Alyssa Everett (14 page)

At the emphasis she placed on the last sentence, another stir went through the taproom. Now Teddy looked faintly alarmed, and it took all my self-control not to jump up and tell the girl to keep her silly mouth shut. The reporters were scribbling furiously in their little books. I knew what they were going to think as soon as they heard my father’s name. They were going to imagine I was just like—

“Lord Beningbrough made some very angry, very jealous accusations,” Lady Helen continued. “As if he believed I’d been encouraging Sam Garvey. The notion seemed to upset him a great deal.”

The coroner’s forehead creased. “Do you mean to say Lord Beningbrough had formed an attachment to you too?”

“To
me?
Lord Beningbrough?” She gave a trill of laughter. “Heavens, no! Why, that was the first time I’d ever met him.”

“Then why would—?” began the coroner, as I listened with the growing sense I’d been plunged into my worst nightmare.

Teddy had apparently put two and two together and worked out what the minx was trying to imply. He jumped to his feet. “Lord Beningbrough is my cousin, and he—”

My uncle Daventry and I each shot out a hand to stop Teddy before he said anything too impolitic, but the coroner had already wheeled to frown in our direction. “Thank you, Lord Cliburne,” he told Teddy officiously, “but you’ll have your chance to give your testimony in a moment.” He turned back to Lady Helen. “You say Lord Beningbrough was angry with you?”

She nodded, her blond curls bobbing. “With me and with Sam, I thought. Lord Beningbrough appeared to think I returned Sam’s interest, so he came charging to Leonard House to have Teddy—Lord Cliburne, that is—demand whether it was true. I tried to explain I wasn’t interested in Sam, but all the while Lord Beningbrough kept giving me the coldest, most resentful stare—”

“Lord Beningbrough appeared resentful?” The coroner deliberated for a moment on the direction the inquest was taking, no doubt wondering how it might bear on the likelihood Sam Garvey had died by accident. “And what of Lord Cliburne? Did he likewise seem angry when Lord Beningbrough made these accusations?”

“Angry at me and Sam? No, of course not. He seemed more embarrassed and unhappy than anything else. I think it pained him to have to ask me such horrid questions, but he had no choice because Lord Beningbrough was so insistent.”

Damn the girl. I resisted two competing urges—the first to shrink lower in my chair, and the second to get my hands around her throat. She was making it sound as if I’d had a jealous interest in Sam Garvey. Before an entire room full of spectators and assorted newspaper reporters, she was casting the very sort of aspersions I’d been struggling most of my life to escape.

And that was how her testimony went, with little innuendoes and artful glances even when she moved to the subject of how Sam had met his end. She told the coroner she didn’t know how Sam had got into the house, and that she’d been so frightened both before and after Teddy’s arrival on the scene, she wasn’t sure exactly when or how Sam had met his end. She wept all through her testimony. The only bright spot came when she added that she was certain Teddy hadn’t meant to hurt Sam, because he was incapable of hurting anyone.

Then, thank God, it was Teddy’s turn to undo some of the damage she’d just done. “First, let me say that Lord Beningbrough is my cousin and he only came to Leonard House with me that day as my friend and kinsman,” he began the moment he was sworn, before the coroner could even ask his first question. “Lady Helen is quite right to say they’d never met before. Beningbrough is the soul of honor, and the...the most stouthearted fellow I know.”

How had the inquest suddenly become about me? My uncle nodded his agreement with Teddy, but I wanted to crawl out through the back of the taproom. Though I appreciated Teddy’s vote of confidence, he was overstating my case, and there was such a thing as protesting too much.

Fortunately, the coroner moved on to the actual matter of Sam Garvey’s death. Teddy gave the version of events he’d fashioned to protect Lady Helen, describing how he’d found the footman trying to force his attentions on the girl and they’d grappled until Sam fell and hit his head. Teddy would never have a future on the stage, but at least he gave a creditable enough performance to set the proceedings back on course, and he made his usual impression of blushing amiability. If I hadn’t been so angry about Lady Helen’s insinuations, I might even have breathed a sigh of relief.

