The Sans Pareil Mystery (The Detective Lavender Mysteries Book 2) (17 page)

Woods seemed to have lost the ability to formulate his words and Lavender suspected that it wasn’t simply due to the influence of the brandy. Eventually, Woods said thoughtfully: ‘The, the servants assumed that the little nipper was Mrs Willoughby’s baby, hers and the captain’s.’

‘Just as I suspected,’ Lavender replied, with a certain amount of satisfaction. ‘Lady Caroline said that April Clare could persuade her sister to do almost anything.’

‘But wouldn’t Lady Caroline have recognised this as a ruse? I’d be surprised if they pulled the wool over her eyes.’

‘Oh, I imagine that Caroline Clare knew all about it. In fact, she probably thought up the idea in the first place.’

‘But why would Mrs Willoughby agree to deceive her husband like this?’ Woods’ broad face was crumpled with concern, his eyes glazed with confusion and liquor.

Lavender shrugged. ‘Well, I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on the fairer sex.’

‘You’re not,’ agreed Woods.

‘But I have a theory. You heard Sir Richard Allison when he said it would be dangerous for Mrs Willoughby to bear a child? Well, perhaps the good captain wanted a child and an heir. If Mrs Willoughby pretended that Miss Clare’s child was her own, then she removed the need to endanger her own health with a pregnancy. I’m quite sure that Lady Caroline would have seen sense in this arrangement. She was keenly aware of Mrs Willoughby’s delicate health and despite her alleged disinterest in her stepdaughters, I know that she is genuinely fond of the young women. Yes, I definitely think Lady Caroline had a hand in this.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Woods said. ‘This is a rum do. Did you confront them with your suspicions?’

‘No, I decided to leave the matter as it was. This particular deception has no bearing on the case, apart from the fact that the issue of the child made it more difficult for me to determine that April Clare was masquerading as her sister.’

Woods shook his head and sighed. ‘There’s many a cuckolded man in England has a child in his home which is not his – but this is the first time I’ve heard of a case where some poor geezer has been landed with a nipper that’s neither his – nor his wife’s.’

‘As we’ve agreed, I’m no expert on women—’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘But I have begun to notice that women have their own ways of ensuring their survival.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Sometimes they can take a shocking course of action.’ He stared into the glowing embers of the fire and thought of Magdalena.

‘Well, I think it’s wicked to deceive a fellow so,’ Woods slurred.

Lavender smiled and drained his glass. Despite his earlier protestations that he would remain sober, his constable had already downed half the jug of brandy. It was time to head for home. Lavender would shave and change before collecting Magdalena. He was looking forward to an evening in her company.

But Woods wasn’t ready to go yet. ‘How many other poor blokes has this happened to, do you think?’

‘I don’t know. What do you mean, Ned?’

‘I mean that my Betsy has two sisters. She’s very close to them both; thick as thieves them gals.’ Lavender realised that Woods was working himself up. His shaggy brows crinkled together in consternation. ‘You and I were away in Maidstone when my little Rachel were born. What about if Betsy and one of her sisters—? You don’t suppose—?’ He left the questions dangling in midair and looked up beseechingly at Lavender.

Lavender rose to his feet and laughed. ‘No, I don’t suppose,’ he said firmly. He buttoned up his coat and hauled Woods up onto his feet. ‘And you must be foxed to think so. Chase that thought right out of your mind, Ned. Betsy’s never played that trick on you. And if she suspects for one minute that you think such things – you’ll have a lot more than the rolling pin to worry about!’

‘Do you know what the worst of it is?’ Woods said as they staggered back out into dark cobbled street. The cold night air hit their faces hard but Woods didn’t seem to notice it. He spun round dramatically and stared hard at Lavender.

‘No. What’s the worst of it?’

‘That Allison, that bloody little sod of a surgeon, was right all along.’

Chapter Twenty

Lavender was surprised but relieved that Magdalena left Teresa behind when they set off for supper at Ned and Betsy Woods’ house.

‘I gave her the night off,’ Magdalena informed him as he helped her up into the cab. ‘Normally, Teresa would sit in the kitchen with the other servants while we dined but I don’t think that Betsy Woods has any servants.’

Lavender bit back a smile. The family didn’t have a dining room either as far as he recalled; most meals were taken in their back kitchen at the battered wooden table in front of the warm fireplace and range.

