A Rose Before Dying (2 page)

“She grew them because of the name,” Sir
Edward interrupted. “That’s the ‘Lady Banks’ rose.”

“Then he has left us a clue,” Charles said
with a tight smile. “He knows at least a modicum about roses. And
he’s literate enough to compose those notes. Or well-heeled enough
to pay someone to write for him.”

“Reasonable assumptions.” Gaunt’s eyes
glittered with an intelligence that lightened the grimness of his
expression. “You’re more adept at this than many inquiry agents, my
lord.”

“Such as Mr. Phillips?”

“Indeed.”

Charles leaned forward and considered the
wilting flowers. “I fail to see—”

“We must find the man responsible!” Sir
Edward’s cane pounded the floor with angry grief. “Those buffoons
on Bow Street believe I did this! That I sent the flowers and shot
her! They think I hid the firearm—they spent an entire day
searching for it in the garden behind Lady Banks’ house—the
fools.”

“That’s absurd! The notes—”

“They think I wrote the bloody things—not
caring I couldn’t write in that sprawl if I tried. They
think—bloody hell—who knows what those nodcocks think!”

“Rest assured, Sir Edward, we’ll do our best
to find the guilty party,” Gaunt replied.

Charles eyed him. “And yet you must be short
of staff since Mr. Phillips left, and you know as little of roses
as I.”

“The roses may not be that important, and
there are inquiries….” Mr. Gaunt said, clearly weighing each word
as he spoke.

“You find him—you must!” Sir Edward raised
his head, staring at Charles with haggard, red-rimmed eyes. His
voice wavered. “I was a fool to come here. Charles—please—help me!
For her sake? I was with her when she died. I loved her, but those
fools questioned me!
Me
! They think I’m a murderer! How
could I do such a thing?”

“You didn’t. Never fear, Sir Edward. Mr.
Gaunt is your friend, and I’m sure he’s competent.”

“Perhaps, but…” He clearly regretted his
hasty decision to rely on his friendship with an inquiry agent to
prove his innocence.

“But not now?”

Gaunt straightened. “I assure you both, I’ll
do my utmost—”

“No doubt. But do you have our best interests
at heart?
My
best interests?” Sir Edward raised a hand when
Gaunt frowned. “We’ve known each other for years. You’ll certainly
try,
but face facts, it means little to you if you
fail.”

The stiff set of Gaunt’s shoulders told
Charles that he was not immune to Sir Edward’s criticism, but he
controlled himself. “I’ll discover the truth. I could do no less
for a friend.”

“And I—” Charles stopped. He’d been about to
admit that the truth might not be what was required.

That would not do. Not at all. The truth was
important, but so was his uncle’s reputation, and Charles did not
want to see his uncle suffer further.

Unfortunately, he’d held his title for less
than two weeks and had only come to London to set up his own
establishment. He had little time to devote to an investigation.
But in the brief silence cocooning his words, he sensed the fear
and grief hollowing his uncle.

Mr. Gaunt might do his best as an impartial
agent and Sir Edward’s friend, but he wouldn’t have the same
incentive Charles had to prove his uncle’s innocence.

“I’m sure his lordship has other interests to
pursue,” Mr. Gaunt said. “He’s new to the title. There are many
responsibilities…”

“Please, Lord Castlemoor.” His uncle looked
at him with barely concealed panic, for once remembering to use his
nephew’s new title. “If the authorities choose to misinterpret my
friendship with Lady Banks…”

Sir Edward rarely asked anyone for anything.
He demanded, or he did it himself. The fact he begged Charles spoke
to the depth of his grief and physical incapacity. Charles had
watched with dismay as his uncle’s physical condition deteriorated
over the last few weeks, but Sir Edward had refused all offers of
assistance. He pushed Charles away and struggled to maintain his
appearance of hearty good health despite his crippled foot and
constant pain.

And he mostly succeeded in making everyone
believe in his indomitable strength.

Until now.

Looking at his bowed head, Charles could not
refuse the first opportunity presented to him to grant his uncle
some measure of aide.

“I may be new to the earldom, but I’m far
from overwhelmed,” Charles interjected smoothly. “As you indicated,
Mr. Gaunt, we’re both amateurs when it comes to botany. There can
be no harm in both of us applying our minds to the problem.”

