A Poisoned Season Read online

  Mr. Francis was nonplussed. “When was the last time you heard of jewelry stolen by a cat burglar being returned to the rightful owner? It’s a hopeless business.”

  “But Mr. Francis, it’s imperative that the crime be investigated,” I said. “Even if it goes unsolved, one must try to uncover the truth.”

  “I’d rather not upset my wife,” he said. “She’s exceedingly shy and suffers greatly when forced to talk to strangers.”

  “But surely she’s noticed that the diamond is missing?” Cécile asked.

  “It’s not the sort of thing she would want to wear.” He studied the ashes on the end of his cigar thoughtfully for a moment, then changed the subject. “Have you ladies been to the Royal Academy exhibition? Barber’s got several good pieces in it this year.”

  “I’ve been twice,” I said. “There is one sculpture that I remember in particular. A woman holding a basket of flowers. I believe it is yours, Mr. Barber.”

  “I’m pleased that you noticed it,” Mr. Barber replied. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “I very much enjoyed it. You did a magnificent job capturing a sense of movement. I almost believed she would bend over and pick one of the blossoms at her feet.”

  “Thank you, Lady Ashton.”

  “Do you have an extensive collection of art, Mr. Francis?” I asked.

  “Not so extensive as I would like.”

  “Francis spends as much money subsidizing studio rentals for artists as he does on their work,” Mr. Barber said.

  “No wonder you and Cécile get along so famously,” I said. “I should love to see your collection.”

  “I’m afraid you would find it rather underwhelming.”

  “I consider that an insult, Francis,” Mr. Barber said, grinning. “You’ve got some of my best pieces.”

  “I meant only that, given her own holdings, Lady Ashton would be disappointed in the scope and quantity of what I have.”

  “Quantity is a poor measure of the artistic merits of a collection, Mr. Francis. I’m fortunate that my husband possessed such exquisite taste,” I said. “I’ve let his standards for acquisition guide me, although I confess that I’m guilty of keeping for myself some pieces he would argue belong in a museum.” I twisted the gold ring with its image of the Trojan horse that I wore on my right hand. I’d been given it in Paris last year after trapping the man who had murdered Philip.

  “But I understand that you’ve made many significant donations yourself,” Mr. Francis said.

  “Yes, but there are times when I’m quite overwhelmed with sentiment and find that I can’t donate things that I ought.”

  “Peut-être Monsieur Bingham is attached to this dish you are trying to get from him,” Cécile said.

  “No, he’s keeping it for himself simply out of spite. He’s made no secret of the fact that he doesn’t care for it.” My gaze fell on Mr. Francis, and I felt compelled once again to return to the topic of the thefts, despite a worry that I was being too forward. “I really must implore you to report the loss of your diamond to the police. It is not something that affects only you. Surely you can’t believe that there is more than one burglar in England seeking objects that belonged to Marie Antoinette?”

  “Of course not,” he replied.

  “The police need to have as complete a picture as possible of this man’s activities. Perhaps there is something at your house that may assist them in their investigation. Or a pattern of behavior that would be revealed by adding your location to the list of the crime scenes.”

  “She is right,” Cécile said. “If you were the sole victim of this intruder, you could choose to keep quiet about it. But you are not.”

  “I suppose it would be wrong of me to do anything that might keep you from getting your earrings back,” Mr. Francis said, smiling good-naturedly.

  “It’s not simply about recovering the earrings,” I said.

  “Je ne sais pas,” Cécile said. “I would very much like to get my earrings back. They’re a favorite pair.”

  “Of course,” I said. “But isn’t catching the thief and preventing further thefts of primary importance?” Cécile shrugged but did not answer. “If nothing else, I call on you, as a gentleman, to see to it that you do all you can to keep the name of poor Marie Antoinette from being subject to more intrigue and scandal.”

  “You are most persistent, Lady Ashton. I will talk to the police in the morning if you insist that it is the right thing to do. In the meantime, tell me what you thought of the play we saw tonight.”

