The Devereaux Affair: Ladies of the Order - Book 1

by Clee, Adele

  “I’ll not talk of it here,” Mr Daventry reiterated in the stern voice only a fool would contest. “My carriage is waiting in the mews. We’ll leave through the servants’ quarters.”

  Without further discussion, Mr Daventry opened the door and beckoned them to follow. Mr Cole strode towards the ballroom while Julianna and Bennet took the back stairs, squeezed past harried servants in the corridors, and headed outside into Cavendish Square.

  Bennet brought her to a halt on the pavement. “Wait. It’s bitterly cold tonight. Wear this.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped the garment around her shoulders. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin at her collarbone. More a lover’s caress than an accident.

  The last time she’d worn his coat, they’d made love in the cottage. Based on how he touched her, how her needy body responded, it was inevitable they’d make love again.

  “Are you all right?” She noted his furrowed brow, the grim line of his lips. Since learning of Mr Branner’s death, he’d hardly spoken, hadn’t fired questions or demanded answers.

  “There’s nothing a man hates more than being taken for a fool. Still, I liked Branner and am at a loss to know why he’d want to hurt me.”

  Julianna quickly cupped his cheek, aware Mr Daventry stood staring at them from the cobbled alley leading to the mews. “We’ll talk about it later. When we have all the facts.” She forced a smile when Mr Daventry cleared his throat to hurry them along. “Perhaps it’s a good thing I’ve tendered my resignation. Mr Daventry would never condone an agent fraternising with a client.”

  “Is that what we’ll be doing later, Julianna, fraternising?” He captured her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. “Will we seek solace in each other’s arms the way we did when we were children?”

  Desire coiled in her belly. “We’ve both passed the point where a simple embrace will suffice.”

  She shouldn’t say such things, but with Mr Branner dead, her work with Bennet Devereaux was almost at an end. Paris was but a heartbeat away. Soon they’d be hundreds of miles apart. The days would stretch to months, years, decades. The potent smell of his cologne, the rich cadence of his voice, the taste of his mouth, they’d be but distant memories.

  Mr Daventry called their names and proceeded along the alley.

  Suffering the disparaging glares from the ladies in the ballroom proved less intimidating than Mr Daventry’s stare. He sat opposite them in his plush carriage, his unreadable gaze moving slowly from Julianna to Bennet to their hands resting less than an inch apart on the seat.

  “How did Branner die?” Bennet gripped the overhead strap as the carriage lurched forward and clattered out of the mews. “Who found him?”

  “He was beaten over the head numerous times with a poker. The coroner said he bled to death slowly, over a period of hours. Yesterday, when he failed to make an appearance to check the fire-damaged stable block, Mrs Hendrie went to his cottage.”

  Poor Mrs Hendrie. She must have had a dreadful fright.

  “I need to return to Witherdeen tonight. I must put my staff at ease.”

  “A murder complicates matters. Once we’ve caught the culprit, the case will be heard at Crown Court. Sir Malcolm Langley spoke with Peel an hour ago. Based on your position and the seriousness of the crime, Peel instructed Sir Malcolm to conduct a thorough investigation. I had to tell him about the threatening notes, amongst other things.”

  Bennet muttered a curse. “A man is dead. Tell Sir Malcolm whatever he wants to know. We must alert Branner’s family. I believe his mother lives in Bath or Bristol. No doubt he kept her letters. It shouldn’t be difficult to find an address. I shall visit her myself.”

  Mr Daventry sighed.

  Mr Daventry never sighed.

  A strong sense of foreboding settled in the air.

  “The coroner places the time of death almost forty-eight hours ago.” Mr Daventry paused. He waited for them to realise they were at Witherdeen when Mr Branner was murdered. Had the poor man met his demise while they were fighting with Mr Granger, or while making love in the cottage?

  Bennet sat forward. “But that’s impossible.”

  “Did you visit your steward to tell him you planned to leave for London? Did you enter his cottage at any point on the night your friends came to Witherdeen?”

  “Enter his cottage? No! I left in a hurry. I gave my valet notes for Branner and Mrs Hendrie, informing them I’d be back in a few days.”

