “The whole brood has taken over the house, and unlike me, my cousin has an excuse to depart each day. He is a solicitor and recently began an excellent position with a firm here in town.”

  Lily’s heart rate sped up. She had a feeling she knew exactly why the name Hammond was familiar to her. Now she just had to figure out how—

  Just then, Margaret stood and clapped her hands, calling for charades. Lily cursed silently at the lost chance as Mr. Spencer was shuffled away from her in the excitement.

  With a broad smile, Margaret divided everyone into two teams, declaring that she and Mr. Harlowe would act as judges and fetch any props anyone might need. Mr. Harlowe, blue eyes twinkling in his round, red face, decided that Lily’s team would guess first. They settled in while the others engaged in a furious bout of whispering. Mr. Spencer was on the other side, so she couldn’t even use the opportunity to devise a polite way to interrogate him.

  Jack slid into a seat next to her as a curtain was strung across one end of the drawing room and a bustle of preparation went on behind it. “What was that look for?” he murmured.

  Lily glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “What look?”

  “You had your I’ve just solved something look when you were talking to Mr. Spencer there,” he said, gesturing to where the other man was briefly visible behind the curtain. “What did you realize?”

  Lily dropped her voice even lower. “You recall what I said about those two gossiping ladies that Margaret and I spoke with? Well, one of them mentioned a Mrs. Hammond, whose husband’s brother was one of the solicitors responsible for managing Sir Charles’s will. And Mr. Spencer’s cousin, Mr. Hammond, is a solicitor.”

  Even without looking at him directly, she could see Jack’s eyebrows shoot up. “And you think he’s the same fellow?”

  “I want to find out if he is. Mr. Page needs to see that will.”

  Before Jack could reply, Andrew Harlowe was calling for attention as the curtain was drawn back.

  The other team had staged an elaborate scene. Two tall chairs were draped with fabric and set in the center of the tableau. In them sat Mrs. Dawson and her husband, each with something resembling a crown on their heads, Mr. Dawson with one hand upraised. The other held a silver pomander that looked as if it were meant to represent a monarch’s orb. Both of them were draped with lavender curtains that trailed off their shoulders in the manner of imperial robes. Around them, their teammates were frozen in bows and curtsies.

  “King!” someone guessed.

  “Queen,” suggested another.

  “King George!” was followed immediately by “Prince of Wales!” and “Debtor!” which earned a laugh from the entire room, including those who were supposed to be frozen. A few more guesses were offered, and then the curtains dropped and the next tableau was hastily assembled.

  This time one lady stood at the head of a line of chairs, facing sideways, her arms outstretched. Arrayed behind the line of chairs were the men; one held a rolled newspaper up to his eye and looked out over the lady’s head.

  When the curtain dropped once more, the group came out and bowed to their rivals’ polite applause, and then the guessing began in earnest.

  “Well, it is something scandalous, with that many gentlemen and only one lady,” one man said at last, and the whole company laughed.

  “It was a boat,” Jack said with lazy confidence. “Or a ship.”

  “King boat?” That dry guess was from Major Hastings, whom Lily had managed not to end up seated near; everyone laughed again. “Or kingship!”

  But the other players denied it. Several members of Lily’s team declared themselves baffled, and Mr. Harlowe asked if they gave up.

  “I must say, I am ready to!” Major Hastings said.

  Those who had set the puzzle began to congratulate themselves. Lily pursed her lips, unsure whether or not to speak up. She loved being right but didn’t much care about winning the game. And she didn’t care to push
herself forward among a crowd of people she didn’t know well.

  The decision was made for her; Margaret had seen her indecision and raised her voice. “I believe Mrs. Adler has the answer.”

  Heads swiveled toward her. “Well?” several voices demanded.

  “Well?” Jack repeated next to her, grinning.

  Lily tried to give him a stern glance, but she couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Courtship.”

  “Correct!” Mr. Spencer called out, while the others exclaimed loudly—in admiration or annoyance, depending on their team. Lily glanced out of the corner of her eye at Major Hastings, who looked sour, then at Margaret, who was pressing her fan against her lips to keep from laughing.

  The game continued, the teams taking turns, most of the puzzles solved but some not, until Lily’s team was giving their final clues.

  The players began in combative poses, gathered around Mr. Clay, who stood on his knees so that he was shorter than anyone else, one hand tucked inside the front of his jacket and the other holding a poker aloft like a sword. Everyone had their mouths open, as if they were speaking. Dozens of martial words had been suggested, and Napoleon’s name had been thrown about with grim humor, before the curtain fell and the players rearranged themselves.

  In the final pose, Major Hastings was at the center of the group, lying on a fainting couch with his hands crossed over his chest, draped in the black cover from the top of the pianoforte. The other players arranged themselves around him in tragic poses while Lily stood behind, one hand on her heart, the other lifted up, her eyes turned heavenward and her mouth open.

  “Death,” Mr. Dawson called. “No, that is too obvious.”

  “Funeral,” another player suggested.

  “How ghastly,” someone exclaimed as the curtain fell. They continued speculating and suggesting words as Lily’s team emerged into the drawing room, pleased smiles on their faces. The guesses flew across the room, some provoking horror and others laughter.

  They were just about to declare defeat when Mary Forsythe, a young matron who had been at school with Lily and Margaret some years before, suddenly asked, “Do you think Mrs. Adler was supposed to be singing at the end?”