  “I adored it,” I said. “Hedda’s plight is fascinating. She’s incapable of taking pleasure in those things it is assumed will bring a woman happiness.”

  “So miserable, yet she seems the perfect wife,” Mr. Barber said.

  “It’s rarely wise to accept at face value the image presented by a society wife,” I said.

  “Or a husband,” said Mr. Francis.

  “Quite.” I smiled, all the while wondering what layers could be found beneath my guest’s polished façade.

  Mr. Francis was true to his word and spoke to the police about the pink diamond the very next morning. Within two days, the newspapers were filled with sensationalised stories about the thefts. All of society was buzzing about it, and Charles Berry made a great show of issuing a plea to the burglar through the Times, asking that all the objects that belonged to his great-great-grandmother be returned to their rightful owners. Those in possession of such items were thrown into a frenzy, desperate to protect themselves from the thief. Lady Middleton, who owned a chair purported to have been in the queen’s bedroom at Versailles, caused a scene when she sent it to her bank and insisted that it be stored in the vault.

  “The president of the bank tried to dissuade her, but she refused,” Margaret Seward told me as we sat in the Elgin Room of the British Museum that afternoon. “I wish I could have witnessed their exchange.”

  “Who would dare cross Lady Middleton? I wonder that he even tried.” I was sketching a piece of the east pediment of the Parthenon, which depicted the birth of the goddess Athena. Margaret, who read classics at Bryn Mawr, had brought a volume of Ovid with her, and she alternately read and chatted with me while I worked. Occasionally, she would meander through the museum, ready with amusing reports upon her return.

  “I have just spotted a man nearly as handsome as Colin,” she said after one such journey.

  “Really?” This caught my attention.

  “Well, not quite. I don’t suppose there is another man as handsome as Colin. But this one comes close. He’s walking with a terrified-looking young lady and her mother—a real dragon.”

  “Did you recognize any of them?”

  “The girl is called ‘Lettice.’”

  “Ah,” I said. “Lettice Frideswide. The man must be Jeremy.”

  “You know him?”

  “Oh yes, quite well. He’s the Duke of Bainbridge. Inherited last year. His estate is near my father’s.”

  “Emily, I will never forgive you for hiding him from me. You know my parents have me here to look for a husband. My father won’t settle for anyone without a title—it’s crass, but that’s the truth of it.” Mr. Seward was a wealthy railroad man who, like so many other Americans, longed to see his daughter part of England’s aristocracy. Margaret had agreed to do the Season only in exchange for her parents’ promise that she could study at Oxford in the fall. “Tell me, is dear Jeremy engaged to the lovely Lettice?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s quite in demand and doesn’t seem inclined to settle down.”

  “He is perfect,” she sighed.

  “Margaret, I am all astonishment. I thought you’d no intention of marrying.”

  “I don’t want to marry him, but I am desperate for someone to flirt with. Perhaps the good duke and I can come to some sort of understanding that can see me through the rest of the Season. He pays court, which keeps my parents happy, but is safe in the knowledge that I’ve no desire to marry him. Whe
n he hasn’t proposed and it’s time for me to go to Oxford, they’ll return to America, armed with stories about the English lord who let their daughter slip away.”

  “Lady Frideswide would never forgive you. She’s been trying to catch Jeremy for her daughter almost since the girl was born.”

  “And what does the daughter think?”

  “I’ve not the slightest idea.”

  “She’s awfully young. It won’t harm her to wait another Season. Will you introduce me?”

  “I suppose so. Were they coming this way?”

  “They’re upstairs looking at mummies.” Margaret looked at me expectantly.

  “Are you suggesting that you want me to rush over there and nonchalantly introduce you to the Duke of Bainbridge? Won’t it look a bit obvious?” I turned back to my sketch. “No one comes to the museum without visiting the Elgin Room. Be patient, Margaret, and your duke will come to you.”