That is, until the coroner posed his final question to Teddy.

“I’m afraid I must ask, Lord Cliburne—in relating the facts as you’ve given them today, has it been your aim to protect anyone?”

Teddy hesitated for only a second. “No, of course not.”

But everyone had seen the hesitation, from the newspaper reporters on up to the coroner’s jurymen. I groaned inwardly. Who could say what the jury would make of that? For all I knew, they might think Teddy was protecting
me.
Certainly several of the reporters glanced in my direction.

Next was Lord Leonard’s turn. I hadn’t worried overmuch about his testimony, since he’d never claimed to have witnessed the fatal moment, and the coroner only wished him to confirm the time and sequence of events. He seemed unlikely to say anything particularly damaging to Teddy.

Unfortunately, I’d never thought to wonder if he might say or do anything damaging to me. Lord Leonard spent the bulk of his testimony taking his revenge for my having dared to meet secretly with Barbara by throwing me hostile, accusing looks.

At least he seconded Lady Helen’s assessment of Teddy. “I am utterly convinced,” he concluded his testimony, “that Lord Cliburne would not and could not intentionally play a role in any man’s death.”

At that point, I expected the coroner to sum up the evidence presented and ask the jury to come to a verdict. Instead he cleared his throat and looked in my direction. “I wish to call the Marquess of Beningbrough.”

It was a good thing I was sitting down. I was so surprised I simply sat mute for a moment, running his words through my brain a second time to verify that, yes, he’d just called me to give evidence.

I stood. “There must be some mistake. I was never subpoenaed.”

“There’s no requirement that a witness be subpoenaed in order to provide testimony,” the coroner said. “In conducting this inquest, I’m empowered to call anyone with information that could prove material to the proceedings.”

I was about to make some further objection when I realized the jurymen were watching me intently, as were the reporters in the room. Any further protest would only make it look as if I had something to hide. Reluctantly, I nodded.

I was sworn in, and the coroner directed me to give my name and title. “James Augustus Mainsforth Lassiter, Marquess of Beningbrough.”

“You knew Sam Garvey, my lord?”

“No, I did not. I’d never laid eyes on him until I saw his dead body two days ago.”

The coroner looked from me to the jury. “Yet Lady Helen has testified that some hours before his death, you seemed angered that she might return his regard.”

I leaned forward, trying not to let my fury show. “That was only because Lady Helen is engaged to my cousin. It would hardly be in his best interests to wed a girl involved with another man.” Suddenly Barbara’s porcelain features flashed into my head. For all her cool manners and sharp remarks, she loved her sister. Was it really gentlemanly of me to question Lady Helen’s virtue before a room full of strangers? Besides, any resentment I might show could be construed as sufficient motive for murder. “Of course, I see now I was doing an injustice to a young lady of spotless reputation.”

A little distance away, Lady Helen broke into a disarming smile.

“Were you present at Leonard House at the time of Sam Garvey’s death?” the coroner asked.

I folded my arms. “Certainly not. I was at home, at Ormesby House.”

“May I remind you, Lord Beningbrough, that I saw you at Leonard House myself when I arrived to view the body?”

“And I saw you too, but I’d arrived only minutes before you did. I’d returned at the request of my cousin, who was understandably shaken by the events of that evening. You may ask Lord and Lady Leonard, and I’m confident they’ll tell you the same.”

The coroner and his jurymen alike glanced to Lord Leonard, who gave a grudging nod.

The coroner turned back to frown in my direction. “Is there anyone else, my lord, who can vouch for your whereabouts at the time Sam Garvey met his death?”

“For God’s sake—” What did he imagine I’d been doing, waiting in the bushes to kill my male lover in a fit of jealous pique? But once again, I realized anger wasn’t going to help my case, and caught myself just in time to answer with some measure of self-control. “My mother was at Ormesby House when I arrived home.” After a moment’s reflection, I added, “Also, our butler brought me my dinner on a tray in the library, and delivered Lord Cliburne’s note to me there.”

The way matters had been going, it wouldn’t have surprised me if the coroner had adjourned the inquest in order to drag in my mother and our butler to provide sworn testimony I wasn’t a lying blackguard. As it happened, however, my answer seemed to satisfy him.

