* * *
“How did you orchestrate that display of support?”
We were in the carriage on our way home. It was barely midnight, but we had stayed as long as either of us could bear it, and just long enough to avoid a breach of good manners.
“I didn’t manage it on my own. I had a coconspirator—well, two if you count Sophie. I had only intended we’d dance with the guests of honor. It was she who brought the prince into the scheme.”
“It was an ingenious scheme.”
“Since I convinced you to brazen it out with me, I thought it best to have some people in our corner. The more influential, the better.”
“I’d say we have at least half of those in attendance on our side now. Well done.” He leaned back into the leather cushions of the seat and pulled me against him. “Who was the other partner?”
“Graham. Can you believe it?”
He thought a moment, then shook his head. “No. Are you certain it wasn’t someone impersonating him?”
“Quite certain. I imagine saving the family name was uppermost in his mind, but I won’t quibble over his motive when his deeds were so effective. And he was very gracious about it.”
“Now that you’ve taken care of society so handily, it should be a simple matter to find Irena’s killer, don’t you think?”
“Graham told me something that has me wondering about that very matter.” I moved away so I could see George’s face. “Our temporary neighbor, Mrs. Chiswick, told him she not only heard you both married and murdered Miss Teskey, but also that her intelligence came from a reliable authority at the reception.”
“We didn’t win over everyone tonight. Plenty of people were talking about the murder—and me.”
“Yes, but who among them would be a reliable authority? I wonder if someone there felt it necessary to spread the story and give it more gravitas. Who would have more need to do so than the guilty party?”
He blew out a breath. “If that’s the case, you have removed nearly every one of our suspects from the list. It couldn’t be Bradmore, Gilliam, Petrov, or Miss Cooper.” He frowned. “Is there anyone left?”
“The grand duke? He wasn’t very helpful yesterday. If you were found guilty, there would be no need to scrutinize her relationship with the Romanovs.”
“And we gave him reason to believe that’s exactly what the police would like to do. Did Graham ask how Mrs. Chiswick came by this tidbit?”
“He did, and she wouldn’t say. I don’t think she’s on gossiping terms with anyone at the reception except Lady Pettipiece. She has a slight acquaintance with Arthur Stoke-Whitney and an even slighter one with Alicia. Neither of them would want to stir up our scandal.” I considered my own actions this evening, stopping near groups and picking up bits of their conversations. “She might simply have been eavesdropping.”
“Let’s put Mrs. Chiswick aside for the moment. If you believe Irena’s killer is tied to the letters and the man following her, and I think that’s a good possibility, it couldn’t be Romanov, since that all happened before he arrived in London.”
My shoulders sagged. “You’re right.”
George blinked and cupped a hand to his ear. “Could you say that again?”
My thoughts were spinning too fast. I had to slow them down before I could possibly explain them. “You’re half right.”
“No, no, no. That’s not what you said.”
I placed a hand on his arm. “Stop joking and hear me out. Do you recall Gilliam saying the man who told him to rid himself of Miss Teskey was a gentleman? What if he was at the reception tonight? He would certainly benefit by making you appear guilty.”
“It’s possible. Unfortunately, we don’t know who that is. I think your notion to learn more about Irena’s life and her connections is our best course of action. It may help us learn who would want her to leave London.”
We’d arrived home, and George walked me up to my door and fitted the key into the lock.
“Why don’t you come in for a bit. It’s early, and I’m sure Aunt Hetty isn’t home yet.”
While he sent his driver off to retire for the night, I turned on the lights in the drawing room, remembering too late about the busybody butler across the street. For goodness’ sake, George and I were betrothed. Why couldn’t I entertain him at my own home at whatever time I chose? Besides, Hetty would be home soon. I chuckled at the thought of her as my chaperone and opened the drinks cabinet, in search of brandy. We were a bit thin, but wasn’t there a decanter in the library? I was heading in that direction just as George came through the front door.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’m just checking the library for brandy.”
I didn’t bother lighting the lamp when I entered the room but slipped through the darkness to the shelf behind the desk. I was right. My hand landed on the neck of a bottle of something Hetty had purchased a few days ago. I hoped it wasn’t rare or special, as I fully intended to drink it. As I moved around the desk, the bottle cradled in one arm, I caught sight of a shadow moving across the moonlight that shone through the glass door. I pressed my hand to my mouth to silence my gasp.
Something or someone was moving around in my garden.
My hands shook as I set down the bottle. Should I have set it down? It might make a good weapon. What to do? Should I open the door, startle the person, if it was a person, and hit him with the bottle?
Instead, I turned to fetch George and nearly ran him down in the doorway. I let out a squeak as he steadied me on my feet.
“Sorry. Just came to see what was keeping you.”
“There’s someone out there,” I hissed and pointed to the door.
He was instantly alert. “Stay here,” he whispered and padded quietly to the door.
Instead I followed him, slipped around the desk and positioned myself next to the door He glared. “I told you to stay back.”
“What if it’s just Hetty and Gilliam?”
“His motorcar would be in the street. Now, please.” He put a finger to his lips and pushed me behind the desk.