Gaunt didn’t look happy, but he was wise
enough to avoid an argument with an earl, even a newly minted
one.

“Is this our only clue, then?” Charles
arranged the two calling cards in front of him before gently
rewrapping the spray of yellow flowers. “Did anyone see the flowers
delivered?”

“No. The butler found the first bundle on the
stoop when he opened the door for Lady Banks and Sir Edward to
attend church services. They assumed I’d left it there as a
surprise when I arrived.”

“Surely the accident didn’t occur on your way
to church?” Charles asked, appalled.

“No—no. We went for a walk. Later. In the
garden,” Sir Edward said. “There was a shot. She fell into my
arms…”

After a moment of silence, Gaunt picked up
the threads of the story to spare Sir Edward. “The second note and
rose were left at the French doors leading to the garden.”

“Inside the house?”

“No. Outside,” his uncle said.

“And no one saw anyone?” Charles asked.
How was that possible?

“No. No one but me. The servants said no one
but me had visited or been in the garden. The constable did his
best. He questioned several of the lads—known poachers—but they all
had witnesses to verify their whereabouts at the time. Then he had
to look elsewhere. By then, the whispers had started. I was alone
in the garden with her. They said I did it. I was the only one
there.”

Charles touched his uncle’s shoulder.
“Nonsense. Obviously, someone else had been there. Had she argued
with anyone?”

“No!” The single word exploded from his
uncle’s white lips. “No. She argued with no one. This
was—inexplicable. Inexcusable. She was an innocent victim. I—I
believe it was aimed at me. The taunting flowers—what other reason
could there be for those bloody roses?” His voice rasped with
barely suppressed emotion. “He killed her—so they weren’t meant for
her. The flowers were a message to me.”

“Why?” Charles glanced away from the pain in
his uncle’s face, trying to drag the conversation into less
terrible channels. “Who would hate you so much? Who do you
suspect?”

Sir Edward took a deep, shuddering breath and
then straightened. He shrugged. “No one. I can’t imagine who would
hate me so. Or treat Lady Banks with such callous contempt. It’s
beyond comprehension.”

The thought of shooting a woman for the
purpose of bringing pain and suffering to another man was difficult
for anyone to accept.

It took Charles a few moments to convince
himself it was possible for a man to be that cold, that malicious.
“Have you any other information? Perhaps a list of those who bear
you malice?”

His uncle shook his head, his gaze fixed on
the floor.

Charles glanced at Mr. Gaunt. He wanted to
question him to see what the man might have to offer in his
professional capacity. Surely he had some relevant experience.
Something that might bring light to the awful events.

“Please, Lord Castlemoor. Hoopes was right,
after all. I should have gone to you, first.” His uncle interrupted
the silence in a rush as if he could no longer bear the company of
his own thoughts. “Whatever scandal is flushed out is best kept
within the family. You must see that.”

Scandal?
Charles’s gut clenched. What
skeletons did his uncle know about, that might creep out of the
family’s closet?

Certainly, none that he wanted Gaunt to chat
with.

“Surely, Mr. Gaunt is discreet,” Charles
suggested.

“I can assure you that I am very discreet.
And I’ll be fair. I don’t jump to conclusions,” Gaunt said. Then he
rubbed his mouth with the knuckle of his forefinger. “However, I
would welcome any time and consideration you may grant to this
case. If it involves your social class, it may grow…awkward. To
question them.” He frowned as if the admission pained him. “You,
however, can visit family and friends, question relatives and
retainers, without raising the resistance one such as I might
encounter. And I’ll provide whatever assistance I can, of
course.”

“Are you refusing the case?”

“No, of course not.” He shifted in his chair.
“However, as I indicated to your uncle, earlier, I’m involved in
a…delicate situation for another client. I must give him
precedence. I’m truly sorry.”

“I see. And Mr. Phillips left you
short-handed.” So his earlier observation had proved accurate.

Mr. Gaunt smiled. “Yes. Again, I must
apologize, my lord. You miss little. Yes. I will endeavor to devote
the time necessary to ensure your uncle is not unjustly accused,
once this prior case is resolved.”

That will never do. Sir Edward will be tried
in a matter of days if the authorities believe him guilty. He needs
aide now, not when Gaunt is free.

