A Poisoned Season Page 8

  “That long? Did he put you on notice?”

  “He made it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate that sort of thing in his household but said he would keep me on.”

  “And Jane?”

  “I never talked to her after it happened.”

  “Not at all?”

  “I need this work, milady.”

  “Do you think that Jane committed these crimes?”

  “No.” His voice was unsure.

  “Why would Mr. Francis have threatened Jane’s position but not yours?”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t have told me. You’d have to ask Jane.”

  I returned to the house and sought out the housekeeper, an efficient sort of woman who confirmed what Thomkins had said and assured me that Jane would have been let go immediately if it were not for her husband.

  “That’s the tragedy of it, Lady Ashton. Mr. Francis quite depended upon Stilleman. If his wife were to lose her position and couldn’t find something nearby, which she wouldn’t—the entire county knows of her indiscretion—he might follow her. She was allowed to stay on a probationary basis.”

  “Then her position was not in jeopardy?” I asked.

  “Not until she and Thomkins started carrying on again.”

  “What happened?”

  “Stable boy caught them.” So Thomkins had lied about not talking to Jane again.

  “Had Jane been given her notice?”

  “No. Mr. Francis died the next day.”

  “And what of Thomkins?”

  “I was not privy to Mr. Francis’s decision on that matter.”

  None of this information boded well for Jane, but when I said as much to Beatrice, she insisted that the maid was innocent. “Jane is like family to me. She is a good girl. I am disappointed that Thomkins was able to seduce her, but adultery is a far cry from murder.”

  “Quite right, Beatrice, but what if Stilleman had threatened her with divorce? That, coupled with the loss of her position, would have ruined her. Even good people can act badly when cornered.”

  “I am certain she is not guilty.”

  “I know you are,” I said, taking her hand. “This is very difficult. I shall do all I can to uncover the truth, but please remember that it may not be what we hope it is. Did you have any luck with your search?”

  “I did.” She passed to me a bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon. “They were in a box where he kept theater programs.”

  I untied the ribbon, then, mindful of the fragile nature of the old paper, slowly unfolded the first sheet before me. It was written in French, a seemingly innocuous note to a friend, and would have meant very little were it not for Marie Antoinette’s signature at the bottom of the page. “Oh! This”—I could not help but smile—“this is almost too easy. May I read the rest of them?”

  “I wish you’d take them home with you. I’d rather not have anything here that might lure the thief back to my house.”

  Thinking of what I’d told Colin about there being nothing in my house that could lead to another break-in, I hesitated.

  “Please take them, Emily,” she said. “I can’t stand the thought of them being here.”

  “All right.” I folded the letter I was holding and returned it to the bundle, retying the ribbon. “I wonder why our intrepid thief did not steal them before.”

  “I’ve no idea. You will let me know if there is anything of significance in them?”

  “Of course,” I replied, and as my thoughts began to wander, I decided it was time to return home. Surely Charles Berry was not the thief. He could never pull off such a sophisticated series of crimes. Nor, however, could he afford to hire someone to do it for him. So why did he have the list I’d found in his room? And what had Mr. Francis wanted him to stop doing? Jane may have had reason to want both her husband and her employer dead, but a nagging instinct told me that Mr. Berry may have benefited from at least one of the murders, too. I was still contemplating these questions when, back at Berkeley Square, my driver, rather than one of the footmen, opened the carriage door.

  “I thought you should know, Lady Ashton,” he said, helping me down from my seat. “A coach followed us all the way from Richmond. It bore no markings and disappeared soon after we entered London. I did not get a good look at the driver. With the house having been broken into, we’re all of us a mite worried about you.”

  9

  JEREMY AND MARGARET DINED WITH CÉCILE AND ME THE FOLLOWING night. I had hoped Colin might join us, but he was once again playing chaperon to Charles Berry. Cécile missed him as much as I did. “Such a terrible shame that he must waste his time with that man. I like you very well, Bainbridge, but Monsieur Hargreaves…” She sighed.

  “Say no more, Madame du Lac. I’ve yet to meet a lady immune to Hargreaves. He’s too bloody handsome.”

  “I wish he were around more so that the gossips would have less to say about you and my darling Jeremy,” Margaret said. “Do you know that Lady Elliott asked me if I minded that she was going to invite you to her ball? She was afraid that if I didn’t come, Jeremy’s mother might not, and confided that she didn’t want to do anything to draw the dowager duchess’s ire.”

  “Mother adores Emily,” Jeremy said. “Lady Elliott is wasting her time if she’s trying to stir up controversy between them. Besides—and I know you will take no offense at this, Margaret, darling—she would die before seeing me marry an American. She’s never forgiven the colonists for leaving the empire.”

  “Ah!” Margaret cried. “Perfect! That is what will end our affair. I’m devastated already.” She and Cécile stayed only another quarter of an hour before leaving for a ball. The fourth ball, I might point out, to which I had not been invited. Jeremy remained with me, something that did nothing but provide more fodder for London’s gossiping matrons. At the time, however, I did not care, my feelings for society and its rigid rules being ambiguous at best.