Magdalena looked ravishing tonight. She wore a dark, burgundy dress, embroidered with black silk and further adorned with black lace and an intricate swirling pattern of glistened jet beads. The rich wine colour of her gown was just visible below the neckline of her black cloak. It enhanced her complexion at her throat and in her face. She smiled and leant her warm body next to his.

‘I have some good news,’ she said. ‘Magistrate Read has been in touch with me; I’m to begin teaching Spanish at the Hart Street language school tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Well done,’ Lavender replied. ‘I know this is what you want to do and I’m pleased for you.’

She gave him a brilliant smile and she squeezed his hand. In fact, she was very physical throughout the journey. Her hand seemed to be forever fluttering to his arm. At one point, she lightly flicked a speck of imaginary dust from his breeches. He smiled to himself and wondered if his spontaneous kiss earlier that day had ignited her passion. He was tempted to kiss her again to find out. Unfortunately, the journey to Oak Road was short and they were already late and he didn’t want to start what he couldn’t finish. There would be plenty of time to explore her warm lips again on the journey home – and any other bits of her glowing flesh that she was prepared to allow him to caress. He intended to take full advantage of Teresa’s absence.

Woods greeted them at the door in his Sunday best waistcoat, breeches and cravat. He had also run a comb through his thick hair. Apart from his shining eyes, he showed no sign that he had been chirping merrily only a few hours ago due to the influence of the brandy. ‘Welcome, Doña Magdalena,’ he said. ‘Please follow me into the parlour and partake of a warmin’ glass of Madeira.’

Lavender bit back a smile at this unusual formality; he suspected that Betsy had told Woods what to say.

Woods took Magdalena’s cloak, threw it over the end of the stair bannister and, to Lavender’s surprise, led them into the dreary room at the front of the house. Half-panelled in dark wood with claustrophobic brown-paper hangings reaching up to the smoke-stained ceiling, the parlour was a dull and drab room at the best of times. The family only used it at Christmas, Easter and funerals. They preferred the large, cheerful kitchen at the rear of the house. Even with the fire crackling in the grate the room looked glum. In addition to this, the mismatched and uncomfortable collection of furniture had been pushed back against the walls to allow for a round, bow-legged Queen Anne dining table and four spindly chairs to be centred in front of the hearth.

Someone is going to get hot
, Lavender thought as he glanced at the seat immediately in front of the fire.

The pungent smell of beeswax polish now overpowered the musty odour he normally associated with the parlour. The table was already laid with Betsy’s best crockery and cutlery.

Woods squashed himself past the chairs and reached for the decanter stood on top of Betsy’s precious piano. He poured out four glasses of the ruby-coloured spirit. There was just room for one of them to move around the table at a time. Lavender stood back and allowed Magdalena to follow Woods. First, she smoothed flat her silk gown, careful not to snag it on the furniture.

‘Thank you, Constable Woods,’ she said graciously, as she took her drink. ‘But I must go to the kitchen and see if Betsy needs any help with the food.’

A look of alarm flashed across Woods’ face. ‘She asked me to keep you in here. She said you’re a guest and weren’t to think about helpin’.’

Magdalena smiled. ‘Nonsense. Is she in the kitchen? I must assist her.’ She squeezed back passed Lavender and exited the parlour.

‘Where’s the table come from?’ Lavender asked when Magdalena had left.

Woods groaned. ‘Betsy borrowed it from a neighbour. She made me carry it in here when I came in from work – and the blinkin’ chairs. Apparently, we can’t feed Doña Magdalena in the kitchen.’ The physical exertion had taken its toll. Woods’ broad face was ruddy and still glowed with perspiration.

Another thought suddenly struck Lavender: the house was unusually quiet. ‘What have you done with the children?’ he asked. ‘Have you bound and gagged them?’

‘They’re upstairs,’ Woods said. ‘Betsy asked Elizabeth to come round and sit and play with them for the evenin’.’

‘Ah,’ Lavender said. ‘So Elizabeth is here, is she?’ This was an unforeseen development but there was no time for further questions because the two women appeared in the doorway bearing platters of food.

‘Good evening, Stephen,’ said the tiny mistress of the house. He leant down and planted a kiss on Betsy’s soft red cheek. He felt the tension in her jaw muscles below her skin. Betsy was clearly out to impress Magdalena tonight and the strain showed. Like Woods, she wore her Sunday best: a white poplin gown with a faint grey stripe. He noticed that she had a few spots of cooking fat on her ample bosom.