He asked a few more questions, and I managed to answer without actually perjuring myself—despite my fuming anger at Lady Helen’s attempts to slander me, I still considered it more prudent not to mention John, the blackmail plot or the notebook in Barbara’s possession—until I was allowed to sit down again.

Turning to address the jurymen, the coroner reviewed the morning’s testimony. “You have seen the body and heard the evidence, and you have four possibilities open to you. You may rule that the deceased met his death by his own hand—that is, that he intentionally brought about his own demise. You may rule his demise death by misadventure, or in others words, an accident. You may render a verdict of manslaughter or unlawful killing, meaning he was slain in a manner sudden and unpremeditated, without malice aforethought, by some person or persons. Or, finally, you may rule the death a homicide, that is, that some person or persons did willfully and with premeditation act to end Sam Garvey’s life.” He paced slowly back and forth before the jurymen. “If you should find that the death be either manslaughter or murder, then you must name the person responsible if such be clear to you, so that the person so named may be arrested and committed for trial. In your deliberations, gentlemen of the jury, you must disregard all matters of rank and person, and think only on the circumstances of Sam Garvey’s death.”

A hush fell over the room as the jurors put their heads together, conferring in whispers. There seemed no chance they would rule the death a suicide, not unless they were all uniformly mad. But given Teddy’s self-described scuffle with Sam Garvey, would the footman’s supposed fall amount in the jurors’ minds to an unfortunate accident, or to the more serious matter of manslaughter? Might the jury even rule the death premeditated murder? The coroner’s closing words held an ominous ring.

For Teddy’s sake, I tried not to follow the thought to its logical conclusion—first jail, then a trial, even the awful possibility of conviction and a march to the gallows. Surely it wouldn’t come to that. After all, there were still the statuette Barbara and I had seen beside the body, the existence of the real culprit, and the notebook in Barbara’s hands. If Teddy went to trial, those were all points in his favor.

Oh, good Lord. Who was I trying to fool, anyway? Given Lady Helen’s unpredictable testimony, Lord Leonard’s temper and Barbara’s refusal even to attend the inquest, who knew what would happen if there should really be a trial? I leaned forward, my eyes on the whispering jurors.

The next fifteen minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. Teddy fidgeted and chewed his fingernails. Even John and Lady Helen wore matching looks of anxiety. As reporters shot speculative glances in my direction and feverishly scribbled notes, I strove mightily to appear unconcerned.

At last, the jury foreman looked up. “We’ve reached a verdict.”

The coroner had been sitting at the head of the table, but at this he stood, motioning for the foreman to do likewise. “Very well. Gentlemen of the jury, in the matter of the death of Sam Garvey, what say you?”

“We find that the deceased died from a fatal injury to the head, and that the injury came as the result of an accident.”

“Death by misadventure,” the coroner translated for the reporters in the room. “Such a verdict having been returned, I hereby pronounce these proceedings closed.”

Teddy sagged with relief—and so did Uncle Daventry and my cousin John and, on the other side of the room, Lady Helen and her parents. Thank God the specter of a murder trial no longer loomed over poor Teddy. Now I really could wash my hands of this infernal business.

Except, of course, that I’d been shot and struck over the head, and the real killer was still out there somewhere. He was likely the same man who’d been blackmailing Teddy’s intended and spying on Barbara in her bedroom, which meant Barbara could still be in danger.

Frowning, I rose.

“Lord Beningbrough?” A pockmarked young man in an ill-fitting green coat pushed his way through the crowd toward me. “I’m Duncan of the
Times.
Care to comment on the testimony linking you to the dead man?”

Before I could give him a set-down, another reporter elbowed him aside. “You must be pleased with the verdict, Lord Beningbrough. On the night in question, what were your thoughts when you learned of—”

“I’m from the
Evening Mail
,” a third reporter broke in, brushing Teddy out of the way as if he were nothing more than a faceless bystander. “Might I have a quote for my paper, Lord Beningbrough? Something about your feelings on first hearing the dead man made impertinent advances toward Lady Helen Jeffords.”

