The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  For what reason? If he had been there, he must have hidden himself from Cattawade’s eyes. Which could only mean his purpose in the domestic area at such an hour had been nefarious. Unless it had indeed been his evening off and he had but just returned. Slipping in ahead of the butler’s locking and bolting the back door? Then why not advertise his presence?

  Concluding that she must indeed have been mistaken, Ottilia banished the matter to the back of her mind and returned to the voice Abel said he’d heard. It provided but a slim hope, and was a double-edged sword. If it opened up the possibility of another suspect, it equally put Randal, Lord Polbrook, back into the picture, setting the time of the murder squarely ahead of his departure.

  The arrival late in the afternoon of Lady Candia Fanshawe coincided with a visit to Hanover Square from the family’s man of business, Mr. Jardine, who was just concluding a punctilious greeting when a series of unmistakable sounds took the dowager’s attention. She interrupted without ceremony.

  “Is that not a carriage, Ottilia? Take a look out of the window. Is it Francis at last?”

  Doing as she was bid, Ottilia peered through the glass in the near parlour window, looking into the street where a bustle was going forward. She was afforded a view only of the hooded back of a carriage, but a servant was standing to one side and a groom was already at the horses’ heads.

  “It looks like a curricle, but I cannot see —” She broke off, for a pair of booted feet landed on the road on the other side, and in a moment a man rounded the carriage and Ottilia caught a glimpse of his features under the beaver hat.

  “Yes, I believe it is Lord Francis.” She saw him throw open the low door and reach up a hand to someone inside. “There is a female getting out of the curricle.”

  “Candia! The poor child. Where is Harriet? Ring the bell, Ottilia.”

  As she went to comply, the lawyer moved towards the door.

  “You will wish to be alone, Lady Polbrook.”

  “No, you don’t,” snapped the dowager. “Stay just where you are, Jardine. Francis will be as anxious as I for your news.”

  “It is nothing that cannot wait.”

  “That is immaterial. You will oblige me by remaining, if you please.”

  Mr. Jardine, whether in deference to the dowager’s wishes or to avoid further argument, gave in with an obvious ill grace and retreated to the window. Ottilia wished she might hint to him that he was wise, for her employer’s temper, uncertain since the distressing event, had been exacerbated by Ottilia’s various findings. To Sybilla’s mind, the introduction of a mysterious voice served to blacken the case against her elder son, and Ottilia had been obliged to remind her about the garters and reiterate her conviction of there having been a lover involved.

  Presently the bustle in the hall beyond the door indicated that the travellers had entered the house. Ottilia caught the butler’s voice and the light fresh tone of Lord Francis in answer. A ripple disturbed the even tenor of her pulses and she was conscious of a rise of anticipation that signalled a distinctly unwelcome development. The effort to suppress it took all her attention, and by the time she had succeeded in recovering at least a semblance of her habitual calm, the party was entering the parlour.

  The youthful creature who halted on the threshold, despite blotched cheeks and a pair of tragic eyes, was breathtakingly lovely. She was tall, and the family resemblance was marked — dark eyes, high cheekbones, glossy brown hair — but a straight nose and a mouth finely sculpted as by the hand of a master set her apart from the rest and caught a resemblance to the portrait of the marchioness.

  The large eyes darted from face to face, catching on her grandmother’s features. Sybilla rose and held out a hand towards her.

  “My poor child.”

  Lady Candia took a few steps into the room, but Ottilia noted reluctance in the girl’s face. Then she found herself quite unable to keep her eyes on the girl, for Lord Francis entered behind her. Her breath caught. She had not recalled him as attractive as this. He did not notice Ottilia’s fixed regard as he put off his hat and greatcoat and threw them carelessly upon the nearest sofa. She was relieved when thereafter, without looking about the room, he crossed to the dowager and dropped a chaste salute upon her cheek.

  “We came as speedily as we could, Mama. Candia was anxious to arrive. I hope you have not been unduly oppressed.”