  Julianna realised she had cause for alarm. “Sir, surely you don’t think Lord Devereaux bludgeoned his steward. I can vouch for his whereabouts on the night in question.”

  “I’m sure you can, Mrs Eden. No doubt he can vouch for yours.”

  The comment caught her unawares. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with Mr Branner’s death? What possible motive could I have for killing the steward?”

  “You’re in love with Devereaux and sought to punish the person who sent the threatening letters. Protecting a loved one is a motive for murder.”

  In love with Devereaux? Did he have to say that aloud?

  “Sir, I’m forced to bite my tongue lest I say something wholly disrespectful. I’m grateful to you for giving me this position, for having faith in my abilities, but your reasoning is flawed.”

  “Flawed?” Mr Daventry’s expression darkened. Then he laughed. Granted, it was only a mild chuckle, but his eyes crinkled all the same. “If only you could see what I see, Mrs Eden.”

  “Damn it, Daventry! Are you saying we’re both suspects in Branner’s murder?” Bennet answered his own question. “Of course we are. Everyone in attendance is considered a suspect.”

  “Mrs Hendrie saw the gruesome scene through the cottage window. She sent a groom to Basingstoke with a note for the coroner. By the time Cole arrived, the coroner had found the incriminating evidence.”

  Incriminating evidence!

  Thank heavens! Surely that proved their innocence.

  “The killer left a clue?” she said, though the rush of relief died when she met Mr Daventry’s stare.

  “Two clues. When the coroner prised open Branner’s palm, he found strands of red hair. Next to the body was a sapphire stickpin. The same stickpin Devereaux is wearing in the portrait hanging in Witherdeen’s drawing room.”

  Silence filled the cramped space.

  It took a moment to absorb the gravity of their situation. The evidence placed them both at the scene. People were hanged for less. That said, a marquess wouldn’t face the noose. The blame would rest squarely at Julianna’s door.

  “I lost that pin months ago.”

  Julianna studied Lucius Daventry. He seemed remarkably unconcerned that his agent and client might be guilty of murder. Yes, he wore an unreadable expression most of the time, but there was something reassuring about his cool demeanour.

  “We secured a confession from Miss Winters tonight. Alas, Bennet and I are the only two witnesses to the fact she visited Mr Branner’s cottage the night he was murdered.”

  Julianna explained all they had learnt from Miss Winters. “Had we known of Mr Branner’s death, we would have brought her to Bow Street for questioning.”

  “No doubt she’s on the first boat to anywhere,” Bennet scoffed.

  “Why would Miss Winters admit to being in Mr Branner’s cottage if she murdered him with a poker?” Julianna doubted the killer would confess to visiting the scene. “Why confirm she had a room at the coaching inn in Bramley?”

  “Now you’re thinking like an enquiry agent, Mrs Eden. There are only two reasons why she would incriminate herself.”

  Julianna thought for a moment. “The first being that Miss Winters didn’t attack or murder Mr Branner. The second being she hit him with the poker but doesn’t know he’s dead.”

  “Correct.” Mr Daventry relaxed back in the seat. “Let’s consider all the evidence so far. Cole has more to say on the matter, but I want to have a clear picture when we arrive in Hart Street.”

  Bennet e
xhaled deeply. “Allow me to relate the events. Branner sent the handbills. We assume he staged the scenes with the gargoyle and gravestone. I also believe he is responsible for the faulty pulley in the stable block.”

  “Yes,” was all Mr Daventry said.

  “Though his motive is unclear,” Julianna added. “He used Miss Winters to assist him in his endeavour though she says she is ignorant of any wrongdoing. Maybe Mr Branner meant to implicate Miss Winters. After discovering he used her, she murdered him in a fit of rage.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Whoever killed Branner planted my stickpin and a lock of Mrs Eden’s hair at the scene to incriminate us both.”

  Mr Daventry rubbed his firm jaw. “Or the hair belongs to Miss Winters, and she stole the stickpin. It all comes back to motive. Why would anyone seek to hurt you, Devereaux? That’s the question we must answer.”

  * * *

  The carriage rattled to a halt in Hart Street.

