Accomplished In Murder (5 page)

“To whom are you referring?” she asked
cautiously. His sly manner made her uneasy.

He said, “Lord Litchfield, who else? I saw
you looking in on him and Absalom while they were having their
spat. No, it’s no good denying you snooped. I see everything around
here you know.”

“How convenient for you,” she said
coolly.

“Yes it is, actually. Knowing everyone’s
little secrets is a means of gaining leverage over them and I never
pass up an opportunity for that. We younger sons need all the
advantages we can get.”

“I should like you to know I was merely
pausing outside that door to get my bearings in this big house. It
isn’t my custom to listen in on other people’s conversations.”

“Of course not. Most of them are not worth
hearing anyway. I can tell you, most of the chatter that goes on in
this house is deadly dull. Speaking of which, the place is a
regular mausoleum today, isn’t it? I’m for some fresh air and
sunshine. What do you say to a stroll through the rose garden?”

She considered it. “I’d say that’s an
unexpectedly charming offer, considering the source.”

He laughed. “I’m not as bad as all that.
Besides, it’s my duty to play the genial host while my father and
brother are occupied.”

“I’ve seen nothing of the grounds,” she
admitted.

“Then it’s imperative I show you around. We
wouldn’t want you losing your bearings again, would we?”

Despite his needling, his enthusiasm was at
least refreshing. And he was right. It would be a relief to escape
this house of tragedy.

She allowed her young host to lead her
through the house and outdoors, where they entered a garden of
meandering paths and twisted shrubbery. The plot was in a shocking
state, the surrounding walls crumbling and the way overgrown with
weeds. Drucilla couldn’t help but be reminded of what she had
overhead about the family’s dwindling finances.

Her companion broke into her thoughts. “Not
much to look at, is it?” He nodded toward the neglected rose bushes
and the moss encrusted statuary. “My father has been putting the
money my sister-in-law brought into the family to use on other
parts of the estate but I imagine he’ll get to the house and garden
eventually. If there’s any money left by then.”

Unaccustomed to hearing financial matters
spoken of so openly, Drucilla was distinctly uncomfortable.

He appeared unaware of her embarrassment but
changed the subject. “Celeste liked to come here alone. She often
took moonlit walks about the grounds. I think she welcomed the
solitude when she was feeling homesick.”

“Probably. She always enjoyed the outdoors,”
Drucilla remembered.

“And then there was the added attraction of
avoiding a disagreeable husband and an overbearing
father-in-law.”

Drucilla blinked. “That is unkind and not an
entirely appropriate remark, given the circumstances. Why would you
say such a thing?”

“Because I sensed you wanted to hear it. You
want to know how it was with Celeste after she came here. Was she
unhappy? Was she afraid? You’re looking for answers about what
happened to her and why.”

She didn’t deny it. “You said ‘afraid.’ What
did Celeste have to be afraid of?”

He didn’t answer directly but stared off over
her head. “I think you’re a very clever sort of girl, Miss
Winterbourne. The sort who enjoys puzzling things out.”

She frowned. Was that a taunt? What did he
know that he wasn’t saying?

But before she could badger him for more
information, he called out over her shoulder. “There you are,
Father. We were just discussing Celeste and how fond she used to be
of the garden.”

Stomach muscles tightening involuntarily in
anticipation of who stood behind her, Drucilla turned.

Chapter Eight

On seeing him up close, Drucilla was
surprised how greatly Lord Litchfield resembled his youngest son.
They shared the same build, handsome features, and dark hair and
eyes. Only the elder man’s face was lightly marked with lines
around the eyes and mouth and his hair was streaked with silver at
the temples. He also lacked the glint of amusement that lit his
son’s eyes.

“Father, I don’t believe you’ve met our guest
yet,” Southorn said. “Allow me to present Miss Drucilla
Winterbourne. Miss Winterbourne, my father Lord Litchfield.”

She became aware the older man was studying
her critically. Refusing to shrink before him, she met his direct
gaze with a challenging look of her own.

