Death Comes to London (15 page)

“I have no idea.”

“Then I’ll simply investigate all potential avenues.” Foley rubbed his hands together. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir. I must start making some lists.”

“Good night, Foley. I can put myself to bed.”

“And leave that uniform on the floor so that I have to spend hours brushing it? I don’t think so, Major. I’ll pop in later to make sure everything is put away properly.”

“Thank you.”

After Foley’s departure, Robert rose and made his way out to the corridor. Pausing to check that there was nobody around, he walked along to Oliver’s bedchamber and let himself inside. The maid who’d been sitting by Oliver’s bed was nowhere in sight.

Robert paused to study Oliver’s ghastly pallor. He didn’t look like a murderer, more like a young boy at peace with the world. But Robert already knew that innocents could kill and die just like any other man. He’d been one himself. Moving closer to the bed, he listened to the slight rasp of Oliver’s breathing and observed the faint flicker of his eyelashes.

“Oliver?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

He almost flinched when his hand was grabbed, almost pulling him down on top of the boy.

“Don’t let her do it.”

“Do what?” Robert leaned closer.

“Grandmother. Don’t let her meddle.”

Robert considered the boy’s frantic gaze. “What did you do, Oliver?”

“
Nothing,
I just know there’s going to be trouble, and I hate it. I
hate
it.” His eyes closed again and he swallowed hard.

Robert straightened and placed Oliver’s hand back on top of the coverlet. His skin was covered in scabs and his nails were ragged as if he’d been clawing at the walls. His frantic words were hardly a confession of guilt, but did signify that Oliver was aware of the tensions in the Broughton household. What had he feared his grandmother might do, and what might he have done to prevent his worst fears from happening?

“Kurland?”

Robert turned his head to see Broughton dressed in his banyan leaning heavily against the door frame. He looked far too ill to be out of bed.

“Good evening. I was just wondering where the maid had gone. I wanted to ask her how Oliver was doing.”

“I sent her out to get some warm water to bathe his face. She should be back in a moment.” Broughton moved closer. “Did he say anything? I thought I heard his voice.”

“Nothing that made any sense to me,” Robert replied diplomatically. “I should imagine we’ll have to wait a few days to see what he has to say for himself. Has he spoken to you yet?”

“No.” Broughton smoothed a hand through his hair. “To be honest, Kurland, I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say. I’m terrified he’ll admit to poisoning us, and then where will we be? Will I have to publicly denounce my own brother?”

“It’s a difficult situation.” Robert turned to the door. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Did you speak to Smith?”

“Yes, he confirmed that Oliver became ill that first night and was hardly conscious at all after that. He denies telling him that his grandmother is dead.”

“Do you believe him?”

“It depends on what your brother says when he wakes up.”

“If he wakes up.” Broughton swallowed hard. “Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t recover. At least then we’d be spared the indignity of a family scandal. As it is, even if he does get well and, God forbid, is not guilty, it might be better to ship him off to India to be with my father for a few years.”

“That might also be the making of him.”

“I damn well hope so.” Broughton looked over Robert’s shoulder. “Here’s the maid coming back with the warm water.”

Robert clasped Broughton’s shoulder. “You should go to bed. You are in no condition to be wandering the halls at night.”

“I know.” Broughton’s quick smile was strained. “I’m really quite exhausted.”

Robert left his friend talking to the maid and made his way back to his own room. He had an appointment the next morning at the College of Arms to discuss his new family crest and motto, and was having difficulty in coming up with anything he wanted to include in such an unexpected honor. A pile of dead French and English soldiers topped by a bloody bayonet as a warning to his heirs not to go to war would probably not be acceptable.

And as for a family motto . . . He pushed open his door and contemplated his neatly turned down bed. He’d think about that in the morning.

Lucy counted the new guests who had arrived for her aunt’s at home, and walked over to introduce herself and offer them some tea. Not that anyone would accept a beverage. A call was supposed to last no more than fifteen minutes, and was a simple matter of being seen in the right place, speaking to the right people, and for the men, to be seen courting the Season’s beauties, of which Anna was definitely one.

