A Poisoned Season Page 7

  “That is precisely what I said to correct the story.”

  “Have you any idea who is the source of the rumor?”

  “No one ever owns up to starting such a thing. I wouldn’t let it trouble you—soon enough they’ll find someone else to gossip about.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I’m much more interested in Berry’s connection to Mr. Francis. Berry’s story doesn’t sit right with me. If Mr. Francis had wanted to sell him something, why wouldn’t Berry have referred to the object in his reply?”

  “And why would Monsieur Francis have tried to sell something to a man whom everyone in London knows is at the mercy of his creditors?”

  “I should very much like to find Mr. Francis’s letter.”

  “But Monsieur Berry did not keep it.”

  “Do you think we can trust him to tell the truth? I wonder…” I thought for a moment. “If only there were some way to know Berry’s plans for the evening.”

  “Lady Londonderry is giving a dinner party in his honor.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I received an invitation.” She looked at the watch pinned to her bodice. “If I do not dress soon, I’ll be late.”

  “She didn’t invite me,” I said. “How odd. She’s thick as thieves with my mother.”

  “I’ll gladly cancel if you think she is slighting you.”

  “No. Go, Cécile, and make sure that Berry doesn’t leave early.”

  “Pourquoi?”

  “It would be best if I don’t tell you. That way, should I be discovered, you won’t have to feign ignorance of my plan.”

  “I do not like this, Kallista.”

  “Don’t worry about me. So long as you keep Berry occupied, I’ll be in no danger.”

  As soon as Cécile had left for dinner, I changed into a modest, dark blue dress and a veiled bonnet, careful to choose something that would not draw any attention to my presence. I waited until it was safe to assume Lady Londonderry’s guests had been seated, then headed to the Savoy, having my driver leave me two blocks from the hotel lest anyone recognize my carriage. Once inside, I walked quickly past the desk. The lobby was relatively quiet, most of the guests already gone for the evening or dining in the restaurant. I slipped up the stairs to the fourth floor and knocked on Mr. Berry’s door. There was no answer. Excellent. I went to the back stairs and descended to the lower level, where in short order I found three maids drinking tea in a small room.

  “I’m so sorry to disturb you,” I said as they all leapt to their feet. “I’m in the most terrible bind. I was visiting a…a gentleman this afternoon and am afraid that I lost a bracelet in his room. It’s rather awkward, you see, as he’s engaged to a friend of mine.”

  The maids, wide-eyed, watched me closely.

  “There once, long ago, had been an attachment between us, and I only called on him to say good-bye. But if my friend were to discover that I’d seen him alone, she would be dreadfully upset.”

  “Who is the gentleman?” one of the maids asked.

  “Mr. Charles Berry. He’s in room 423,” I replied. “Can you help me?”

  “I don’t see what we could possibly do,” said the oldest of the three girls, who appeared to have taken on the role of spokesman.

  “Couldn’t you let me into the room? No one’s there now. It would only take me a moment to find my bracelet.”

  “We could lose our jobs,” the maid said.

  “He’s unlikely to return soon. No one will ever know.”

  One of the other girls laughed. She had pretty eyes and a pert smile. “From what I can tell, the gentleman in that room wouldn’t object to finding you there anyway.”

  “Gabby!” the spokesman exclaimed.

  “Oh, hush up, Bridget. We all know what sort of gentleman he is. I say we let her in and hope she steals something.”

  “Let me assure you that I would do no such thing,” I said.

  “I’ll let you in,” Gabby said. Bridget glared at her.

  “I promise there will be no trouble for you.”

  At this, the third girl broke her silence. “I wish you could cause trouble for him,” she said, bursting into tears.

  “Has he hurt you?” I asked. She cried harder, and I found it not difficult in the least to believe the worst about Mr. Berry. “Did you tell anyone?”

  “Who could she tell?” Bridget asked. “No one would believe her. And even if someone did, it wouldn’t matter. He’s practically the king of France, you know.”

