“A little late for regrets.”
I nodded. “It’s good to see you alive and well.”
“Yes, Petrov has been the perfect houseguest. I assume your aunt also came to no harm last night.”
“You assume correctly.”
I gestured to the drawing room, but he shook his head. “I’ve sent Petrov on an errand, and I have a spot of business myself. I’m to meet Lord Vellefort for luncheon, and I wondered if you’d care to join me?”
“I’m happy to join you anywhere, but why is meeting Lord Vellefort for luncheon a spot of business rather than just a pleasure?”
“He’s the man the Home Office put me in touch with regarding the Romanovs. He has a lengthy history with them, and with any luck, he may be able to shed some light on Irena.”
I could not have been more shocked. Vellefort, who’d only recently taken his seat in the Lords, was a bald, gaunt sexagenarian. A happy-go-lucky man, who took nothing seriously except his meals. Those, he took very seriously indeed. Was everyone in London involved in espionage? Well, I had no intention of missing this visit. The letter to Arthur Stoke-Whitney would have to wait.
“Do I have time to change my gown?” The one I wore was definitely unsuitable for paying calls.
He cocked a brow. “Can you do it in under thirty minutes?”
“Don’t be absurd. Of course I can.”
“Then I’ll order the carriage while you do.” He turned to go, but I caught his arm.
“Wait, I have news for you. Delaney caught up with Bradmore. He has him in custody.”
He grinned. “Your mother?”
“She’d make a wonderful spy, wouldn’t she?”
* * *
It was one of the best meals I’d ever had the pleasure to enjoy. Light and delicate, every morsel simply melted in the mouth.
“Lady Vellefort, how is it that no one has stolen your chef away? He is a culinary master,” I said.
Lady Vellefort smiled, the action bringing the apples of her cheeks high enough to turn her dark eyes into crescents. In every other way, she was a formidable woman—stately and square of form. Even her steel-gray curls looked as if they wouldn’t dare budge in a gale. But when she smiled, she transformed into a jolly old soul. “It’s all Vellefort’s doing.”
“Our chef is indeed a master,” he said. “And a female. She came to us when we were first assigned to Paris. It took a great deal of encouragement to convince her to return to London with us. Many of our so-called friends have attempted to lure her away, but fortunately, she is very loyal.”
“She revels in Oscar’s praise,” Lady Vellefort added. “I fear he would simply waste away if we ever let her leave.”
Indeed, Lord Vellefort didn’t seem far from wasting away as it was, though he ate just as much as the rest of us. He pushed his chair back a bit, and I suspected he wanted to pat his stomach in satisfaction. Instead, he shot George a look. “You have some questions for me, I understand. Should we leave the ladies and adjourn to the library?”
George dabbed his lips with his napkin and turned to the older man. “As long as the topic doesn’t disturb Lady Vellefort, I see no reason for us to discuss this in private.”
The lady flapped a hand. “You need not concern yourself with my sensibilities, young man.”
George glanced at Vellefort, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “No doubt you’ve heard about our sticky situation with Irena Teskey. Please accept my assurances that I neither married nor murdered her. We are, however, having a difficult time determining who did. I hoped with your knowledge of the Romanov family, you might be able to shed some light on her situation within the family. My only experience with her was short and happened a number of years ago. Lady Harleigh has spent time with her in more recent days, but Irena revealed nothing about her relationship with her father or his family.”
Vellefort studied George above the rim of his wineglass. “You think the Romanovs had something to do with her death?”
“A strange group of people,” Lady Vellefort said. “I suppose it comes from living such an isolated existence.”
“Russia is somewhat cut off from the rest of the world,” I said.
“It’s more than that,” she said. “They live in this rarefied sphere, where their every wish is accommodated. They have more money than anyone could estimate and absolute power over a vast expanse of territory. Yet they spare no thought for their own people or consider how they manage to live. It’s no wonder the Duke of Teck would not allow a match between Michael and his daughter, Mary.”