It was quite unlike Kurland St. Mary, where a visit to a neighbor involved a lengthy discussion of everyone’s health, all of their relatives’ whereabouts both living and dead, and an update on the local gossip. Such outings were liberally enhanced with endless cups of tea or something stronger, and wedges of fruitcake, scones, and clotted cream.

Lucy cast a longing look back at the teapot, which sat forlornly on the tray.

“Can I trouble you for a cup of tea, my dear? I’m rather thirsty.”

She turned to see one of the new arrivals smiling up at her.

“Of course, Lady—?”

“Lady Bentley. I believe we met at Almack’s, Miss Harrington.”

“That’s correct. I was with Lieutenant Broughton’s party.”

“And I was arguing with that awful old woman. I do apologize for that. Maude Broughton brought out the worst in me.”

Lucy handed Lady Bentley a cup of tea and poured one for herself. She spotted a pair of vacant chairs on the quieter side of the room and gestured toward them.

“Would you care to sit down, my lady?”

“Thank you.” Lady Bentley settled herself in the chair with a rustling of petticoats. Despite her age she was a sprightly looking woman with a firm mouth and a way of tilting her head and looking at the world that reminded Lucy of an inquisitive hen. “I suppose you think I should be in mourning for the old harridan. At one point we were bosom beaus, but I’m not quite that much of a hypocrite.”

“I assume you are referring to the sad death of the Dowager Countess of Broughton?”

Lady Bentley smiled. “I wouldn’t use the word
sad
myself. In truth, when I saw her go down frothing at the mouth, I was quite thrilled.”

Lucy glanced around to see if anyone else was attending to their rather unconventional conversation. “I thought your and the dowager’s acquaintance was of long standing?”

“We used to be friends.” Lady Bentley sipped her tea. “But as you might have noticed, we were at odds at the end.”

Lucy considered her reply. “It is difficult when someone dies before you have the chance to sort out any grievances or misconceptions, isn’t it?”

Lady Bentley finished her tea in one long gulp and put the cup down on the table. “Oh no, my dear. Sometimes it means that you win in the end. My eldest son and I planned to pursue her through the courts, but this has a far more biblical sense of justice to it, don’t you think? An eye for an eye and all that?” She glanced past Lucy. “My son is waving at me. It must mean that it’s time to go. It was a pleasure to meet you again, Miss Harrington.”

Lucy rose and curtsied. “And you, Lady Bentley. Will you attend the dowager’s memorial service?”

Lady Bentley chuckled. “I might just do that. One has to make sure that she is truly dead and buried.” She smoothed down the skirt of her olive green gown. “I might even wear a nice red dress to commemorate the occasion. It will not be the same without the rubies she stole from me, but it will make me feel so much better.”

“You believe the dowager stole your rubies?”

“Amongst other things.” Lady Bentley drew on her gloves. “I’m sure the Countess of Broughton knows all about it. Be sure to ask her to tell you her version of the story and while you’re about it, ask her to search the dowager’s jewelry box for my rubies.”

“Mama? Are you coming?” A tall man with a rather forbidding stare came up behind Lady Bentley and nodded at Lucy.

“This is my eldest son. Miss Harrington, have you been introduced? He is of a similar age to Lieutenant Broughton.”

“I haven’t had that honor, Mama, but it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harrington.” Mr. Bentley gave her a glacial nod. “Now, if you will excuse us, we have another call to make.”

“Miss Harrington is acquainted with the Broughtons. Nigel, I was just asking her to find out if the dowager still has my jewels.”

If possible, Mr. Bentley’s expression grew even colder. “This is hardly the place to be discussing such a matter, Mama.”

“Why not? The despicable woman is dead, and even if we can’t take her to court, I’d still appreciate having my jewelry returned.”

Mr. Bentley gripped his mother’s elbow very firmly and urged her toward the door. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington.”

Lady Bentley winked at Lucy over her shoulder. “It seems I must be off. A pleasure, Miss Harrington.”

Lucy sat down again as soon as Lady Bentley disappeared. She’d looked nothing like the angry woman Lucy had first seen at Almack’s. Her rival’s unexpected death seemed to have relieved her of her fury. With the dowager gone, there would be no more threats about stolen or misplaced jewelry to deal with. No more costly lawsuits or slurs on the Bentley family name....