  “Well, I believe you,” I said, taking her hand. “For what little that’s worth. I give you my word that I shall try to find a way to help you.”

  “Come with me, milady,” Gabby said. “Let’s get you into that room.” Once upstairs, the girl unlocked the door. I thanked her and sent her back downstairs. “Promise you won’t forget Molly,” she said as she left.

  I closed and locked the door, looking at the space before me. There was a sitting room and a bedroom, neither of which was particularly neat. Mr. Berry had left gloves, letters, and discarded papers scattered on every surface. I began to methodically sift through everything, careful to return each object to its place in the mess. The number of bills I found was staggering, and it was clear from the careless way they had been tossed about that paying them was of little concern to Mr. Berry. Most likely that would fall to Lady Elinor’s solicitor as wedding plans with Isabelle were solidified.

  I went into the bedroom, feeling more than a little uneasy to enter the space where this odious man slept. The wardrobe was full of clothing, all of it Savile Row’s best and certainly acquired on credit. I begrudgingly admitted that the man’s taste, at least in clothes, was excellent. The pockets of his coats contained nothing but cigarettes and still more bills. I was about to close the cabinet door when I noticed something leaning against the back wall of the armoire behind a row of shoes. It was an oversized book containing reproductions of paintings by Fragonard. If memory served, the artist was a favorite of Louis XIV’s. It was the only book in Mr. Berry’s suite. I opened it and flipped through the pages, hoping to uncover something between them. Luck was with me. Partway through the book I found a piece of paper folded in half. On it was a list of objects that had been owned by Marie Antoinette, each item followed by the name and address of the person to whom it currently belonged. Everything that had been stolen was marked with a small star. The last two entries were the pink diamond and something described as Personal Correspondence. Both were listed as being in the Francis house. There was no mention of the silver snuffbox.

  I jumped at the sound of a key rattling in the lock. Would Gabby have returned to the room? Surely Mr. Berry was not back this early in the evening. Even if he had tried to leave the Londonderrys’, Cécile would have found a way to detain him. Desperate, I looked around for somewhere to hide. Using the wardrobe for such a purpose would be too obvious, and if, for some reason, Berry had returned, he would almost certainly open it to change his clothes. Panic filled me, and seeing that I had few options, I clutched the book and ducked behind the heavy velvet curtains. The door opened, and I heard footsteps too heavy to belong to the maid. They circled the sitting room slowly. Drawers opened and shut. Papers shuffled. Eventually, the steps moved to the bedroom. I stood as still as possible, hardly breathing, hoping that I would not be discovered. Whoever it was stopped in front of the wardrobe. More rummaging.

  As the footsteps moved back to the sitting room, I could not resist peeking out from behind the curtain. I moved it slowly, just enough to look through the door into the other room, careful not to draw attention to myself. Colin Hargreaves stood not thirty feet away from me, carefully examining a piece of paper before putting it into his pocket.

  8

  MY HEART POUNDED AGAINST MY CHEST SO LOUDLY THAT I worried he might hear it. This was foolish, of course, but I couldn’t help it. I pressed against the window in an attempt to make myself as flat as possible. He was still in the sitting room but wa
sn’t making any noise. An eternity seemed to pass before I heard his footsteps again. He came back to the bedroom, and it sounded as if he was looking under the bed and the mattress. He wants the book, I thought, wishing I’d had the sense to return it to the wardrobe before hiding. What should I do? Reveal myself?

  I never had the opportunity to decide. All at once, the curtain was snapped away from me. With effort, I forced myself to meet Colin’s eyes. “I’ve not before seen you so flustered,” I said, hoping to deflect his anger with a smile. He grabbed me roughly by the arms.

  “This is no time to joke. What are you doing here?”

  “Apparently the same thing you are, although I suppose that had you arrived first you wouldn’t have felt it necessary to hide when I entered the room.”