I bit my lip while he released the bolt, then turned the handle. I picked up the discarded brandy bottle as a weapon. Before I could swing it at anyone, he’d inched open the door and thrown himself outside. Something landed with an oomph.
Peeking around the door, I saw George sprawled on top of another person. A very large person. “Who is it?”
George came to his knees, and the other man sat up.
It was Igor Petrov.
Chapter Eighteen
George gestured for Petrov to precede him into the library. The Russian shuffled inside, his head bowed. I lit the desk lamp and retrieved the bottle of brandy. Since we hadn’t needed it as a weapon, we might as well put it to better use. With a quick trip to the drawing room, I had three glasses and was pouring one for each of us when Igor settled into a chair. George remained on his feet, pacing and trying to calm down.
I handed a glass to Petrov. “What on earth were you doing in my garden?” On seeing his blank stare, I corrected myself and asked again in French.
“Were you attempting to break in here?” George stopped pacing and glared at the man.
“I called on both of you earlier this evening and was told you were away from home. I couldn’t wait out front, or a constable would move me along, so I went around the back and climbed over your wall, my lady.”
“Why didn’t you just come back in the morning?” I asked. “Is there something urgent you need to relay to us?”
From the way George was clenching his hands into fists, I knew he was at the end of his tether with Petrov, Irena, and all this business. I’d hoped the brandy, his pacing, or just the even tone of my voice would calm him down, but so far, nothing had had that effect.
Petrov was eyeing him, too. Not out of any fear, since the sheer weight and volume of the man would put all of George’s strength to the test, and to his credit, the Russian wasn’t flaunting that. No, he was just being ca
utious, calculating.
Finally, Petrov spread his hands. “I had nowhere to go. I can’t pay for the hotel room, so they asked me to leave. Alexei has sent me no instructions. He may not even know yet that his daughter is dead. And I don’t want to leave until I know who murdered Irena and the police have him in custody.” He twisted his lips downward as he lifted his shoulder. “Since you want to learn the same things, I came to you.”
“You came here looking for somewhere to stay?” George looked incredulous. “Why wouldn’t you go to the grand duke? Surely he would help you.”
Petrov raised his shoulders in one of those maddening shrugs Irena had used so often. “Possibly, but Michael Mikhailovich isn’t looking for the truth. He doesn’t care what happened to his cousin.”
George studied Petrov for a moment. I was just about to suggest we pay for the hotel accommodations when he made a different decision. “Get your things. You can stay with me.”
Mr. Petrov lumbered out to the garden to collect his belongings, and I turned to George. “What are you thinking? The man might be a murderer. Why would you want him to stay with you?”
“I’ll have to keep a close eye on him, to be sure, but something tells me he knows more than he’s revealing to us. We want to talk with him, anyway. He says he wants the truth. Perhaps if I can convince him to let loose with a little more information about Irena, we’ll all get to it faster.”
* * *
The next morning, I woke with a vague sense of unease. As Bridget pulled open the drapes, I recalled the reason—Petrov, an extraordinary and suspicious man, if not an actual killer, was residing in one of George’s guest rooms. I certainly hoped he’d survived the night. George, that is, not Petrov.
Then there was Aunt Hetty. Bridget placed the coffee tray on the bedside table. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Do you know if my aunt ever made it home last night?”
Bridget flashed me a grin before she moved on to the other window. “She did, my lady. Were you worried about her?”
“Of course I was. She was with a strange man, driving about in a motorcar. Why would I not worry? I’m also worried about Mr. Hazelton. Would you ask Jenny to nip next door and inquire of his valet if he’s—” If he’s what? Alive? “If he’d call on me at his earliest convenience?”
“Of course, my lady.”
When Bridget left on her errand, I picked up my coffee and saw the telegram on the tray. Mother didn’t have this much to say to me when we were in the same room. I broke the seal and unfolded the page.
My dear, you can’t imagine the excitement here. Mr. Bradmore has been arrested! And not by the Prefecture of Police, but by an English inspector named Delaney. For the police to arrest a British aristocrat, he must have committed a particularly heinous crime. Thank goodness you weren’t drawn in by him. Fortunately, I’ve heard no new gossip about your Mr. Hazelton. Has that quieted down?
She signed off with a promise they’d be back home in a few days. For my mother, the telegram was positively economical. I set it aside when Bridget returned to help me dress.
George still hadn’t called by the time I went downstairs, but Jenny had spoken to his valet, who’d told her George was up and about. It had been a late night, so I ought to give him a little more time before stalking over there and knocking on his window.
To my surprise, Hetty was already at the dining table, as bright and cheerful as if she hadn’t been out most of the night.
“How was your evening?” I asked.
She lowered her newspaper to reveal a rather dreamy expression. “Quite enjoyable, thank you.”
I dropped into the chair next to hers and leaned in close. “Is that all you have to say?”
She pushed me away. “We drove out of town a bit so he could take the motor through its paces.” She shuddered. “It’s very fast. I’m not entirely sure I’d care to do that again. Then we came back to town and had dinner at the Savoy.”
“You were out quite late.”
“We had a little difficulty starting the engine after dinner. Gilliam tried adjusting a few things, but it was too awkward for him to tinker with it on the street and in the dark, so he brought me home in a cab. I suppose he’ll return to check on it today.”