  His mother’s answer was forestalled by the entrance of Lady Dalesford, who no sooner saw her niece than she cried out, “My dear, dearest girl. Oh, I am so very sorry.”

  Lady Candia turned quickly, catching sight of her aunt. She let out a wail of despair and flung herself headlong into the countess’s welcoming arms.

  So much for Lady Dalesford’s worries, Ottilia thought, watching as she received her niece in a comprehensive embrace, sobs bursting from her throat to match Lady Candia’s grief. Ottilia could not forbear casting a glance at the dowager, and was not very much surprised to note the faint look of exasperation that crossed Sybilla’s features. Being herself of an undemonstrative disposition, she had evidently little patience with displays of naked emotion. It struck Ottilia that the only one of her children to take after her in this respect was Lord Francis.

  Looking across at him as he moved to close the door the countess had left wide, she found in his features a mixture of indulgence and irritation. She was relieved to discover that her own nerves had settled while the little drama was in play. Without thought, Ottilia crossed to his side.

  “Do I detect a trifle of impatience in your aspect, Lord Francis?” she murmured. His gaze came swiftly round, a startled look in his eye. “The task of conveying a grieving niece all the way from Bath has tried you pretty high, I think.”

  The dark gaze crinkled at the corners and his lips twitched. “As usual, you are perfectly in the right, Mrs. Draycott. I could readily have thro—” He broke off, consternation leaping into his face. “No, I don’t mean that.”

  Ottilia smiled her understanding. “I daresay the thought of the gallows was a sufficient deterrent.”

  He laughed out at that. “Mrs. Draycott, you are the most outrageous female.”

  “Not at all,” she countered. “Flippancy is always an efficacious remedy against the dramatic happenings of life, do you not think? One must fight back somehow.”

  “It is certainly preferable to indulging in settled gloom. But how have you fared here? Any news?”

  Ottilia met his eager glance. “Nothing conclusive, but I think we have made a little progress. Your sister’s advent was fortuitous, for it has given me rein.”

  His eye gleamed appreciation. “You mean Harriet has kept my mother occupied.”

  “Most usefully,” she agreed, smiling. “They have done wonders together in sorting the marchioness’s effects.”

  Lord Francis cocked an eyebrow. “You set them to that, did you? Masterly, Mrs. Draycott. I will not ask if you had done all you needed in the chamber first.”

  Ottilia was insensibly encouraged by the clear indication that he understood her so well. But she felt obliged to put out a warning finger. “We may be overheard. Let us reserve this discussion until your niece is safely out of the way.”

  Lady Candia had been perforce passed to her grandmother, whose hug, though eloquent, was brief. The dowager held the girl away, gripping her shoulders.

  “Come now, my child, you must be brave. Your Aunt Harriet will look after you. And you will have all your cousins about you.”

  The young girl sniffed dolefully. “What of Papa? Has he come home?”

  Sybilla shook her head. “Jardine has sent to him. He will be home presently.”

  The pretty features crumpled. “Where is Giles? I want Giles.”

  As Lady Candia dissolved into tears again, the dowager threw a harassed glance at her own daughter, who at once came to the rescue.

  “There, there, my pet,” she soothed, taking the young girl into her arms again and drawing her away. “Let us go and put off yo
ur travelling costume.” Over her shoulder, she called back to her mother as she drew her charge towards the door. “Pray ring for your woman to come to me, Mama.”

  “An excellent idea,” said the dowager, relieved. “Ottilia, ring the bell. Venner can make up a calming drink for Candia.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to put a dose of laudanum into it,” suggested Lord Francis as the door shut behind the two females.

  “I would not recommend it,” Ottilia said, tugging at the bellpull. “The stuff is addictive. Hartshorn or a tisane of herbs would be far safer.”

  The dowager waved her hand at Lord Francis, who seemed about to say something. “Venner will know how to do, and she disapproves strongly of laudanum.” A loud cough brought her head round to the window embrasure. “Jardine! I was forgetting you were still here. I made him wait, Francis, for I imagine you will wish to hear anything he has to say.”