“I heard he said the Romanov men make bad husbands,” I said. “But Michael and Sophie seem to be quite happy.”
“That’s because they’re cut off from the family and banished from Russia. They should count themselves fortunate,” Lady Vellefort said with a firm nod.
“Since the czar didn’t cut off Michael’s income,” I added. “I must agree with you.”
“There you have it. The best possible outcome. I should think all the cousins not immediately in line to rule the empire wish they’d had the foresight to marry without the czar’s permission.”
“When examined in that light,” Lord Vellefort said, “Miss Teskey should also have considered herself fortunate. She reaped the benefits of the czar’s generosity without having to suffer his whims, rules, and rages.”
George frowned. “You think the czar funded Irena’s living, not Alexei?”
“Alexei would have gone to his brother and arranged for an allowance and caretakers.” He shrugged. “I’m sure the czar found it convenient to have the Teskeys placed in France to provide him with intelligence. Fostering Alexei’s child was the perfect cover for them.”
“Cover?” This came as a surprise. “Are you saying Alexei did not just find a French family to raise his child?”
Vellefort gave me a pitying look. “I spent twenty years in the diplomatic service for Her Majesty. Ten in Saint Petersburg and ten in Paris.”
“Paris was much more to my liking,” Lady Vellefort murmured.
“I had several interactions with Monsieur Teskey. He is in service to the czar, and so is his wife. As I said, Alexei’s daughter was just a good cover for them. For that, Alexander, and now Nicholas, rewarded her. And the Teskeys.”
“What of Petrov?” George asked.
“Petrov was Alexei’s doing. He wanted to put an end to all the abductions. I don’t know where he found the man. He may have been in the Russian Navy. As soon as they were in port, Alexei gave Petrov a new assignment—protect his daughter, or at least keep anyone from making off with her.”
“So to your knowledge, he isn’t actually in service to the czar?” George asked.
Vellefort reeled back in his chair. “My good man, if they are Russian, they are in service to the czar. There’s nothing else to be.”
George looked down at his plate and let out a sigh. “What I’m trying to determine is if Alexei or the czar or any other Romanov might have been responsible for Irena’s murder, perhaps using Petrov for the actual dirty work.”
Vellefort put a hand to his chin and stroked his short beard. “When she left France, she was of no real value to them anymore, but I can’t see how she’d be a detriment, either. I don’t know why they might want to have her killed, but I can ask a few questions. See if I can come up with an answer for you.”
“That’s all I can ask.” George raised his glass to the man.
“I can ask one more thing, if I may?” The two men directed their gazes at me. “Miss Teskey was half English. Do you have any idea who her mother was? I understand she died when her daughter was born.”
“That would have been before my time in the diplomatic corps. The mother died, did she? That’s a shame, but I suppose that’s what set everything in motion.” Lord Vellefort gave me a nod. “I’ll add that to my list of questions, but you might do better asking around here if you really want to know.” He frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
“Before her death, Miss Teskey received threatening letters, telling her to leave London. She told me her mother had been married.” I glanced at the two older people. Neither appeared particularly shocked. “Obviously, not to Alexei. I can’t help but wonder if the husband is still alive and in London. If so, this is the last place he’d want that child to live.”
George turned to me with a look of amazement. “You see now, Vellefort, why I wanted Lady Harleigh here. She brings an altogether different perspective.”
Vellefort let out a snort. “Just as well, you’re learning that now, as you two are to be married. Took me ten years of marriage to realize women are far smarter than we men.”
“Hear! Hear!” Lady Vellefort raised her glass.
Chapter Nineteen
Since the day was fair—or as fair as November in London can be, I convinced George to walk the few blocks from the Velleforts’ Mayfair residence back home.
“After all, we attended the reception together last night,” I said. “What would be the point of hiding now?”