  I was right. Not half an hour passed before Jeremy and his party, which had expanded to include Lady Elinor and Isabelle, appeared. The ladies were dressed with such violent elegance that I almost regretted having chosen to abandon the tight lacing of corsets. To stave off the feeling, I took a breath far deeper than any of them could hope to draw and smiled broadly, giving my hand to the duke. Greetings were exchanged and introductions made, following which there was little conversation of substance. Lady Elinor complimented my drawing, and I her pin, a striking bird of paradise fashioned out of gold, its feathers covered with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. Margaret was politeness itself, eager to impress Jeremy, who clearly felt no discomfort at finding himself the only gentleman in such a large group of ladies. The younger members of the party remained silent, posed prettily behind their mothers, until Lettice stepped towards me, squinting as she looked at the sculptures in front of us.

  “Where’s the baby?” she asked. “The sign says this shows the birth of Athena.”

  “There is no baby,” I said, smiling. “Athena sprang fully grown from Zeus’s head.”

  “Really?” She looked at me, then at Isabelle. “I don’t know the story.”

  “Athena’s mother was Metis, Zeus’s first wife—”

  “Yes, thank you, Lady Ashton.” Lady Frideswide took Lettice’s arm and steered her back to Isabelle. I was stunned by her rudeness and decided there was no reason now for me not to act boldly on Margaret’s behalf.

  “Have you plans for luncheon, Your Grace?” I asked, turning to Jeremy.

  “Really, Lady Ashton,” he replied, stressing each syllable of my name. “There’s no need for such formality. We’ve known each other since we were babies. I’m lunching at my club.”

  “What a disappointment,” I said. “I should so like to visit with you.” Lady Frideswide flashed a look of disbelief. “Leave your club for tomorrow and join Miss Seward and me today.”

  “Is there a man in Britain able to resist you, Lady Ashton? What time do you want me?” Jeremy’s acceptance of this invitation would be viewed as a social coup. Luncheon was typically a ladies’ meal; gentlemen preferred their clubs. My mother would certainly pay me a visit the moment she heard of this. I turned to Margaret as the duke and ladies left us.

  “You are going to be forever indebted to me for this.”

  “Oh, he’s perfectly agreeable. You didn’t have to work on him at all. I love him already.”

  “The gossips will say that I’ve set my cap for the Duke of Bainbridge.”

  “Not once he turns his attentions to me.”

  “How, precisely, do you plan to manage that? Are you going to speak to him directly about what you want?”

  “I was hoping you could broker it for me, Emily. Then I truly will be forever indebted to you.”

  Margaret excused herself soon after we had retired to the sitting room following the luncheon. Jeremy squirmed uncomfortably, clearly surprised at having been left alone with me.

  “Have you contrived this meeting, Em?” he asked, addressing me as he had since he was five years old. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t worry, Jeremy, you’re quite safe from me. I’ve no interest in marrying you.”

  He slumped in his chair. “That’s a relief. Although I will say candidly that when at last I accept the inevitable and marry, I won’t be able to find a more charming wife than you.”

  “Don’t waste your flattery on me.”

  “Let me flatter you. Doing it to anyone else will set tongues wagging across town and lead to rumors of imminent marriage.”

  “I know your plight only too well.”

  “I suppose you do. But I thought you and Hargreaves…” He stopped.

  “Colin and I are not engaged,” I said. “What about you and Lettice Frideswide?”

  “There is no affection between us. Lettice seems more terrified of me than anything, and there has never been any talk of an engagement except by our mothers. You and I are similar creatures. Each with perfect opportunity before us yet unwilling to take it. Perhaps we should join forces. If all of society believes we have an understanding, they’ll leave us alone.”

  “An interesting proposition, Jeremy, and very similar to the one I was about to make to you, but not for myself.”

  “For whom, then?”

  “Margaret.” I quickly described her situation. “If her parents think she’s got a duke, they’ll let her do whatever she wants.”

  Jeremy laughed loudly. “This is priceless. What a lark. Tell her I’ll do it,” he said, continuing to laugh. “I’d never have expected such a devious plan from you.”