“But will he check on you today?”
She gave me a level look. “Don’t be silly. Or perhaps he will. He might keep up his attentions to me until he realizes I won’t be investing in his theater.”
Mrs. Thompson came in with eggs and toast. I helped myself to both. “I thought you planned to tell him that last night.”
“That was my intention, but the subject of the theater never came up. Odd, don’t you think?”
Hardly. I was certain the man was interested in Hetty, not her money. Was her resistance to the idea because she still harbored some suspicion of him? Bradmore’s arrest should provide more information about Irena’s murder. Perhaps we’d learn Gilliam was completely innocent. I hoped so, for Hetty’s sake.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I smiled. “I just wonder if Mr. Gilliam is worthy of you.”
“Frances.” She scowled at me. “I won’t make a fool of myself over such a young man.”
“He’s not that young.”
“He’s young enough. Too young. I would look ridiculous. What would people say?”
Before I could answer, Jenny slipped into the room. “Mrs. Stoke-Whitney is here, ma’am. She apologizes for the early hour, but she’s asking to see you.”
I immediately recalled that I hadn’t written the promised note to her husband, and felt a stab of guilt. I ought to have said something to him last night about Harriet’s season, but it would have been awkward if he’d turned me down. “I’ll be with her in a moment, Jenny.”
With a nod, the girl left.
I took a bite of toast to keep my stomach from growling, while Hetty let out a tsk. “You should at least make her wait until you’ve finished your breakfast.”
I washed down the toast with some coffee and shook my head. “Actually, I’m very interested in what Alicia has to say to me.” After dabbing my lips with a napkin, I stood and headed for the door, then turned back and watched my aunt as she returned to her newspaper. Last night hadn’t been easy. In fact, I’d been anxious the whole time, but I was also proud that I’d taken the risk. “Aunt Hetty, do you really care?”
She raised her gaze from the paper to me, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Care about what?”
“What people will say. Before you rule out any possibility of a romance with Gilliam, you should ask yourself if it really matters to you what society thinks.”
She still looked puzzled when I left, but I thought it best to let her mull things over on her own.
Alicia awaited me in the drawing room. When I entered, she was pacing back and forth in front of the window.
“Good morning, Alicia. Such a lovely gathering you had last night.”
She turned to face me, a pout on her lips. “I noticed you managed to use it to your advantage.” She gave me a grudging smile. “Well done.”
“I hope we changed a few minds. Even your husband greeted us warmly.”
She looked surprised. “I’m very pleased to hear that. I was afraid because of this Teskey business, he’d reject you as a sponsor for Harriet. I’ve been trying to work myself back into his good graces.” She raised her hands, then let them fall to her sides. “I even helped him with his speech for the Ladies’ Society for Morality and all that rot. And it’s all been for nothing.”
“Mrs. Chiswick belongs to that group. I understand she was spreading rumors last night. Do you suppose that’s her idea of moral behavior?”
“I daresay it is, and Arthur’s, too, for that matter, but you know how he is. Not a breath of scandal can touch his family.”
“Yes, I do know how he is. But one wonders if you do.”
“I usually have no trouble managing him, but I admit I overstepped this time. Hi
s first wife was careless, and that makes him rather prickly if I am ever less than discreet.”
Good heavens, what a marriage. “Would you care for tea?”
“Thank you, no. I am on my way to the country now and only stopped to ask if you would please remember to write to Arthur? If he understood this issue would be resolved in a matter of days, I’m sure he’d consent to your sponsorship.”
“You are leaving now?” Stoke-Whitney’s justice was swift. And somewhat ridiculous, considering he wasn’t punishing Alicia for her actions, but for the fact that they’d become public. And what kind of ogre punishes his wife? Yes, the man could be pleasant, but this high-handedness with his wife quite put me off the idea. “It might be safer to ask someone else. Perhaps Lady Fiona?”
She boggled her eyes. “Hazelton’s sister? I don’t see how that will be any better.”
“Right. I’d forgotten about the connection. Isn’t there anyone else?”
“You know I have few female friends, and how can I contact anyone while I’m buried in the country?”
“You could write to them. And you’re hardly to be buried in the country when you’re only an hour from London by rail.”
She pouted. “I believe my stay will be of some duration, and I can’t come back to make arrangements. I’m depending on you, Frances.”
I’d likely regret conceding to her request, but I’d run out of arguments. “Fine. I’ll send him a note, but I can guarantee he won’t accept my offer until we’ve resolved this case.”
“And I’m sure you will. Thank you so much.” She took my hand. “I’m in your debt.”
“I’ll be sure to remind you of that.”
The bell rang as I walked her to the door. I opened it to find George on the other side.
After greeting him, Alicia heaved a sigh. “Perhaps I should have been more selective,” she said and strode down the walk to her carriage.
He frowned. “What did she mean by that?”
I drew him into the hall and handed his hat and coat to Mrs. Thompson, who’d come to answer the door. “She’s just wondering what might have been if she hadn’t married a sanctimonious man twenty-five years her senior.”
A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder Page 21