He agreed and sent the carriage on without us. The temperature was on the brisk side, so there were few others on foot. This should have allowed us to discuss the details we’d learned about Irena’s family, if one were to call it that, but George had grown rather pensive.
I gave his arm a nudge. “What are you pondering so intently?”
“Nothing really. I’m mentally kicking myself. We should have spoken to Vellefort sooner.”
“Don’t kick yourself too hard. We may still find that Bradmore is our murderer.” That had the desired effect of making him smile.
“My sense is you don’t hold Bradmore in much esteem.”
“Your senses are correct. I didn’t think very highly of him when I met him back in Hampshire. Now that I know how he treated Miss Teskey, he has fallen even lower in my esteem. He used her. Married her when he thought she’d provide him with a fat dowry, then wanted to divorce her when he no longer needed it. He is the worst sort of man.”
“We don’t know the circumstances that led to their marriage. You know yourself how difficult Irena could be, and once she’d made up her mind, he’d have had the devil’s own time changing it.”
“That doesn’t excuse Bradmore. Six years ago, she would have been only eighteen. One doesn’t make the best decisions at that age.”
“Then, by all means, we won’t excuse him, and of course he’s still a suspect, but I have to wonder about the others in her life—the Teskeys, Petrov. I can’t believe it never occurred to me to consider the husband of her mother.”
“Of those choices, the only one we know anything about is Petrov.” I tilted my head forward to see his face around the brim of my hat. “Can you imagine a military man’s reaction to such an assignment? Go to France and watch after my daughter.” I boggled my eyes.
“It’s a far less risky occupation, so I’d imagine Petrov was delighted with the task. If he came along sometime after the Velleforts left France, he’s been with her about five years. That’s long enough to have developed a close friendship.”
“It’s also long enough to develop a strong distaste for someone. Do you think he might have murdered her?”
“Only if so ordered. Otherwise, he’d have the wrath of the Romanovs to face.” He stared off into the distance. “The same is true of the Teskeys, which is why I wish we’d met with Vellefort sooner. We really need to know if there’s some reason Alexei would want to be rid of her.”
“I don’t see it. The Romanovs are an old dynasty. They have so much power and so much wealth. How could one young woman living in another country cause them any trouble?” At George’s look of derision, I corrected myself. “Enough trouble to have her murdered? I doubt they took any notice of her at all. On the other hand, both the Teskeys and Petrov might have been tired of this assignment. They might have thought they’d be done with her once she gained her majority. But no, they still had to act as her loyal retainers, while spying for the czar. Perhaps they came up with a plot to have Petrov murder her once she was out of the country.”
We’d just turned the corner onto Chester Street, putting the cool wind at our backs and the sun on our faces, or perhaps that warm glow was just a change in my disposition because my home was in sight. I wondered if Irena had ever felt this way or if she had ever felt that she had a home. I turned to George.
“What of her mother’s husband?”
He sighed. “Another person we don’t know, and in his case, one we can’t even identify.”
“The Countess de Torby believes the woman was an aristocrat. There must have been some sort of scandal at the time, don’t you think?”
“Not necessarily. A woman and baby die in childbirth. Sadly, that’s not very unusual.”
“But the child didn’t die.”
“No, but she was ushered away as soon as possible. Chances are all reports were that both died.”
I couldn’t give up my point. “Reports, yes. But someone had to attend the mother and deliver the child. If even one person knew the truth, then word might have leaked out.”
I pondered this until we arrived at my door.
“If there was any gossip, even the hushed-up variety, there is someone who might be aware of it, and she could be convinced to tell me what she knows,” I said.
George had opened the door, but with an amused glance, he now blocked my entrance with his arm. “Do tell.”
“Bradmore’s aunt. Lady Esther. She was the Fiona of her day, always aware of the latest on-dit about everyone. If there was even a whisper of a scandal, she’d know about it. Perhaps I’ll pay her a visit this afternoon.”