Tight-lipped, I squared my shoulders and forged past them.

Chapter Thirteen

Barbara

I spent the first minutes after Papa, Mama and Helen left for the inquest dragging a tall cheval mirror across my room, positioning it against the wall to block the peephole there. Being under house arrest was bad enough without worrying every minute that a murderer-cum-blackmailer might be watching me. Just thinking about it gave me the cold shivers, especially now that I was virtually alone in the house.

Unfortunately, once I’d dealt with the peephole, there remained nothing to do except look out my bedroom window at the street below, pace and generally want to tear out my hair, worrying about who the real killer was and what could be happening at the inquest. I hoped desperately that Helen would manage to escape with her reputation intact, and even more desperately that Cliburne wouldn’t have to stand trial for a murder I knew he hadn’t committed.

I told myself there was no point in making myself sick with doubt. The matter was out of my hands now. Unfortunately, Helen’s future hinged on the outcome, and so did poor Cliburne’s. It was impossible not to wish I had all the answers. Rain pattered on my windowpane, and with every minute that passed, I chafed more and more at my captivity.

To add insult to injury, I kept picturing Ben sitting beside Cliburne at the inquest, smirking through the testimony, free to come and go as he liked. What a complete fool he’d made of me. And it wasn’t entirely my fault. After all, I’d merely written Ben a warning. He’d been the one to insist on a face-to-face meeting. He’d manhandled me and kissed me, and even contradicted me when I’d tried to give Papa an excuse for his presence in the house. Then, after all that, he’d left me to face the consequences alone.

That was the part I resented most—that everyone had simply abandoned me, Ben included. Now here I was, a prisoner in my own home, a redheaded Rapunzel no prince could be bothered to rescue.

It wasn’t until just before dinner that I heard the sound of the carriage returning. I dashed to the window to peer down at the rainy street, hoping to catch a glimpse of Helen’s face, or perhaps my father’s, to glean some sign of how the inquest had gone. To my relief, Papa descended from the carriage with a spring in his step, and when he handed Helen out, she was beaming.

A moment later, my sister’s light footfalls sounded in the corridor outside my door.

“Helen?” I called through the keyhole. “Helen, I’ve been going mad all day, wondering about the inquest. What happened?”

“Oh, Barbara.” Her voice quavered with suppressed excitement. “Wait until you hear. Teddy’s troubles are over. They ruled Sam’s death an accident.”

Relief washed over me. “Thank heavens!”

“And that’s not all. I can’t stay and talk just now because Lord Daventry invited Papa and Mama and me to dinner and I have only a minute to change, but just wait until I tell you the part about Beningbrough. He was there, and—oh, you’ll be so pleased!”

“Beningbrough?” My heart skipped a beat, my resentment at his having left me to pay the piper momentarily forgotten. “What did he do—did he ask about me?”

“Even better than that. I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, we’ll have a long coze about it later. I expect Papa will lift your punishment tonight. He was in the jolliest mood on the drive home.” Then she was gone, her footsteps disappearing into her room.

So the inquest had turned out just as we’d hoped. I was thrilled for Cliburne—but also on pins and needles to know what news Helen had of Ben. If Papa had been in a good mood and willing to lift my punishment, had Ben been able to convince him I’d done nothing untoward?

No. Ben wasn’t likely to do me any favors. It was foolish of me to waste my time wondering about a man who probably hadn’t given me a second thought.

When voices floated up from the street a few minutes later, I returned to the window in time to see Papa handing Mama and Helen back into the town coach. Soon the carriage started off, bound for Daventry House. My stomach rumbled, and in the same moment, a soft rap sounded on my door—probably my abigail, bringing me my dinner of bread and water. Still standing at the window, I called, “Come in.”

The key turned in the lock, and the door opened to reveal not Sills, but our footman, Frye. He was carrying a silver tray complete with covered dish, wineglass and folded newspaper.