  “I cannot face another dance,” Jeremy said, slouching in one of my library’s most comfortable chairs. “Ballrooms are always too hot, and there are never enough seats. A chap can only stand so much dancing in a Season. I’ve already surpassed my limits.”

  “I shall consider the Season a success only if I can persuade Mr. Bingham to part with his silver phiale.”

  “Are you still pursuing that?”

  “I’ve offered him an obscene amount of money for it and can’t imagine that he’ll refuse me this time.”

  “That depends on the state of his own fortune. If he’s flush, he won’t need the money and is likely to deny you out of spite.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” I said. “I should have begun the whole process differently. He’s not the sort of man to respond to a willful lady. It would have been better for me to get an invitation to view his collection and then simper stupidly over the bowl. He probably would have given it to me on the spot.”

  Jeremy laughed. “You must be sure to keep at least some conventional behavior in your arsenal, Em. Ladies have more power than you might imagine.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” I sunk deeper into my chair. “You and Margaret are getting along famously. Your false courtship was a stroke of brilliance on her part. At the park the other day, I overheard two ladies, who shall remain nameless, lamenting the loss of one of Britain’s most eligible peers.”

  “It’s like a dream,” he said, grinning. “But I’m afraid that the mothers of London will not leave me completely alone until I’m actually engaged.”

  “Poor man.”

  “It’s a terrible bore.”

  “At least your position ensures that you’ll be able to choose whatever wife you want.”

  “Does it?” He looked at me quizzically. “You turned me down easily enough.”

  “We both know that you only proposed to me because you were safe in the knowledge that I would refuse you.”

  “Point taken. But think on it, Emily. If we were married, we could agree to continue living as if we were single a
nd everyone would leave us alone.”

  “I don’t know that I’d like a husband who behaved as if he were a bachelor.”

  “You would if he were discreet, made no demands of you, and let you have your freedom.”

  “He would have to make some demands.”

  “Well, yes, but that needn’t be unpleasant.”

  “Really, Jeremy! You are shocking!”

  “So long as I amuse you.”

  “You’ve always done that. I’m beginning to think you should propose to Margaret. She’d appreciate your scheme.”

  Davis opened the door. “Mr. Berry is here to see you, Lady Ashton.”

  “Berry?” Jeremy was all amazement. “Emily, I’d no idea that you received gentleman callers this late in the evening.”

  “I can’t imagine what he wants,” I said. “Send him in, Davis, and bring us some port. His Grace is in desperate need of fortification.”

  “Perhaps the ’51, then? That, I should think, would improve any gentleman’s situation.”

  “Perfect. Whatever would I do without you, Davis?” When he returned a while later, I noted with some amusement that Mr. Berry had not passed muster with my butler, who, while he collected the port, had left the gentleman waiting in the hallway. Mr. Berry appeared agitated, his face flushed, and he did nothing to hide his surprise at finding me alone with Jeremy.

  “Well,” he said, a bit unsteady on his feet. “This is quite unusual, isn’t it? Cozy evening at home with the duke?”

  Jeremy stood. “You’re intoxicated, sir.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Why are you here, Mr. Berry?” I asked.

  “I need to speak with you privately, Lady Ashton,” Berry said.

  “I’m not about to ask the duke to leave,” I said. I eyed the decanter Davis had left on a table but decided it would be best not to pour any port. Mr. Berry needed no more to drink.

  “I shouldn’t think you’d want him to hear the sordid details of our private affairs.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Berry, I was not aware that we have any private affairs.”

  Jeremy stepped closer to the other man. “Look here, Berry—”

  “I didn’t think you were vicious. Have I not offered you a position in my court? Looked on you with favor and made you the envy of half the girls in London? Surely you could not have expected that I would make you my queen. You’re a widow, Lady Ashton.”

  “What on earth can you mean by all this?” I asked.

  “Why are you trying to destroy me?”

  “Destroy you?” My mind was racing.

  “Have you any idea the difficulties I face? I suppose you’re filled with jealousy for Isabelle and want her denied the things you could never have. Foolish woman! As if being mistress to a king isn’t good enough for you.”

  “I’ll not have you talk to her like that,” Jeremy said.

  “Mr. Berry,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Let me assure you that I have never entertained the idea of becoming your mistress.”

  “I know you’ve been to Richmond, and I know what you’re doing. You are trying to keep me from my throne.”

  “I’m sorry to be unpleasant, but do try to remember, Mr. Berry, that there is no throne in France,” I said.

  “Stay out of my business, Lady Ashton, or you will live to regret it.”

  “That’s quite enough,” I said. “Your Grace, would you please escort Mr. Berry out?”

  “What’s going on here, Emily?” Jeremy asked when he returned. He poured two glasses of port and pressed one into my shaking hand.

  “Charles Berry can’t believe there is a woman in London not desperate for his attention.” I forced a smile, not wanting to tell Jeremy about my involvement in the Francis investigation.

  “And my darling Emily won’t be satisfied as the next Madame de Pompadour. Devastating for Berry, of course, but hardly a threat to his position in general.”

  “I’d no idea I was so powerful politically. Perhaps I should turn my attention to Lord Fortescue next.”