‘I’m so glad you could come tonight and bring Doña Magdalena,’ she said as she placed an oval serving dish in the centre of the table. ‘Although I don’t appreciate that you took Ned into the tavern after work – tonight of all nights to send him home foxed!’ She gave him a withering glance, which Lavender knew would have felled most men on the spot. Woods grinned sheepishly at him across the room. ‘I had to make him two jugs of coffee to sober him up,’ she added.

‘Ah, I’m sorry about that, Betsy,’ he said, trying to hide his smile. ‘You know how it is at the sharp end of crime – we always have some important issues to discuss.’

‘I know there are too many taverns in Covent Garden which offer temptation for weak-minded tosspots,’ she said and glowered at her husband.

‘The table looks beautiful, Betsy,’ Lavender said, cheerfully. He pointed towards the crystal vase of hothouse flowers which stood in the centre. ‘You have done us proud tonight.’

Distracted, she flushed and pointed to the chair next to the fire. ‘Well, get yourself sat down then. We can’t let the food go cold.’

Normally, Lavender would never remove his coat and loosen his waistcoat buttons in the presence of a woman, but the close confines of the room were unusual circumstances. Drastic action was required in order to save himself from overheating and to save Betsy’s pride. His hostess had not noticed the unsuitable proximity of the table to the hearth. After divesting himself of his coat, he slid sideways into the chair in front of the fire. The heat immediately burned through the material of his shirt into his back. Wood’s followed his example, took off his own coat and eased his bulk into the chair beside him.

Magdalena sank gracefully into the seat opposite. She leant across the table and stroked the smooth lawn of his sleeve. ‘What a beautiful shirt, Stephen,’ she said, ‘and so well laundered.’ She was touching him again. He struggled to hide his smile.

Betsy removed the cover from her china serving dish. ‘It’s just lamb cutlets,’ she said. ‘Nothing too fancy.’

‘It smells delicious,’ Lavender said.

‘Ned? Please serve Doña Magdalena first.’ Woods picked up a large silver serving spoon, leant across the table and heaped the meat onto their plates, while Betsy dished out the vegetables.

‘Oh, please call me Magdalena,’ Magdalena said. ‘We’re all friends here. There is no need for formality.’

‘If you like,’ said their hostess.

‘I’ve been trying to get Ned to call me Stephen for years when we’re off-duty,’ Lavender said. ‘But he can’t seem to manage it.’

‘Doesn’t seem right, sir,’ Woods said. ‘And it’s too much for my brain to remember, all this switching from one name to another.’

‘You had no difficulty calling me Stephen when I first started work at Bow Street as a constable and it was your task to teach me the job.’

‘Yes, but you should have heard what he called you when he got home on a night,’ Betsy said.

Magdalena spluttered with laughter and hastily covered her mouth with her napkin. Their hostess glanced at her shaking shoulders and smiled. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time, my dear. And although I don’t say it often, we’re very proud of Stephen’s rapid rise through the ranks to principal officer.’

‘Taught him all I knew, I did,’ said Woods.

‘Well, that wouldn’t have taken long,’ Betsy said. ‘Ned. More Madeira, please for Doñ—for Magdalena.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Lavender said, grateful to be able to move away from both the fire and the attention. There was no way that his burly constable would have been able to get round that room now that they were seated.

By the time he had refilled the glasses and passed their hostess her drink, the others had already begun their meal. Lavender knew by Woods’ stiffness and the confused expression on his face that something was wrong. He took a forkful of the lamb, chewed then stopped in concern. The meat had a very strong nutty flavour that made it bitter. It was palatable, but only just. He glanced at Magdalena. She calmly ate her meal, her features composed.

‘This is an unusual flavour, Betsy,’ he said. ‘I know it’s not mint or rosemary. I can’t work it out.’

‘Ha.’ She grinned. ‘So I have foiled the great Detective Lavender, have I?’

He smiled. ‘Absolutely. This is a mystery I can’t solve.’

‘I have cooked the lamb in the Spanish fashion tonight,’ she announced grandly. ‘In honour of Doña Magdalena’s company.’ Magdalena gave Betsy a gracious smile. ‘Yes, Doñ—Magdalena told me that Spanish food is highly spiced, so I have spiced this lamb.’