She thought she caught a hint of approval
flickering behind his eyes but then it was gone. Aloud, he merely
observed, “Yours is an unusual profile, Miss Winterbourne. You must
sit for me sometime.”

It had more the ring of a command than a
request.

“My father is a very skilled painter,”
Southorn explained, at her baffled look.

“Hardly skilled.” Lord Litchfield waved the
praise scornfully aside. “But I’ve dabbled for some years and am a
capable amateur.”

Despite his words, Drucilla suspected
anything at which the Master of Blackridge had been “dabbling” for
years he would be more than proficient in. However, she kept the
thought to herself. “I should be happy to pose for you, sir. It
will be my first such portrait since I was a child.”

He nodded as if he had never had any doubt of
her acquiescence and changed the subject.

“I regret your visit to Blackridge House must
come at such a gloomy time. You would have found us a much livelier
household when my poor daughter-in-law was still alive.”

Drucilla nodded in understanding and a sober
mood overtook the conversation.

Lord Litchfield seemed to shake it off.
“Well, I’m on my way out to meet Coles. Do not let me keep you
young people.”

“Coles?” Drucilla asked when he had gone.

“Overseer of the estate. Father thinks a lot
of him and he keeps things running smoothly around here.”

“I see. His Lordship seemed much affected by
the loss of Celeste. I suppose she brightened the house.”

“Do not be fooled by his declarations of
grief. This entire situation could not have played out better for
him if he had orchestrated it himself.”

She stared. “What a shocking thing to
say.”

“Yes, isn’t it? But come; don’t tell me
you’re one of those young ladies who thinks if a thing is
unpleasant it shouldn’t be said?”

“That depends, I suppose, on how much truth
is in the unpleasant statement.”

“You doubt my word? How suspicious you are,
Miss Winterbourne.”

“Not suspicious, just not as cynical as you.
Why should your father be glad Celeste is dead?”

“For the same reason anyone is glad to see a
terrible fate befall someone else. Because he has something to
profit from it. You can be sure father is already mentally lining
up potential brides to take Celeste’s place as soon as the
necessary mourning period has passed. And why shouldn’t he? The
family has obtained all the financial benefit there is to be gotten
from that particular marriage. But my brother is young and
generally agreed to be tolerable looking. He’s well-versed in the
social graces and the heir to a title and a large, if somewhat
decaying, estate. He’s the ideal bait, and one Father will not
hesitate to use as long as there remains money to be made in the
marriage market.”

He paused. “You’re very quiet, Miss
Winterbourne. I believe you’re rather horrified by my family’s
approach to matrimony. Or is it merely my frankness that is
distasteful?”

“Actually, I’m finding your candor rather
refreshing, in its awful way. ”

He looked pleased. “Good. I knew you were not
one of those silly sorts of girls happy to go through life wearing
blinders. That’s why I’ve confided in you to such a degree.”

“I’m flattered to be your confidante. But
you’ve told me so much about Lord Litchfield and his schemes to wed
Absalom to a wealthy young woman. What about your brother himself?
Surely he deserves some say in these matters. Even if he allowed
your father to bully him into wedding Celeste, surely he would not
allow it to happen again?”

“Waste no sympathy on my dear brother. He
doesn’t deserve it. I assure you he isn’t as passive to Father’s
whims as you imagine. There’s a quiet, scheming side to Absalom
most people fail to detect. At any rate, he’s capable of looking
out for himself when it comes time to claim what he wants.”

“You sound positively harsh. Do I detect a
hint of sibling rivalry?”

“It’d be only natural, wouldn’t it? Second
son jealous of the elder and all that? It’s downright Shakespearean
really. The firstborn gets the lion’s share of everything and the
youngest son is left to fend for himself.”

She frowned. “Surely you exaggerate. I hardly
see Lord Absalom tossing you out into the cold when he
inherits.”

“Do not be too sure. We’ve an odd
relationship, my brother and I.”

Odd
was one way of describing it.
Drucilla wondered just how deep the animosity between the brothers
actually ran.

