“Fanfan!”
He turned at his mother’s sharp tone. “Have you a gossip in your head, ma’am?”
“No, but I aim to find one. Pray send someone to Bruton Street to bring back any cards that may have been left.”
“Bravo, Lady Polbrook,” approved George, laughing. “I’ll wager you will have been inundated.”
Francis was already by the bellpull and was about to give it a tug when the door fortuitously opened and the footman entered, evidently deputising for Cattawade.
“Lord and Lady Harbisher,” announced Abel.
A suspended silence greeted this announcement, and Francis watched in numb dismay as a faded lady, only too well-known to him, tripped into the room, closely followed by the portly form and plainly irate features of Emily’s elder brother.
“Ha!” he ejaculated, casting a fierce glance about the occupants of the room. “It’s true then. Polbrook is not here. By God, but I’ll see his head in a noose if it’s the last thing I do!”
Chapter 13
The tempestuous entrance of the newcomers caused a momentary hiatus in the parlour. Ottilia was not much surprised when, the footman having retired, the dowager was the first to break silence, and in no very amiable manner.
“If that is the attitude you intend to take up, Harbisher, you will find no welcome here.”
The gentleman addressed, who had trained his bulging eyes upon Lord Francis, swung round. His cheeks, already ruddy with anger, suffused the more.
“Lady Polbrook! I did not see you there.” He emitted an unconvincing cough. “Your pardon, ma’am. But you will admit I have cause to be exceptionally put out.”
“Put out?” echoed Sybilla in disbelieving accents. “I should better have sympathised in your emotions, my lord, had you exhibited transports of grief.”
At this, the little wisp of a creature who accompanied him rustled forward, slipping past Lord Harbisher and putting out fingers as delicate as the pallid features.
“Oh, but poor Hugh has been quite bowed down with woe since he received the letter, dear Sybilla.”
“So bowed down that he comes here threatening my son?”
“No, no, he only meant —”
“Be quiet, Dorothea,” ordered her lord. “If rumour does not lie, I promise you I meant precisely what I said.”
“Hugh, pray —”
The intervention was not attended to. Lord Harbisher turned on Lord Francis. “Where is Polbrook? Have steps been taken to find him?”
To Ottilia’s unqualified approval, Lord Francis maintained a cool tone, despite a tightened jaw and a martial light in his eye.
“Rest assured we are doing all in our power to discover his whereabouts and bring him home.” He held up a hand as the other seemed about to speak. “One moment, if you please, Harbisher. Do not imagine we have not all of us been exercised by the suspicion you have not scrupled to voice, but we have not been idle and we have reason to believe that your sister did not perish at the hands of her husband.”
Ottilia, glad to have the matter of the relationship satisfactorily cleared up, was nevertheless unsurprised when the late marchioness’s brother let out a derisive snort.
“It will not serve, sir. No doubt you are bound to make the best of him, but I know, none better, how little affection he bestowed upon my poor sister; how violent was his language towards her. It comes as no surprise to me that his rages ended thus. Try if you can to convince a jury, but you will never convince me!”
“Oh, this is intolerable,” cried the dowager, pushing herself up from her chair.
Ottilia went quickly towards her. “Do not excite yourself so, ma’am. Do you not see that his lordship’s grief has overset his common sense?”
She immediately regretted her impulsiveness, for Lord Harbisher’s bile sent him streaking for this new target. Ottilia found herself pierced by the man’s irate gaze.
“Hey? Who the devil are you to be pronouncing upon my state of mind?”
Seeing the snap of the dowager’s black eyes and a hasty motion from Lord Francis, as if he would move to intercept himself between her and her attacker, Ottilia was relieved when Colonel Tretower instead stepped into the breach.
“Allow me to make you known to Mrs. Draycott, sir, companion to Lady Polbrook.” He looked at Ottilia. “The Earl and Countess of Harbisher, ma’am.”
“Companion?” Ottilia was arrested by the quavery voice of Harbisher’s lady. “But where is Teresa?”