“I’ve brought you your dinner, my lady. It’s roast beef and potatoes.” With his usual mottled blush, he set the tray down carefully on my bed before pocketing the keys he carried with him. “We heard you’d been sentenced to bread and water, but some of us below stairs were talking, and we agreed that what his lordship doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

What a blessing it was to have an ally in the house. My mouth watered. “Thank you, Frye. And please thank the others for me.” I snatched up the newspaper. “Why, you’ve even brought me something to read.”

He smiled. “Yes, my lady—like a proper valet, I thought.”

I scanned the folded paper in puzzlement. “But this is the
Courier.
When did Papa stop reading the
Times?
”

“It’s my paper,” Frye said proudly. “I buy it sometimes. I like to read.”

“Do you?” It had never occurred to me that any of our servants might be leading a secret life as an intellectual, especially gawky, maladroit Frye. “So do I, which only makes being confined to my room without a good book all the worse. I don’t suppose there’s anything in the paper about the inquest today?”

“I haven’t had time to look at it yet, my lady, but I shouldn’t think so. The news in the
Courier
is usually only as recent as the night before, or the wee hours at the latest.”

I set the paper aside. “In that case it can wait until after I’ve eaten. I’m famished.” I beamed at Frye, causing him to break into a fresh blush. Poor man—he wasn’t accustomed to talking to young ladies.

“I’ll come back for the tray in a few minutes. It wouldn’t do for his lordship to see it when he gets home.” His cheeks still scarlet, Frye backed out of the room, pulling the door closed after him.

I lost no time in attacking my dinner. It had been almost twenty-four hours since I’d had a hot meal, and the roast beef tasted like heaven in meat form. I bolted it down faster than was strictly ladylike, then started on the potatoes.

Things were beginning to look up—Cliburne no longer had the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, Helen’s reputation remained essentially untarnished, and a good dinner was already warming my insides. Though Sam Garvey’s killer still remained at large, at the moment I had faith that even that problem could be solved.

Since it seemed only right to return Frye’s paper to him with the tray, I spread out the
Courier
to read as I ate. Headlines announced the guilty verdict in the most sensational trial of the year, that of the Cato Street conspirators. As dreadful as their plot to murder the cabinet ministers had been, I shuddered to imagine the fate that awaited them now, and thanked heaven that poor Cliburne was safe from an end only marginally less ghastly.

Then I turned the page, and all thought of trials and Cliburne and the day’s events went flying out of my head. There on the second page was one of those scurrilous caricatures—and it featured two figures who could only be Ben and me.

I stared in horror. The artist had drawn me leaning out a second-story window, draped in a loose-fitting Grecian mantle, a girdle fastened about my waist. Apparently I was meant to represent some kind of lady warrior, for I held a spear in one hand and a shield in the other. I couldn’t decide which was worse—the exaggerated fullness of my lips, the patches of what were clearly meant for rouge on my cheeks, or the wantonness suggested by my diaphanous gown and loose, tumbled hair. Even when actual trollops appeared in such caricatures, royal mistresses and courtesans and the like, they weren’t made to look half so immodest as I did.

No one familiar with Ben could fail to recognize the other figure in the tableau, for the artist had sketched his chiseled face with deft lines. He was standing beneath the window, dressed mock-heroically in a tunic and sandals, with a lion’s skin slung over his broad shoulders like a cloak. He held one hand outstretched toward me, as if entreating me to leap into his arms, but the other hand held a sword concealed behind his back. The muscles that filled out his coats so admirably in real life had been rendered with comic exaggeration, so that his biceps were as big as his head.

A hand-lettered verse appeared beneath the grotesque drawing.

Behold now the hero of twenty-odd springs,

The son of a duke and the envy of kings,

For in spite of his temper and quarrelsome sneer

You’ll not spy a prettier face in a year—

Though scruples, alas, are to him just a bother

For his nature he got from that b——, his father;

And thus does this Hercules bend all his efforts

To gulling the Amazon, Lady B—J—.

I stared at the last line, my mouth hanging open in shock.
Lady Barbara Jeffords
, I supplied in mute horror, finishing the rhyme in my head.

I didn’t dare imagine what people would think when they saw the caricature. From the cruelty of the barbs—not to mention the distinctive style of the figures—it was clear the same artist who’d drawn the earlier depiction of Cliburne and me had also drawn this one.