And there was certainly a lack of remorse, or sadness for the dowager’s demise. Lady Bentley seemed positively joyful. But was that enough for Lucy to wonder whether the lady had taken to murder? Her son looked ready to murder anyone who stepped in his path. She’d noticed him hanging around her cousin. But Julia had never mentioned the man or displayed any partiality for him.

“Miss Harrington.”

She looked up to find Mr. Stanford smiling at her.

“Mr. Stanford. Do you know a Mr. Nigel Bentley?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. He’s a lawyer, supposedly a very good one, why do you ask?” His lazy gaze wandered over her face. “Do you wish to be introduced?”

“His mother introduced me to him.”

He took the seat opposite her. “And what did you think of him?”

“He seemed rather impatient to be gone.”

“Bentley’s not known for his charm and since his father died, he is the head of the family. I suspect he rather relishes having the opportunity to control his mother’s spending.”

“Do you think it is possible that the lawsuit against the Broughton family was initiated by him rather than his mother?”

“Oh, you know about that, do you? I’m quite certain he was the instigator. His father and mother’s extravagant lifestyle left him in poor financial straits and without even a title because his father was a mere knight. He’d probably be willing to do anything to restore his fortunes.” He leaned forward. “Has Bentley been showing interest in your sister, Miss Harrington? I wouldn’t recommend him as a suitable spouse at all. His temperament is difficult and his financial future requires that he marries an heiress.”

“Oh no, I don’t think he is interested in Anna at all.”

“I wouldn’t recommend him as a husband to any woman of sense.” Mr. Stanford rose. “Now, I must pay my compliments to your aunt and be on my way. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Miss Harrington.”

She watched him walk across the room to her aunt and take his leave. What if Lady Bentley was working with her son to get rid of the dowager? Legal action was expensive and could drain a family’s resources. Wouldn’t it have been quicker to get rid of the woman and attempt to reclaim the jewels from the Broughton family afterward? She could imagine the countess and her son being willing to negotiate such a deal to avoid the scandal of a court case.

Nearly everyone had left now except a gaggle of admirers clustered around Anna, Julia, and Sophia. Lucy glanced over at the circle. She really should go and join them. Her aunt would expect it. Just as she stood up, Major Kurland came into the drawing room and looked around; his gaze fell on her and he saluted.

“Miss Harrington.”

“Major Kurland.” She looked over at the group around Anna. “Do you wish to speak to my sister, or my cousin?”

“I’d rather speak to you, actually.”

His voice was used to carrying over battlefields and rang out far too loudly in the confines of a London drawing room. Lucy’s aunt looked up and came toward Robert, her hand extended.

“Major Kurland, how lovely to see you. I was hoping you’d come today.”

He bowed over her hand. “My lady. How may I be of assistance?”

Lucy tried to melt away, but Aunt Jane flicked a commanding glance at her. “I was wondering if you’d like to come to dinner tomorrow night.”

“That is very kind of you, my lady.” Major Kurland hesitated. “I assume you don’t expect me to bring the Broughtons?”

“Not at all, Major. I thought you might like an evening away from a house in mourning. It must be difficult for you.”

“I promised the countess I would remain until Broughton is fit to take care of matters. I don’t expect to be there much longer, but it’s the least I can do.”

“And reflects very well on you.” Aunt Jane tucked her hand into the major’s elbow and walked him determinedly toward where Lucy was standing poised for flight. “Ah, Lucy, do pour the major a cup of tea. He looks rather chilled.”

Aunt Jane sat on the couch and Major Kurland had no choice but to join her. Lucy could tell from his expression that he’d rather be anywhere than cornered by a society hostess. But she assumed her aunt knew that, too, and was relying on his good manners to keep him by her side.

Lucy poured the tea and handed him a cup without meeting his eyes.

“Will you excuse me? I’ll just go and ask the butler for some more hot water.”

Aunt Jane patted the seat beside her. “Don’t go quite yet, Lucy. I believe our guest wished to speak to you about something.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was nothing of importance,” Lucy said, and looked hopefully at the major. “Wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

His blue eyes snapped sparks. “I would hardly have bothered to call if I hadn’t deemed it necessary. I suppose it depends on your definition of what is important.”