Again the colonel responded, a soothing note in his voice. “Miss Mellis had the misfortune to break a leg, I believe, Lady Harbisher.”
The earl turned his fiery eye upon the colonel. “You have the advantage of me, sir.”
Tretower bowed. “George Tretower, sir, of the Militia. I have the pleasure of serving as an intermediary between the family and the authorities in this lamentable affair.”
Lord Harbisher’s eye brightened. “You do, do you? Then you can tell me this: Why has Bow Street not acted? If the authorities do not see fit to find that scoundrel and bring him to justice, I will send the Runners after him myself.”
“Will you have the goodness to control your tongue, sir?” Lord Francis shifted to confront the man. “I have every sympathy with your feelings, but I will not allow you to distress my mother. If you cannot speak with any moderation, I must ask you to leave this house.”
Ottilia wondered briefly if these words might send the earl off in an apoplexy, but Lady Harbisher moved to put both those trembling hands upon her husband’s arm, and clung to it.
“Hugh, pray be calm,” she begged in breathy tones. “For the sake of dear Emily’s memory. It is not becoming at such a time to continue in this strain, my dear.”
Ottilia could not imagine this pathetic appeal would serve to turn Lord Harbisher’s temper, but it proved immediately effective. The earl’s high colour began to fade a little, and he puffed out his cheeks as he let out a sighing breath, patting his wife’s hand.
“Very well, my love, you are in the right of it.” He looked across at the dowager. “I’ll beg your pardon, ma’am. Trust you’ll make allowances.”
Sybilla looked less than mollified, but she caught her son’s eye and threw out a hand in one of her typically dismissive gestures as she subsided into her chair. “We have all of us been severely overset.”
“Will you not be seated, Lady Harbisher?” Ottilia indicated the chair near the fire opposite Sybilla.
The woman darted an appraising glance at her out of the thin pointed face. “Oh! That is very kind, thank you.”
Ottilia retired to the window, not feeling it behoved her to invite the earl to be seated. Lord Francis stood back and Lord Harbisher settled on his heels. With a quick glance at his friend, the colonel once again stepped into the fray.
“If it will serve to calm your fears, my lord, I may tell you that Justice Ingham of Bow Street has indeed despatched a Runner to France.”
At this, Lord Harbisher started. “France? France? By God, the fellow has fled the country!”
“Nothing of the kind,” snapped Lord Francis, casting an anxious glance towards his mother. “It happens Polbrook had the intention of making the journey and there is no reason to suppose he did not do just that.”
“Except that he left in the small hours and my sister was found dead in the morning,” returned the earl, his voice rising again. “You may be sure I have ascertained that much.”
Lord Francis fairly glared at him. “How? How have you ascertained it? I did not write as much to you.”
“Ha! Of course you did not, Fanshawe. You did your utmost to cover up your brother’s part in this. But I took care to question Jardine, and he was very well informed.”
“That wretch?” uttered Sybilla furiously. “Traitor! I shall give him pepper for this.”
A question leapt to Ottilia’s mind, and as if he read it in her head, Lord Francis asked it. “Jardine did not tell you about the Runner?”
For the fir
st time, Harbisher looked taken aback. “He knew?”
“Undoubtedly he knew. Indeed, it was he brought the news and spoke of it in this very room only yesterday.”
The earl looked decidedly put out. “Fellow’s as close as be damned.”
“Yes, I think we are all acquainted with Jardine’s habit of saying just what he wishes and no more.”
A muttered exclamation from the dowager proved the truth of this assertion. Lady Harbisher’s limpid gaze turned upon her.
“You have felt it, too, Sybilla. One would suppose in such circumstances ... but there was no moving him.”
All eyes turned in question upon the lady, and her lord harrumphed a little in his throat, evidently intent upon silencing her from speaking any further. Ottilia wondered if anyone else had taken the same leap. It was an opportunity too good to miss, with its chance of drawing Lord Harbisher’s fangs at a stroke.