‘What did you use?’ Woods asked.

‘Well, when I looked in my pantry the only spice I found was the nutmeg I use for the egg custard.’

‘You put nutmeg in lamb cutlets?’ Woods’ jaw dropped, his face incredulous.

Betsy bristled, pushed a greying curl back beneath her cap. She opened her mouth to argue.

‘It is delicious, Betsy,’ Magdalena interrupted. ‘It reminds me of the lamb dishes we cook back home in Oviedo.’ Lavender doubted that this was true but he respected Magdalena’s diplomacy. He forced himself to swallow another mouthful of the nutty lamb then changed the subject.

‘How are the children, Betsy – especially my sweet little goddaughter?’

She raised her eyebrows to the ceiling. ‘Humph! Baby Tabitha is the best behaved of the lot of them,’ she announced. ‘But those boys will be the death of me!’

‘What have they done now?’ he asked, smiling.

‘What have they done? What have they
not
done?’ Her voice rose into a crescendo of frustration. ‘They only tried to shoot poor Rachel, that’s all!’

Lavender choked softly on his lamb and took a hasty swig of Madeira to clear his throat. It did a good job of neutralising the strong flavour of the spice.

‘It wasn’t as bad as all that, Betsy, love,’ Woods suggested. He was immediately silenced by another withering glance from his wife.

‘I blame you for this, Stephen Lavender,’ Betsy said hotly.

‘Me? What have I done?’ He looked up, wide-eyed and innocent. Magdalena was laughing quietly to herself.

‘Do you remember when you were attacked by tobymen on the way to Barnby Moor?’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, when you disarmed the one who was travellin’ inside the coach with you, my lump of a husband here pocketed his pistol.’

‘Ah yes, I remember he used it to great effect on the tobymen to save our hides,’ Lavender said. ‘And a few days later he used it to quell the excitement of a gang of rioting farmers.’

‘Well, that is as maybe,’ she replied. ‘But that pistol should have been handed into the Nottin’hamshire constabulary as evidence after the attempted highway robbery – and don’t you try to deny it, Stephen.’ She jabbed her fork across the table in his direction. ‘I’ve been a constable’s wife long enough to know how these things work. You were remiss in your responsibilities.’

‘Guilty as charged, m’lady.’ He grinned.

‘So a few days ago our Rachel starts screamin’ blue murder upstairs – and when my old legs finally got me up there, I found Dan holdin’ her down and Eddie tryin’ to shoot the poor gal in the heart with the pistol.’

‘There was no shot or powder in it,’ Woods mumbled. His cheeks bulged with food. ‘She were never in no danger.’

‘Not that that makes any difference,’ Betsy snapped. ‘Anyway, I’ve removed the pistol from the house. None of them can use it now.’ She turned back to Lavender and sighed. ‘I’ve bred a couple of sister-murderin’ heathens, Stephen.’

‘Your boys are fine, Betsy,’ he said. ‘There’s many a time I plotted to murder my own sisters – and look how I turned out.’ He suddenly realised that this might not have been the best thing to say in front of the outspoken Betsy. She knew him too well. Before she replied he hastily added: ‘They’ll make you proud one day, Betsy. Mark my words, they’re fine boys.’

She didn’t look convinced but her ruddy cheeks flushed anew with the compliment.

The rest of the meal turned out to be far more successful. Betsy was a superb cook when she wasn’t trying to experiment with continental cuisine. For dessert they had a delicious bread and butter pudding, liberally sprinkled with sugar and served with a steaming rum sauce. There was a plate of marzipan sweetmeats, glazed with rosewater and sugar. While Betsy prepared the desserts in the kitchen, Lavender leant back and dampened down the damned fire. The back of his shirt was soaked with sweat.

Magdalena ate more of the sweetmeats than Woods. Betsy noticed this and he could tell that she was delighted that Magdalena appreciated her cooking. The tension dropped from the little matron’s jawline and she beamed from ear to ear.

The Madeira had flowed freely and they all showed signs of slight intoxication. While Betsy was out of the room, Woods entertained Magdalena with the tale of how he and several other constables had struggled to restrain a frisky young bullock that had escaped from Smithfield market and terrorised shoppers and stallholders alike.