  “Emily, this is outrageous.” His eyes flashed. “Wait for me in the lobby.”

  “I’ve already found that which you seek,” I said, and handed him the book. “There’s a list inside.”

  “Go downstairs.”

  “Not without you.”

  “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Have you found anything useful? What was the paper you put in your pocket?”

  “Nothing of consequence.” He scrutinized the list of Marie Antoinette objects, then pulled out a small notebook and began scribbling furiously on it. When he finished, he replaced the list in the book and handed it back to me.

  “What should I do with it?” I asked.

  “Put it back where you found it.”

  I did as he directed, not liking at all the feeling of his being so displeased with me. The moment I closed the wardrobe door, he steered me firmly into the hallway, locking Mr. Berry’s room behind us.

  “How did you get a key?”

  “Say nothing further, Emily. You’ve already done more than enough.” I wanted to tell Gabby that we’d locked the door, but Colin’s tight grip on my arm indicated that he was in no mood to sanction a trip down the back stairs. As we approached the guests’ stairway, he released me. “It will not do for us to be seen leaving a hotel together. Return to your house at once and wait for me there.”

  Nearly an hour passed before he turned up at Berkeley Square, an hour that I spent wondering if I had gone too far in my investigations. Perhaps I was not so capable as I believed. I was filled with melancholy thoughts of self-doubt when Colin closed the door to my library behind him, and though he looked better composed than he had at the Savoy, his calm demeanor did little to hide his aggravation once he began to speak.

  “I cannot believe that you would be so foolish as to—”

  “Did you go back to Mr. Berry’s room?” I interrupted, my confidence returning in the face of his rebuke.

  “That is none of your concern.”

  “It most certainly is!”

  “Never in my life would I have thought to find you sequestered in another man’s hotel room.”

  I could not help but smile at this. “Not in another man’s room? Should I take that to mean you have entertained the notion of finding me in yours?”

  “Don’t flirt with me, Emily.” His tone was cold, but I detected the slightest beginning of a thaw in his dark eyes.

  “But surely you and I wouldn’t require hotels for clandestine meetings. After all, we’re each in possession of two perfectly good houses—I’ve got three if you count the villa, though I suppose—”

  “Have you any idea of the danger in which you placed yourself tonight?”

  “I would never have gone had I not known that Mr. Berry was out for the evening. There was almost no chance that I would be caught.”

  “What if someone other than me had found you?”

  “What gave me away?” I asked.

  “No curtain could hide that dress entirely. Your skirts are too full.”

  I sighed. “And I thought the demise of the bustle had given me such freedom. I suppose I shall have to order a new wardrobe designed specifically to allow me to skulk about hotel rooms in search of clues.”

  “I’d rather that you leave your wardrobe out of it and abandon the enterprise altogether.”

  “Spoken like a husband,” I said. He ignored this.

  “Furthermore, you dropped this.” He passed me a handkerchief that bore my monogram.

  “It must have been tucked in my sleeve,” I said, mortified by my carelessness. “I didn’t even know I had it with me.”

  “What were you doing in Mr. Berry’s room?” he asked. I showed him the letter I had found at Mr. Francis’s and recounted my conversation with Mr. Berry.

  “I am convinced there is a connection between the two men,” I said.

  “You may be right. I promise that I shall do everything in my power to find out.”

  “I’ve made the same promise to Mrs. Francis.” I continued without letting him reply. “Why are you so interested in Mr. Berry? Is this something to do with your work for Buckingham Palace?”

  “Yes, it is. I’m not at liberty to divulge details, so you will have to content yourself with the knowledge that Berry’s political position may be more important to Britain than anyone would suspect.”

  “Because there’s a plan in place to restore the French monarchy?” I asked.

  “You are a very smart girl,” he said, all the warmth back in his voice. An unexpected feeling of relief rushed over me, and I realized that his approval meant more to me than I thought it did. He picked up my hand and kissed my palm.