“Mr. Jardine is indeed admirably discreet,” she ventured with an air of innocence. “He would not disclose the contents of the marchioness’s will even though it might serve to provide a motive for the murder.”
She received a sharp glance from Lord Francis, but the earl’s cheeks darkened and Lady Harbisher let out a gasp and went even paler. Sybilla looked from one to the other.
“So that is it. You come here blustering and hectoring like a man demented, but all you truly want is to find out —”
“Mama,” came warningly from Lord Francis, cutting her off. He turned quickly to Lord Harbisher, who looked ready to explode. “No one doubts the sincerity of your grief, sir.”
“So you say.” He turned on the dowager. “Your insinuations, ma’am, are nothing short of insulting. But since you have brought the matter up, yes, I did ask Jardine about the will. Because if your misbegotten son had been mentioned, I’d take a case against his benefiting to the highest authority in the land.”
“You would have no need to do so, sir,” cut in Colonel Tretower before the seething dowager could respond. “If your suspicions of Lord Polbrook were proven, he could not benefit in any event.”
“D’you think I care if they are proven? I’ll not have the man profit by Emily’s death whatever the outcome. He doesn’t deserve a penny of her money and I’ll see to it he won’t get it.”
Sybilla could no longer remain silent. “You mean to condemn Randal’s treatment of his wife, do you not? Well, I am far from condoning it, but the faults were on both sides, sir. Without wishing to speak ill of the dead, I am bound to point out that Emily was not precisely blameless.”
Ottilia saw Lady Harbisher’s fingers flutter to her mouth, her eyes flying to her husband’s face. True to form, the earl’s temper was ruffled again.
“Ha! You mean to put it upon Emily now, do you? You’d have me think she drove him to it, I daresay.”
“Nothing of the kind,” broke in Lord Francis. “It is true there was a degree of estrangement between them, but neither party could take full responsibility for that — a common enough occurrence. Which is all my mother meant to imply.” This had the effect of reducing Lord Harbisher’s ire, Ottilia thought. He was frustrated from making any comment, however, for the butler entered the room at this moment, with Abel at his heels bearing a tray of refreshments. The business of serving the company provided a welcome respite.
Watching the servants’ motions, Ottilia was unaware of the approach of Lord Francis and was startled when he spoke close by her ear.
“What in the world possessed you to mention the will, you wretch? I would never have believed you could be so maladroit.”
The familiar fashion in which he addressed her took the sting from the rebuke. Ottilia flashed him a look of apology.
“I’m afraid it was deliberate. I had hoped to confound and so disarm him, but I clearly mistook his motive.”
His eye teased her. “And I thought you infallible.”
“I hope not. Why, what a prig I should be.”
He tapped his ear. “I must be growing deaf. Did you say pig?”
She chuckled, hastily suppressing it as Lady Harbisher, who had moved to converse with Sybilla, glanced round. “Will you be quiet? The atmosphere is supposed to be solemn,” Ottilia said, admonishing him playfully.
Lord Francis threw up his eyes. “I am sick of solemn. Would to God I could dump all this and take ship for Italy or somewhere bright and sunny.”
“Speaking of Italy,” said Ottilia, disregarding this rider, “how long do you suppose it may be before your nephew is able to return?”
He sighed. “That’s right. Return me to reality. Have you no pity?”
“None at all,” she told him merrily. “Besides, do you forget I am delighting in this game?”
“So am I not. And I have no notion when Giles may return. Nor do I care. His presence is neither here nor there until we have discovered the truth.”
“I was only thinking he might be acquainted with his mother’s friends, particularly if she had developed a penchant for young gentlemen.”
He suddenly squeezed her arm. “Take care. Harbisher is approaching.”
With which Lord Francis moved away from her towards the earl, leaving Ottilia feeling peculiarly bereft.
“If you insist upon Polbrook’s innocence, Fanshawe,” Lord Harbisher was beginning, taking immediate advantage of Cattawade and his minion having left the room, “what other explanation have you for my poor Emily’s demise, I should like to know?”
His wife turned where she stood, her eyes dilating. “I was just thinking the same, Francis. If Randal did not do this terrible thing, who did?”