  “All credit goes to Margaret.”

  “And, Emily”—he grew serious—“if you ever…if Hargreaves doesn’t…if you do need someone…I think you and I could come to a mutually satisfactory understanding.”

  “Really, Jeremy, that has to be one of the most romantic proposals in all of English history. May I record it in my diary?”

  “I mean it, Em.”

  “I shall keep that in mind, Your Grace.”

  3

  TO SAY THAT MY MOTHER WAS GRATIFIED BY THE ATTENTIONS bestowed on me by the Duke of Bainbridge would be a grotesque understatement. Although our families were close, her friendship with Lady Frideswide had precluded her considering him as a potential husband for me. Now, however, she was convinced that the duke had strayed from Lettice of his own accord, and if her daughter was now the object of his affections, who was she to protest? I insisted to her that Margaret, not I, was in his sights, but she refused to accept this. No one could make her believe that a duke would choose an American over the daughter of an English peer.

  “I’ll listen to none of this nonsense,” she said, after she had accosted me on the banks of the Thames at the Henley Regatta. “Between the Duke and Colin Hargreaves, you’re sure to make an excellent match before the end of the Season. Neither will be willing to let you wait knowing that the other is competing for your favor.” She looked at me and frowned. “Where is your parasol?”

  “I didn’t feel like dragging it along with me.”

  “My child, I fear for you. You are mere days away from completely destroying your complexion.” She tugged at my hat, trying to make it better shade my face. “I’ve had a lovely day. His Grace was kind enough to offer me a spot on Temple Island. How I wish you could have joined us!”

  “I didn’t realize Jeremy was a member of the Leander Club.” The island, which was for Leander members, not only provided an excellent vantage point, but also was the most exclusive area from which to view the race. Of its two merits, I knew it was the latter that most impressed my mother.

  “Don’t play coy, Emily. You’re perfectly aware of all of Bainbridge’s attributes. I’m just glad to see that he’s beginning to take notice of yours.”

  “Mother—”

  “And this is as good a time as any to point out that your odd reading habits are beginning to disconcert people.”

  “My reading habits are not—”

  “We all unders
tand that it was terribly shocking for you to lose your husband. Mourning is a dreadful time. But now it is over and there is no need to persist in this morbid habit of reading tedious books. Lady Elliott told me that she saw you with a copy of the Odyssey in the park.”

  “Do you have a particular objection to Homer, or are you against all ancient texts?”

  “There is no need to speak to me like that, Emily. I cannot imagine what possessed you to bring a book to the park.”

  “The weather was fine and I wanted to sit outside. A shocking concept, I agree.”

  “Well, open a window, or if you must be outdoors, stay on your own property. There’s no need to flaunt your eccentricities in front of all of London.” She removed a pair of spectacles from her reticule, put them on, and peered at my face. “I do believe you are getting freckles.” She thrust her parasol over me.

  “Thank you, Mother. As always, your support overwhelms me.”

  “Don’t take a snide tone with me. You are the widow of a viscount and need to start acting like one.”

  “Acting like a viscount?” I bestowed on her my most charming smile. “Perhaps that’s what I’m doing when I’m reading Homer.”

  “Your behavior is intolerable. You should take better care or you’ll find yourself isolated from all the decent people in England.” With that, she marched away.

  I left the river not long afterwards and returned home, exhausted, my cheeks and nose a distressingly bright shade of pink. On this count, at least, my mother had been correct. My hat, though very elegant, had not provided enough protection from the sun. I longed for a cool bath, but as soon as I had asked Meg to draw one, Davis announced a visitor. I looked at the card he handed me and walked, puzzled, to my drawing room, where I faced a woman I had never before seen. She was dressed in the unrelenting black of a new widow and darted towards me the moment I entered the room.

  “I shall not apologize for coming to you like this, Lady Ashton. You cannot be surprised to see me.”

  “I’m so sorry, I’ve not the slightest idea to what you refer.” I glanced again at her calling card. “Mrs. Francis? Is your husband David Francis?”