  Mrs Gunning was expecting them. She had made tea, lit the lamps and stoked the fire in the drawing room. While they waited for the agents, Mr Daventry probed Bennet about his father’s relationship with the staff.

  The Sloanes arrived first. Vivienne handed Julianna her cloak, forcing her to shrug out of Bennet’s warm coat. Mr Cole came five minutes later. The dark circles beneath his eyes said he’d barely slept.

  They all sat around the low table, waiting for Mr Cole to discuss the terrible incident at Witherdeen. He began by relaying what they’d already learnt during the carriage ride across town. Then described the gruesome scene in graphic detail.

  “The coroner can’t decide if Branner died because of a blow to the head or fell after being hit with the poker and cracked his skull on the grate. Either way, Branner never regained consciousness and bled to death.”

  Bennet asked about Mrs Hendrie and his staff.

  “Mrs Hendrie took to her bed for a few hours. She suspected Branner had lied about seeing the gravestone but had no proof.”

  “But Grimley swears he saw the gravestone,” Julianna said. Mr Bower had confirmed the fact on numerous occasions.

  Mr Cole looked at Bennet. “Branner caught Grimley digging inside the chapter house. Branner threatened to inform you unless Grimley told a small lie. I had to scare the gardener out of his wits to get to the truth.”

  So, Bennet’s theory proved correct. Smashing the gravestone had seemed like an odd thing to do. “Mr Bower searched the pit for hours, looking for the broken remnants. He found no evidence to support Mr Branner’s claim.”

  “Evidence suggests Branner played the part of the ghostly monk, too.” Mr Cole struggled to suppress a yawn. “Hidden under the boards in his cottage were robes and an incense burner.”

  Bennet threw his hands in the air. “But why?”

  A tense silence ensued. Mr Cole looked at Mr Daventry and arched a brow. A covert message of sorts.

  The master of the Order turned to Julianna, his eyes holding the hint of compassion she’d seen twice before. “Mrs Eden, I’m afraid I must ask you some uncomfortable questions. Should Sir Malcolm seek to inspect the journals and the letter found in Branner’s cottage, he will draw the obvious conclusions. No doubt you would prefer to direct your answers to someone who believes you’re innocent.”

  Innocent?

  Julianna frowned. “Sir, I’m at a loss to know what you mean.” And yet her stomach sank. Mr Daventry did not play games with people’s emotions. He must have some justification for speaking out.

  “If you prefer, we can speak privately,” Mr Daventry said.

  “I have nothing to hide, sir, and have no idea why I’m suddenly a person of interest in this case.”

  “I believe it has something to do with what my father wrote in his journals,” Bennet said, his voice thick with regret. “He resented your mother for leaving and sought to make her life difficult.”

  “More than difficult,” Mr Cole scoffed. “So difficult, Mrs Eden has every reason to seek vengeance. The letter suggests she knew Branner before agreeing to take your case. One might commend her for spinning quite a clever deception.”

  Letter? What letter? She scoured her mind, but drew a blank.

  “Sir, I sit here ignorant of my crime, yet I assure you I have known Mr Branner for only a few short days.”

  “And I’ve known Mrs Eden for a few short hours,” Vivienne interjected, “but I’m willing to vouch for her character. Whatever it is you’re suggesting, Cole, there must be another explanation.”

  “I agree.” It was Bennet’s turn to argue a case for the defence. “Regardless of what evidence you have to implicate Mrs Eden, I’m confident she has nothing to do with any of this. I introduced her to Branner and would have sensed if something were amiss.”

  Mr Sloane snorted. “With all due respect, Branner has been deceiving you for months, if not years, and you do not know why.”

  Bennet firmed his jaw and looked ready to retaliate, but Lucius Daventry said, “Enough! No one here doubts Mrs Eden’s word, but she must account for the letter found in Branner’s cottage.”

  “I have never written a letter to Mr Branner.” For the love of God, how could she write to a man she didn’t know? “Perhaps he has a friend or relative with the same name.”

  Mr Daventry reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a folded note. He stood and gave the tatty paper to Julianna.