  “I’d love to see you spar with him,” Jeremy said, sipping his port. I hardly heard him speak, my thoughts remaining focused on more serious subjects. Was it Berry who had followed me from Richmond? My guest soon realized that I was hopelessly distracted and took his leave from me. Almost as soon as he was gone, Davis entered the library with an envelope.

  “The duke noticed this on the doorstep when he left, madam,” he said. I recognized the handwriting at once.

  I did not reply but leapt from my seat, thrust my half-empty glass at the butler, and ran out the front door, calling for Jeremy, thinking he might still be in the vicinity. There was no reply. I would have to wait to ask him if he had seen anything else suspicious. I went back to the house, where I turned my attention to the note:

  It took me only a few moments with my lexicon to translate the passage: And what is Reason to Love? Light up, quick!—And where is thy old study of philosophy?—Away with the long toil of wisdom; this one thing only I know, that Love took captive even the mind of Zeus.

  “Davis, did you see the note before the duke picked it up?”

  “No, madam, I did not. I can assure you that it was not there when Mr. Berry departed. He dropped several cigarettes when His Grace removed him from the house. Molly swept the stairs immediately.” I had hired Molly away from the Savoy the day after I learned about Charles Berry’s treatment of her.

  “Would you please go into the square and see if the undercover policeman Mr. Hargreaves has stationed there saw anyone?” I asked. Davis did so, but the man had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Whoever had left this missive was skilled in the art of remaining hidden.

  If I hadn’t witnessed firsthand Jeremy’s lack of interest in the ancient language, I might have suspected him of having left the message. As it was, I dismissed the thought almost at once. My admirer and the cat burglar were the same person, and there was no possibility that Jeremy was the thief. He’d never have the focus for such an endeavor. I would not be surprised to learn that he frequently found himself in the bedrooms of some of the best houses in London, but I doubted that he was ever reduced to using the window as his method of entrance.

  The walk from Berkeley Square to Park Lane was a short one, past tree-lined rows of stately houses. It was a fine day, the heat having relented at last, and the improved weather had driven society outdoors. I passed no fewer than seven acquaintances before reaching the perfectly manicured park at Grosvenor Square, and until that moment, I had given no thought to the notion that my mission might be considered inappropriate. Being in close proximity to my parents’ house, which stood on the north end of the square, made me more self-conscious, and I wondered if calling unescorted on a gentleman would further damage my already tender reputation. I steeled my resolve and continued on, feeling only the slightest tinge of apprehension when I reached my destination and knocked on the heavy door. The dignified butler who opened it confirmed that Mr. Hargreaves was at home and ushered me quickly into the magnificent house, doing nothing to disguise the fact that he was neither accustomed to nor approving of finding young ladies on his master’s doorstep. He led me to an elegant salon, where rather than sit, I circled the room, examining the pictures that hung on the walls. So engrossed was I by a scene of the Thames painted by Turner that I did not notice Colin had entered the room until he stood next to me.

  “Very daring of you, Lady Ashton,” he murmured, “to come here quite unprotected.”

  I laughed. “I know that you’re right, though I don’t see how it is any different from your calling on me.”

  “At your house you are surrounded by your own servants. Here you are at my mercy.”

  “Your butler clearly does not approve of me and is certain to look after your own honor, so I feel confident I’m in no danger.”

  He stood very close but was careful not to touch me. “Fear not, Lady Ashton, your reputation is perfectly safe.” He kissed both of my
hands, then stepped away.

  “You are taking this no-kissing business far too seriously,” I said.

  “It is quite serious.” His eyes sparkled. “What brings you to me this afternoon?” I told him, as succinctly as possible, about the letters Beatrice had found.

  “What do they say?” he asked.

  “They were written when the queen was in jail and seem to contain nothing of consequence, just a friendly correspondence with a man called Léonard. Cécile says he was Marie Antoinette’s hairdresser and a close confidant. She entrusted him with her personal jewels when it became clear the royal family was in danger. It was he who took them out of France and eventually brought them to her daughter after the revolution.”

  “Was the pink diamond one of those jewels?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s most likely why Francis had the letters. They, in a sense, go with the stone.”

  “I am certain they are somehow more significant.”

  “Has Cécile read them? It’s possible that a native speaker of the language might notice something you overlooked.”

  “I had not considered that. I’ll give them to her when I get home.”

  “Is there something else, Emily?” he asked, looking at me closely. “What haven’t you told me? Your brow creases right here”—he touched me lightly—“whenever you are not being candid with me.”

  “There’s no need to accuse me of deception. I hadn’t finished with my story.”

  “I see.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do continue.”

  “I have been involved in a number of strange incidents.”

  “A number?”

  “Three.” I described the coach that followed me from Richmond, the note from my anonymous admirer, and last, Mr. Berry’s visit to my house.

  “Did he try to harm you?”

  “No. Jeremy was with me.”

  “I see.” He stood very still.

  “Colin, you know that—”

  “Was Cécile with you?”

  “She was at a ball.”

  “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, thank heavens you at least had Bainbridge.” His demeanor had not changed, but I could sense an increasing tension in him.