Who could possibly hate me so much—and
why?

Ben

“How did it go, Ben, dear?”

I’d no sooner stepped over the threshold than my mother swooped in with her question. No doubt she’d been waiting near the front door for some time. No one in the world was better at anxious hovering than my mother.

“The jury ruled the footman’s death an accident.” I handed my hat and coat to the butler.

“Oh, wonderful news! And you even thought to wear a hat today. I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been you might catch your death out in this wet. One can’t be too careful, you know.”

I leaned down so she could kiss my cheek. “I know, Mama.”

“Teddy must be so relieved. Such a silly notion, that he would kill anyone! And now he can marry that girl of his.”

“I suppose so.”

My mother peered at me fretfully. “Is something wrong, Ben, dear? You’re not coming down with the grippe, are you? I knew you shouldn’t have gone out in this weather. I do wish you would wear pattens to keep your feet dry, no matter how many gentlemen insist they’re only for ladies—”

“I don’t have the grippe, Mama. I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Well, then, what is it? Is it because I mentioned Teddy’s intended? I thought you’d begun to change your mind about the girl. Your Papa even had the notion you might be developing an interest in her sister.”

I gave a derisive snort. Developing an interest in Barbara? There was no chance of that. How could there be, when she must have put her sister up to all that sly innuendo at the inquest? I’d had reporters literally hounding me from the inn and out into the street. If I hadn’t hailed a hack and ducked for cover at Brooks’s, they’d probably still be dogging my steps.

That cursed testimony had forced me to play coward, something I resented almost as much as I hated imagining all the scandal-mongering the papers were likely to print about me in the morning. Still, what rankled most was that Barbara had to be behind it all. Though I’d briefly entertained the possibility that the attack on my reputation might be Lord Leonard’s idea or perhaps even Lady Helen’s, neither father nor daughter seemed quick-witted enough to concoct such a perfectly fiendish plan. Barbara, on the other hand... Nothing got past her, and after last night she knew precisely how much I resented behind tarred with the same brush as my father. She’d done a masterful job of paying me back for our quarrel. I’d trusted her and kissed her and even begun to admire her, and she’d thanked me by turning me into an object of derision. “I’m not interested in anyone’s sis—”

An insistent knock made me break off and look toward the front door. At my mother’s nod, our butler swung the door open smartly to reveal Teddy’s stalwart figure on our doorstep. Though it was going on half-six, he was still in the same blue coat and buff pantaloons he’d worn at the inquest that morning, and his handsome, good-natured face wore an unaccustomed look of agitation.

“Teddy, dear, congratulations!” My mother advanced toward him eagerly. “I just heard the news.”

Stepping inside, he bowed over her hand. “Thank you, aunt. It’s rather a load off my mind, I must admit.” He glanced at me. “But I came to see Ben...”

“Excuse us, would you, Mama?” I took him by the arm and marched him away before she could note his long face, since the look he’d thrown me suggested his business was of a personal nature. Steering him toward the library, I said in an undertone, “I thought your father had invited the Leonards to dine with you at Daventry House.”

“He did, and they are, but I just couldn’t sit there and smile and pretend...” He shook his head. “I can’t do it.”

We’d reached the library. I pulled the door closed behind us. “You can’t do what?”

He looked down at the floor and his shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. “I can’t marry Helen.”

I gaped at him. He couldn’t marry her—the same girl he’d just perjured himself for? The girl he’d been willing to risk his neck to protect? “What are you saying, Teddy?”

“I’m saying I want to cry off, and I need you to come with me tonight so I can tell her before I lose my nerve.”

He looked so woebegone, I might almost have found it in me to agree—if I’d been completely out of my mind. “Now, hold on. In the first place, I already went with you once and you turned craven at the last minute, making me look like an utter yahoo. In the second place, don’t you think you’re being a trifle hasty? You were in love with the girl only this morning.”

“But that was before the inquest. I’m not sure you realize it, Ben, but she was implying that you were...well, it was something not very flattering to you.”