A Poisoned Season (10 page)

“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.”

“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

J
EREMY AND
M
ARGARET DINED WITH
C
ÉCILE 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 and 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.”