Chapter Nine

Immediately after her walk with Southorn,
Drucilla looked in on Aunt Bridget only to find the old woman still
abed.

“What is she doing sleeping at this hour?”
she asked one of her aunt’s maids.

“It’s her stomach, miss. She’s been able to
keep nothing down since breakfast. I imagine it’s the excitement of
the long journey and finding herself in a strange place,” the girl
said.

Drucilla snorted. “My aunt has never been
excited
in her life and she’s accustomed to travel and not
likely to take sick from it.”

But in the end, there was nothing to be done
but allow the old lady her rest in the hope she would feel more
herself on waking.

Meanwhile, Drucilla found herself alone and
without entertainment. It seemed the ideal time to poke about the
house. There was something she’d wanted to do since she
arrived.

After obtaining directions from a servant,
she set off into the part of the house where the family had their
rooms. It was a slightly bold thing to do, visiting Celeste’s
bedchamber uninvited, but she felt that, under the circumstances,
her grief could be her excuse. She felt compelled to see the
place.

She soon found Celeste’s bedroom wasn’t much
different from her own guest quarters. Only larger and better
furnished. Blue silk draped the canopied bed and the walls were
papered with a pattern of blue flowers.

An extra door led out of the room and, upon
trying it, Drucilla found it opened into another bedroom,
presumably that of Celeste’s husband. Drucilla had no interest in
exploring Lord Absalom’s private quarters and she drew the door
firmly closed.

A chill whispered over her as Drucilla
examined the dressing table where Celeste’s combs, jewelry, and
perfume were laid out as if she might still walk in at any moment
and pick them up. Celeste seemed closer here than anywhere else in
the house.

Drucilla wondered if she ought to offer to
pack these things away for Lord Absalom. But if was difficult to
concentrate on such mundane thoughts while in this room.

She fingered a familiar jade pin thrust
through the lace doily covering the table. She had given it to her
friend on the last occasion of their meeting, never guessing they
would not see one another again.

She wondered what the Litchfields would do
with the pin, wondered what they would do with all the wealth they
had so conveniently obtained through Celeste’s death. Recalling her
conversation with Southorn in the garden and the earlier argument
she had heard between Lord Absalom and the elder Lord Litchfield,
she felt a surge of anger at this family who had used her friend so
coldly for her money.

She resolved then and there to discover the
truth about what had really become of poor Celeste. If there was
any possibility someone had helped Celeste along to her death, that
person would not long enjoy his ill-gotten gains. Not if Drucilla
could help it.

She looked around her now. Had Celeste left
behind some clue to her fate? If so, the oak writing table beneath
the window seemed a sensible place to begin a search.

Atop the desk rested a tidy stack of fresh
stationery and a pen. A slender book was open across the desk as
well as a volume of poetry. Drucilla smiled, remembering her
friend’s weakness for romantic poetry. Then she noted the page to
which the book was opened had been torn out.

That was peculiar. Celeste usually took good
care of her things.

Drucilla tried the drawers and discovered
them filled with casual correspondence from Celeste’s family in
London. There was nothing of interest within the letters she
scanned and it seemed wrong to pry into the private correspondence,
so Drucilla quickly decided to move on.

But as she shoved the letters back into the
drawer something shiny caught her eye, the slender chain of
necklace, disappearing as if it had somehow slipped behind the
drawer’s back panel. Drucilla pressed and tugged at the panel until
it popped out.

Of course. A secret compartment. They were
not unusual in such old desks.

What was more interesting was the realization
that her friend had felt the need to use such a private place to
stash away her secrets. As if she did not wish her husband or
anyone else to find them.

Mindful she had now been in this room far too
long and might be interrupted at any moment, Drucilla rummaged
quickly through the contents of the hidden compartment.

It was not much, this collection of
treasures. A golden locket, owning the chain Drucilla had found,
and a few other odd bits of jewelry that might have been hidden for
their value. And a crumbled ball of paper.

Unfolding the paper, she found it was the
page of a book, doubtless the missing page from the book of poetry
atop the desk.