“That is just what we are endeavouring to find out,” said the dowager from behind her. “Only today we have uncovered more than one possibility.”
Ottilia held her breath, fully alive to the infelicity of these possibilities in the eyes of the marchioness’s brother. The matter of the will was nothing to this. She cast an agonised look at Lord Francis and found him regarding her in much the same state. He had sprung to precisely the same conclusion. How to avert disaster?
Lady Harbisher’s brow wrinkled. “But it does not make sense. We understand poor Emily was safely in her bed at the time. Who but Randal —? Oh!”
The realisation struck her dumb, and a tide of pink entered her pale cheeks, while her eyes registered an all too vivid demonstration of her own opinion of the likelihood of her sister-in-law having entertained another man in her bedchamber.
It took a moment for the implication to register with her spouse, although Ottilia could see Sybilla was before him, recognising how her own words had led to this. Colonel Tretower was steadfastly regarding the ceiling, and Lord Francis’s gaze signalled a frantic message. Ottilia grimaced in response. Too late!
“Hey? What’s that you say?” uttered the earl, as if he could not believe his ears. “You dare tell me Emily played him false? Not while I live!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” burst from the dowager. “Did you take the woman for a saint? How in the world are you to know what she may or may not have done in the privacy of her chamber? You are merely her brother, sir, not her keeper.”
“I will not hear this,” Lord Harbisher thundered. “I will not have my sister’s name besmirched!”
“But you expect me to sit mute while you revile my son,” Sybilla threw at him furiously. “Well, know this, Harbisher. Your sister’s amorous dealings are a byword in the ton, and we are hunting down the culprit from among her favourites. There, it is said. Now let there be no more mealymouthed subterfuges between us.”
This attack so stunned the earl that he was evidently lost for words for the moment. To Ottilia’s senses, the other occupants of the room held a collective breath, watching the protagonists holding stare for stare.
Lord Harbisher was the first to break. He jerked his gaze away from Sybilla’s, looked intemperately about the room as if he hardly knew what he was looking at, and then fastened upon the glass in his hand. With a quick movement, he tossed off
the wine it contained and moved to set aside the glass. It seemed to fortify him, for he looked directly at Lord Francis.
“Is this true?”
Lord Francis hesitated. Then he gave that shifting shrug Ottilia recognised as signifying discomfort with what he had to say.
“I can’t confirm Emily’s conduct as certain knowledge. But it is true that we have been led to the supposition that there may be a third party involved.”
“Third party,” scoffed the earl. “If you mean a lover, Fanshawe, then say so, since your own mother prefers to call a spade a spade.”
“Very well, if you insist,” Lord Francis said coldly. “So far as we can ascertain, there is a strong possibility that Emily was killed by a man she had expected and welcomed into her chamber. You will allow that Randal is unlikely to have been such a man.”
“Oh, how truly dreadful, if it is really so,” uttered Lady Harbisher in broken accents. “Poor, poor creature, to be so cruelly betrayed.”
She set down her glass on the mantel and sank into her vacated chair. A pocket-handkerchief fluttered from her sleeve to her hand and was held to her eyes. Of the opinion that her emotions were genuine, Ottilia looked to her husband to see how he took this. The earl was surveying his wife with a frown creasing his brows, but Ottilia believed his thoughts were otherwhere.
Colonel Tretower stepped forward. “If you will furnish me with your direction, Lord Harbisher, I will be happy to keep you informed as to the progress of the investigation.”
The earl started. “Eh? Progress? By God, I’ll not have it progress an inch!” His now troubled eyes swung back to Lord Francis. “You’ll not shuffle this off onto Emily, and so I warn you. D’you think I’ll have every scandalmongering busybody on the town bandying her name in such a fashion? Saying she came by her deserts? For that’s what they will say, sure as check. I’ll not have it, I tell you!”
“That is past praying for,” cut in Sybilla curtly. “The whole town has been buzzing these past days. What else can you expect?”
The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions) Page 21