  Lord Francis went across to the lawyer. “I certainly will. What news, sir?”

  “Nothing of moment, my lord. Her ladyship bade me examine the late marchioness’s will, which I regret to say I cannot read except in the presence of her immediate family.”

  “You are saying we must wait for my brother and my nephew?”

  Jardine gave a slight bow of assent. “I can, however, confirm that there are no beneficiaries other than the immediate family.”

  “What, nothing to any of her own kin, let alone Randal’s?” exclaimed Sybilla. “Nothing to any servant?”

  “The late Lady Polbrook’s personal fortune is tied up in the funds, my lady. It cannot be separately apportioned unless the beneficiaries choose to sell out.”

  “I daresay, but she has personal items of value. It is customary to reward one’s faithful retainers, even if she did not see fit to assist individual relations.”

  “The deed is hardly likely to come home to any of Emily’s family,” cut in Francis. “Nor can I suppose she would be quite so crass as to leave a sum to a person who might fit the criteria belonging to the particular murderer for whom we are looking.”

  The dowager gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. “I suppose not. I had hoped the will might have given us a lead.”

  “So had I, ma’am,” Ottilia put in, “but at least we now know that there is only Lord Polbrook to consider in that light, and he, as no doubt Mr. Jardine can confirm, would have no need to murder his wife for money.”

  She came under the lawyer’s penetrating glance, but he merely nodded and then turned back to Lord Francis. “I think you may be glad to know, my lord, that my messengers have been despatched these three days.”

  “Excellent.” The lawyer’s thin brows drew together, and Ottilia was unsurprised when Lord Francis demanded the reason. “There is something else?”

  Mr. Jardine cast a glance from Lord Francis to the dowager, who had passed from a species of disgust at her erstwhile daughter-in-law’s apparent lack of generosity to a look grimly anxious.

  “I feel it my duty to inform you, with regret, of what has come to my attention,” said the lawyer.

  “Well, out with it, man,” came testily from Sybilla. “No need to make a meal of it.”

  The severe look intensified, but the lawyer made no demur. “Hard upon the heels of my fellow in his way to France, I understand there is a Bow Street Runner.”

  Chapter 10

  A hasty exclamation escaped Lord Francis, and the dowager glared at her man of business as if he were to blame. Ottilia put her oar in without ceremony.

  “Is your man capable of staying ahead?”

  For the first time, a muscle twitched at the corner of Mr. Jardine’s mouth and his usually stern eye gleamed. “I choose my tools with care, Mrs. Draycott. No mere redbreast can hope to outfox my fox.”

  She had to laugh. “I am relieved to hear it. How many days before we may expect to hear?”

  He did not hesitate. “Up to a week, I imagine. At most, ten days.”

  Ottilia eyed him for a moment, and then cast a swift look towards the others. Lord Francis was regarding the lawyer with a thoughtful expression, but the dowager was watching Ottilia.

  “If you are going to come out with one of your revelations, Ottilia,” she said irritably, “pray do so and stop checking to see whether the rest of us can stand it.”

  “I was rather wondering if one of you might have leapt to the same conclusion.”

  Lord Francis’s eyes turned towards her. “That Jardine knows precisely where my brother is to be found?” He looked back at the lawyer as he spoke, but the man’s face gave nothing away. Nor did he speak. “I have long believed you know far more about his lordship’s affairs than we do, Jardine, and I can only applaud your integrity. In Polbrook’s place, I should wish for a similar reticence on your part. However —”

  “All very well,” interrupted the dowager, her eyes flashing at the lawyer, “but when my son is suspected of murdering his wife, it is not the time to be reticent.”

  The lawyer gave a small bow. “I appreciate your ladyship’s point of view. No doubt his lordship, when he returns, will give a satisfactory account of himself.”

  “In other words, your lips are sealed,” fumed Sybilla.

  He bowed again, not wasting words in denial. Ottilia, watching Lord Francis, guessed he at least realised there was no future in argument.