  “Have you lifted the embargo on kissing?”

  “This doesn’t really count. It’s just your hand.” So pleasant was the feeling of his lips on my skin that I completely forgot Mr. Berry. “I don’t suppose you’d let this investigation to me?”

  “Ah, is this display of affection designed to trick me into agreeing to that?”

  “Not entirely.” He turned his attention to my other hand. “I don’t imagine you’d be so easily manipulated.”

  “I wouldn’t.” I slipped a hand into his pocket and removed the paper he had taken from the Savoy. “You’re as readily distracted as I am,” I said, holding it up before him.

  “Probably more so. Were you ever to use all your feminine wiles on me, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “What do you take this to mean?” I asked, then read the letter aloud. “‘Sir: As you did not respond to my first letter, I am forced to write again to beg you to reconsider your public actions. I should like to speak with you. Would you come to me Tuesday in Richmond?’ It’s signed D. Francis.”

  “I shall ask Berry about it.”

  “You’re quite the friend of his these days.”

  “It’s all official business, Emily. His idea of an entertaining evening could not be more different from mine.”

  “I’ve heard that you’re spending inordinate amounts of time with the Marlborough Set. Dare I ask if the Prince of Wales and the would-be heir to the Bourbon throne are becoming close?”

  “They have many similar”—he cleared his throat—“interests.”

  “Hmph.” I knew all the rumors about Bertie and his interests, particularly those of the female persuasion. I did not much like the idea of Colin running with the Marlborough Set.

  “You can imagine the delicate situations that might arise should Berry make any bad political moves.”

  “How lucky that he’s got you to look after him.” I looked at the letter again. “This makes me wonder if he had reason to want Mr. Francis eliminated.”

  “Don’t let your imagination run wild, Emily. This situation is more precarious than you know. Investigate if you wish, but do not”—with a finger, he lifted my chin so that I was looking directly at him—“do not make accusations you cannot back up with irrefutable facts.”

  “The police seem perfectly willing to lock up Jane Stilleman without solid evidence.”

  “She had motive, she had opportunity. I know you dislike Berry. He is…not the gentleman he ought to be. But if you want to help Mrs. Francis, letting your dislike of him
cloud your judgment will be an enormous mistake. Murder is not a crime limited to the obviously contemptible.”

  “I shall keep that in mind.” I straightened his lapels. “I am most pleased that you are not trying to dissuade me from helping my friend.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. First of all, you’d ignore me if I did, and you know how I deplore futile endeavors. Second, anything that distracts you from uncovering the identity of your admirer brings me closer to having you as my wife.”

  “You underestimate me. I’m perfectly capable of solving both puzzles and look forward to spending the fall with you in Greece. Shall we keep to Santorini? Or would you like to visit the mainland, too?”

  “A question I shall not have to answer. Better that you, Emily, ponder options for our wedding trip. I thought Ephesus, and then Egypt.”

  “Someday, perhaps.” I smiled, thinking that giving Colin permission to court me had been a very, very good idea.

  I returned to Richmond the next morning and immediately told Beatrice about the list I had found at the Savoy as well as the letter Colin had discovered. While she searched for anything that could be considered “personal correspondence” of Marie Antoinette, I set about conducting interviews with the servants, hoping that I might discover something the police had missed. I started with Thomkins, whom I found working in the garden. He was less than forthcoming and clearly did not appreciate having to answer to a woman.

  “How long have you been involved with Mrs. Stilleman?”

  “Two years.”

  “If the affair began before she wed, why didn’t she marry you?”

  “I never asked,” he said. “I always knew she’d do better with Stilleman. Marrying a gardener would have been a step down for her.” Truly, servants were worse about class distinction than their masters.

  “But you loved her?”

  “I suppose.”

  Faint praise, I thought. “When did Mr. Francis discover the two of you?”

  “About two months ago.”