* * *
Upon arriving home, I immediately sent out two notes. One to Lady Esther, asking if I could call on her, and one to Arthur Stoke-Whitney, assuring him this case would be resolved within the next few days. Thus, the scandal would no longer hang over my head. I didn’t expect him to jump at my offer to sponsor his daughter, but I had promised Alicia.
Good fortune was with me as to the first note. Lady Esther replied promptly and in the affirmative. She’d be delighted to receive me for tea and a nice coze. How nice she’d consider the topic of our conversation remained to be seen.
George and I discussed just how much I should tell her. He thought I should only hint around the edges of Bradmore’s dilemma, while I felt Lady Esther should be told everything. After all, she was his aunt. There was no danger she’d spread the story. Besides, Bradmore was at this moment on his way home, under arrest and escorted by the police. She’d find out soon enough.
Ultimately, he gave in, and since Petrov was still out on George’s assignment, he thought this an excellent opportunity to go through the man’s belongings. I left him to it and took the carriage back to Mayfair, to Lady Esther’s residence.
The older woman and I were not particularly close friends—or friendly at all, for that matter. She’d been much more a fixture in society when I first arrived in London ten years ago. I could still recall her words when I’d been introduced to her as Reggie’s fiancée. She’d cringed upon hearing my American accent. “Another one?” she’d said in tones of utter contempt. “What is wrong with our Englishmen these days?”
The only reason I hadn’t curled up into a ball and cried was that it was hardly the first time an older matron had insulted me to my face for something over which I had no control. For the sake of my own pride, I had had to take the stance that if she didn’t like Americans marrying Englishmen, she could just avoid us.
As it turned out, Reggie dropped me off at the old manor in the country, and I was the one who stayed out of society, except for a few weeks during the season. Apparently, these small exposures made her more tolerant of my Americanness, and I became more tolerant of her crankiness.
Of course, we pretended we held one another in high esteem.
Thus, when she greeted me in her drawing room, I took the bony hand she offered and smiled, as if seeing her was
the highlight of my day. On this occasion, it might prove true.
“It’s been far too long, Lady Esther,” I said.
“Can’t blame me for that,” she replied, leaning on my arm.
“I’ve been here. You haven’t been by.” She pointed with her walking stick to two very uncomfortable-looking Queen Anne chairs next to a tea table. They were the only surfaces not draped with fringed cloths or filled with various ornaments and trinkets.
“Once the weather turns, I don’t get out much,” she continued as we seated ourselves. “The damp makes my very bones ache. That’s why I don’t spend much time at Fairview. Can’t keep that place warm enough.” With a flitting of her hand, she indicated I should pour the tea. “I understand congratulations are in order. For you and Hazelton, that is.”
“Yes, I managed to catch another Englishman. But I believe it’s appropriate to convey congratulations to the groom, and good luck for the bride.”
Her lips compressed as I handed over her tea. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like he would need all the luck.
“It may not be public knowledge just yet, but my nephew will soon be asking for your congratulations.” She gave me a smug smile. “An Englishwoman.”
“I had heard something of that, but I wasn’t aware he’d actually proposed.” I took a sip of my tea. Barely tepid. “Is it a settled matter now?”
“He has proposed, and it’s all but settled.” She gave me an insolent glare and tapped her stick on the floor. “How did you hear of it?”
“Bradmore mentioned it himself just a few days ago.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did he now? I wasn’t aware the two of you were so well acquainted.”
“Not all that well acquainted, but his wife was at my house, and for obvious reasons, he needed to ask her for a divorce.”
Her teacup froze on its way to her lips, then slowly reversed course. “I beg your pardon? His what?”
I felt the tiniest twinge of guilt at shocking her in this way, but I had to tell her somehow, and if I’d wanted to be evil, I could have led off with the fact that Bradmore had been arrested for murder. I glanced at her stony expression. “His wife,” I repeated. “Bradmore was married.”
A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder Page 22