  “The coroner found it in Branner’s coat pocket.”

  The second she gripped the letter, she knew exactly what it was. Relief rippled through her in waves. Thank the Lord. She thought she’d lost it at Witherdeen, feared Bennet had found it and said nothing.

  Forced to peel back the folds and examine her own penmanship, Julianna read the words she had written to Bennet Devereaux. During those lonely nights when Edward and Justin expressed their love, she left the house, lay under the stars with her letter and her memories.

  When you look to the heavens, do you think of me?

  Tears welled, but she gathered her composure. “I wrote this letter, but nowhere on the page does it state the name of the recipient.”

  “But you agree it’s a love letter.”

  “It is a love letter, sir. One that is never far from my heart. Mr Branner must have entered the cottage without my knowledge and rummaged through my belongings.”

  Bennet looked aghast. “You wrote a love letter to Branner?”

  “Of course not. Mr Branner is a stranger to me, a man I met mere days ago. I wrote a letter meant for my eyes only. A private outpouring.” The thought that Mr Cole and Mr Daventry had read her innermost thoughts left her mortified.

  Bennet held out his hand. “May I read the letter?”

  Good God, no!

  “It’s a personal keepsake. It pains me to think others have been privilege to my dreams and aspirations.”

  Mr Cole had the decency to incline his head by way of an apology. “Mrs Eden, the letter was found at the scene. I would not have read it otherwise.”

  Bennet sat forward. “The fact the letter might incriminate you in Branner’s murder suggests it must be written to someone.”

  Julianna did not reply. She looked at Lucius Daventry. “Can I keep the letter, or is it considered evidence?”

  “The coroner found it on a murdered man’s body.” Mr Daventry spoke with a degree of empathy. “It’s listed in his report. I shall speak to Sir Malcolm, explain my thoughts on the matter, but ultimately he must rule on its significance.”

  “Because I am still a suspect in the steward’s murder?” she asked.

  “The letter, it was meant for me,” Bennet interrupted, looking more than intrigued. “There are only two reasons why it might be considered as evidence. If you were conspiring with Branner, which I know you were not, or if it proved you were defending me. Therefore, you wrote the letter with me in mind.”

  Her chest tightened.

  She swallowed many times, still her mouth felt dry.

  “The person I wrote abo
ut doesn’t exist. How could I write about you? We’ve not seen each other for seventeen years.”

  She’d promised never to lie.

  Some lies were necessary.

  “Then let me read the letter,” he challenged.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Mr Daventry coughed into his fist to get their attention. “The letter is unimportant. Mrs Eden’s explanation supports my belief that Branner suspected she was at Witherdeen to spy, and so he entered the cottage while she dined with your friends and stole the letter. We can only assume he planned to use it to frame Mrs Eden for the crimes, should he fail to blame Miss Winters.”

  Bennet’s expression darkened. “You mean he might have killed me and told the authorities it was a case of unrequited love.”

  “That’s assuming Mrs Eden had you in mind when she wrote about the only time in her life she’s been truly happy.”

  Curse the devil! Why didn’t he just snatch the letter and read it aloud? It was unlike Mr Daventry to be so obtuse.

  A quick change of subject was needed to calm her nerves. “You said Lord Devereaux’s father mentioned my mother in his journals. I understand he was unkind. I remember her saying he made life unbearable and even attacked Lord Denver in the street. But why would I blame the marquess for his father’s poor judgement?”

  Mr Daventry stood abruptly. “Would you care to accompany me to the study, Mrs Eden? We won’t be long. What I have to say requires privacy.” He asked politely, yet something about his tone said she shouldn’t refuse.

  She caught Bennet’s anxious gaze, saw the same fear she’d witnessed the night she’d be abducted from Witherdeen. Did he know of this secret Mr Daventry was compelled to disclose? Did Bennet know why she would have a reason to hate him now?

  Mr Daventry led her into the lit study across the hall. He closed the door, gestured for her to sit while he perched on the edge of the imposing desk.

  “The job of an enquiry agent is a dangerous business.” Mr Daventry folded his arms across his chest. “A man cannot take risks with people’s lives.”