  “Is it ‘when,’ Jardine?” he asked, changing tack. “Can you be certain of that?”

  The lawyer drew in breath and gazed briefly at the ceiling. “No, my lord, I cannot.” He interrupted a hasty exclamation from the dowager. “I can offer one assurance. If Lord Polbrook has followed an intention he had before the distressing event, then it is certainly his design to return.”

  “Whereas if he ran off after strangling his wife, it is only too possible that he will keep on running,” said Lord Francis with sangfroid, drawing Ottilia’s admiration.

  “Why in the world cannot you tell us this intention?” demanded Sybilla with heat. “What if it has a bearing on the case?”

  “Improbable, my lady.”

  “How do you know? And I should infinitely prefer to judge for myself.”

  “Leave it, ma’am,” Lord Francis interposed. “Jardine has his instructions. Besides, anything he might be able to tell us can lead to speculation only, and we want facts.”

  “What I want is my son,” retorted his mother, a note of hysteria in her voice.

  “And you shall have him,” soothed Ottilia, going across to lay a hand upon the elder dame’s shoulder. “Do not forget that Mr. Jardine has set his recovery in train. There is much we may do meanwhile.”

  The lawyer threw her a look in which she might have read a modicum of gratitude, should she choose to believe him capable of such an emotion. He looked to Lord Francis.

  “If there is nothing further, my lord, I shall take my leave of you.”

  “By all means. No doubt you will keep us informed of any developments.”

  A nod, a bow to the dowager, and Mr. Jardine was gone. The dowager barely waited for the door to close behind him.

  “Wretched man! You should have insisted upon his telling us all, Francis.”

  “To what end? You know as well as I that he would never betray Randal’s confidence.”

  “Indeed.” Ottilia moved to take a seat opposite the dowager. “And you will gain nothing by alienating his willingness to serve you.”

  “Then what are we to do?” Sybilla demanded. “You have already said there is likely little more to be learned from the servants.”

  “We must look elsewhere.”

  Lord Francis threw himself onto one of the sofas, his eyes going to Ottilia. “Had you no success while I was away?”

  “Indifferent, but a couple of worrying facts have come to light.”

  “Such as?”

  Ottilia thought she detected a resurgence of anxiety in the dark gaze, and wished she might have had better news to impart. There was no point in withholding what there was.

  “I’m af
raid we have discovered that your sister-in-law’s jewel box is missing.”

  A faint groan escaped him. “As if the fan was not enough. With all its contents?”

  “I presume so. Mary Huntshaw is convinced it was not abstracted by the marchioness herself, for she claims the drawer — which was considerably disordered — would have been left open. We cannot place the time of the theft except that it occurred after the point when Mary put away the items Emily was wearing that night.”

  “Which leads one to suppose they were taken by the murderer.”

  “Or by the same person who took the fan, which we know occurred after Mary had discovered the body and before you locked the dressing room door.”

  Lord Francis dropped his head in his hands with a groan. “Lord help me, but that mistake looks like to cost me dear!”

  “There is nothing to be gained by sinking into a slough of self-blame,” said the dowager tartly. “You did what you did and there’s an end.”

  Raising his head again, his lordship shot a fulminating glance at his mother. “If I am not even permitted to indulge in a moment of protest —”

  “Save it for the rest, boy. We are by no means out of the woods.”

  His eyes returned to Ottilia. “Don’t spare me, will you?”

  She was obliged to smile. “I should not dream of it. I am sure you can stand a knock as well as your mama.”

  To her delight, he broke into laughter. “A knock? A battering might better describe it. But go on, pray. What other alarms have you in store for me?”

  “Well, although I have discovered several possible means of entry and exit, one is so insalubrious that I find it difficult to believe it was used. And there must needs to have been assistance from within the house to accomplish the others.” She explained in a few words her excursions through the basement and the location of the door that led to the outside privy for the use of the domestic staff and the pathway used by the night soil men.

  “The devil! I had hoped the lover theory would yield results.”