“I understand.” Charles stared at the scuff
marks and scratches marring the dark wood of the floor. While he
had no objection to involving an expert such as Gaunt in the
investigation, he was more and more convinced he’d do better to
manage it himself. “Is there anything else? Any other
information?”

His uncle stirred in his chair and frowned.
Then he nodded to Gaunt. The agent reached down and opened the
bottom right-hand drawer of his massive desk. He pulled out a
small, crystal vase, along with another sheet of white paper and a
small card.

A spray of flowers protruded from the narrow
throat of the vase. At first, Charles thought they were white, but
after studying them, he realized the petals were softly colored,
blending from pale pink to white. Only three blooms were open, but
some small, green buds promised more flowers within the next few
days.

“Your uncle received this, this morning. Left
at his front door,” Gaunt said.

Charles glanced at his uncle. Sir Edward
waved a heavily veined hand as he stared at the vase on the desk.
His expression remained hopeless, morose.

“What rose is that?” Charles leaned forward
to pick up the spray and absently counted the petals on one
drooping flower. Eleven petals. A poor specimen, he thought. The
flower was scarcely two, or two-and-a-half, inches across.

“That’s the crux of the problem,” Gaunt said.
“We don’t know.”

“And you couldn’t find out?” Charles glanced
at his uncle. The older man shrugged and refused to meet his gaze.
“What did the note say?”

“A hint while there’s time,” Gaunt
replied.

“A warning, then. If we’re smart enough to
understand it.” Charles eyed the card. Such an innocuous square of
paper, and yet the writer had surely dipped his quill in a pot of
poison before writing. “And you don’t know what rose this is? It
looks like those thorny hedges growing along the road. Hardly a
rare, treasured specimen from a well-maintained garden.”

Gaunt frowned, his black brows wrinkling over
his prominent nose. “I don’t suppose you have any close friends
named Hedges, do you?”

Sir Edward sucked in a sharp breath, but he
finally raised his head. A bitter smile twisted his thin lips. “No.
I’ve no friends named Hedges. Or Rose.”

“Could it be what they call the ‘Dog Rose’?”
Charles asked. He’d heard the name once, though he had no idea what
the rose looked like.

Sir Edward stared at him, his mouth twisted
in derision. “He’s going to kill my
dog
?”

Charles shook his head. “No—no. That is, I
don’t know. Sheer speculation.”

“It doesn’t look like the ‘Dog Rose’ to me,”
Sir Edward said.

“I’m afraid we can’t come to any definite
conclusion. Insufficient information.” Gaunt folded his hands on
the shiny surface of his desk.

“Then it’s time to consult an expert,”
Charles said.

Sir Edward glanced at him, frowning with
worried suspicion. “What expert?”

“James Lee. The Vineyard.” He felt a flush of
excitement and took a deep breath to control the reaction. It was
inappropriate to feel this thrill over the challenge of
investigating such a tragic matter. Yet he couldn’t deny that it
interested him and not just because he hoped to keep his family’s
name unsullied.

The unknown wretch who murdered Lady Banks
had thrown down a gauntlet. Charles was more than willing to pick
it up. And he’d see him hang, if he could.

“A good thought.” Gaunt nodded. “I can
go—”

“No need. I intend to pursue this matter. You
may question the servants again. I find it inconceivable that no
one saw anything. Depend upon it, there was a witness. Find him. Or
her.” Charles rose with determination and again clasped his uncle’s
shoulder briefly. After collecting the flower wobbling in its
narrow vase, he shook hands with Gaunt and left.

If anyone could identify the mysterious rose,
Mr. Lee could. Since the death of Mr. Kennedy, Lee was the sole
owner of the Kennedy and Lee nursery. He’d had to deal with roses
of all varieties for a number of years. In fact, they supplied the
previous Earl of Castlemoor with at least two dozen rose bushes and
innumerable plants for the estate in Surrey, so while Charles had
never had any personal contact with the nurserymen, he knew their
reputation.

Fortunately, the nursery at Hammersmith was
only five pleasant miles away, on the north side of the Great
Western road near Hammersmith turnpike. The locals still
affectionately called it “The Vineyard at Hammersmith” in
consideration of the quantity of Burgundy wine produced there in
the previous century. With luck, there might still be a bottle or
two left to reward him at the end of his journey.