A Poisoned Season (8 page)

“I think we ought to go to Richmond at once,” I said, rising from the table. Inspector Manning pushed his plate away and stood up quickly, almost knocking over his coffee. “There’s no need to stop eating, Inspector,” I said. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

“I couldn’t, madam,” he said, but I would have none of it. I rang for the maid and instructed her to see to it that he had whatever he wanted, and then I left him there, embarrassed but obviously pleased with his breakfast.

T
he drive to Richmond was a short one. Mrs. Francis herself opened the door for us, was delighted to meet Cécile, and wel
comed us into her house, which, though modest, had been beautifully furnished by someone with excellent taste. We followed her into a small sitting room that was bathed in darkness and extremely hot, the curtains closed as demanded by the customs of mourning. Before I could launch into the story of my extraordinary night, Mrs. Francis announced her own surprising news.

“The police have just left—they’ve arrested my maid. She’s poor Stilleman’s widow. They’d been married less than a year.”

“Stilleman?” I asked.

“David’s valet.”

“What evidence do they have against her?” I sat down and pulled off my gloves.

“Apparently she was having an affair with the gardener and David caught them.”

“So why isn’t the gardener arrested?” Cécile asked. “His motive would be as strong as hers.”

“Thomkins was away visiting his sister when David died, so they don’t consider him a suspect.”

“Have they determined the cause of death?” I asked.

“Nicotine poisoning, but they don’t yet know how it was administered.”

“Is there no possibility that Thomkins planted it before leaving to visit his sister?”

“That I do not know. But I am convinced that Jane is being wrongly accused. I know this girl well—she would never have killed my husband, let alone hers. You must help me, Lady Ashton.”

I frowned. “I don’t know what I could do.”

“Find the truth, as you did when your husband was killed. Please. I’ve no one else to turn to.”

“I’m sure that the police—”

“As far as they are concerned, the case is closed as of this morning.”

“We would never leave an innocent woman to sit in jail,” Cécile said, giving me a pointed look. “Waiting to hang.
C’est horrible
. The guillotine is far less barbaric.”

“Having one’s head severed is
less
barbaric?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It is quicker,
chérie
. Much quicker.”

“This is all too awful. Please, Lady Ashton. I cannot bear to see her wrongly accused, or to think that the person who killed David will not be punished.”

How could I deny her? “I shall try, Mrs. Francis.”

“That is all I can ask. Where will you begin?”

“Before we go any further, I need to give you this.” I handed her the box that contained the pink diamond.

“Is this David’s?” I nodded. “But how—”

“Last night someone broke into my house and left it with a note asking that I return it to you.”

“It is stunning, though I don’t understand why it was returned to you.” She fingered it carefully, then walked over to a window and opened the curtains to examine the stone in the light. Her pleasure was so evident that I could not help but wonder why her husband had not given it to her himself. Her smile disappeared as suddenly as it had come, and she started to cry. “I’m so glad you’re both here. David didn’t like to entertain and guarded his privacy fiercely. Now that he’s gone, I find myself quite without friends.”

Cécile took her by the arm and marched her back to a chair. “You have us. What is your Christian name, Madame Francis? I cannot abide formality.”

“Beatrice,” she said, drying her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. du Lac.” Cécile shook her head. “Cécile. Thank you. I never pictured myself without him, you know. Foolish, isn’t it? Never to have considered what I was doing when I buried myself here? All I cared about was being with him, with no regret for all that I left behind.”

“We will find out who killed him,” I said, hoping my voice did not betray the lack of confidence I felt. “I’ll need you to tell me everything the police have shared with you.” This, unfortunately, turned out to be very little. From what I could gather, they had interviewed everyone in the household, and as soon as they discovered Jane’s affair, their attention focused solely on her. Unable to provide an alibi, she had no defense against their charges.

There seemed little point in searching the house for clues; the police would have taken anything of note. Nonetheless, I wanted to look at Mr. Francis’s study. I knew not how to best conduct a murder investigation, but it seemed sensible to assume that a careful look at the victim’s personal possessions might reveal something about the crime. Beatrice led us through the dark house into a pleasant room with a series of French doors that opened into a garden. It would have been a lovely place in which to work. Neatly stacked books rested on the desk next to a mahogany box that held thick writing paper, wax, and a heavy seal.

I looked through the desk, scrutinized the bookshelves, even pulled down volume after volume to see if anything was hidden behind them, but found nothing of note. I paced the room, trying my best to look authoritative. At last, my eyes came to rest on a pile of unopened mail laid haphazardly on a table behind the desk.

“Is this recently delivered?” I asked, holding it up for Mrs. Francis to see.

“Yes. It’s what has arrived since David’s death. I haven’t had the heart to open it. You may if you think it would be of some use.”

Most of it was of little consequence—a bill from his tailor, a receipt for some books, several personal letters. But before I reached the bottom of the pile, my curiosity was rewarded as I opened a letter written on stationery from the Marlborough Club. I scanned it quickly, taken aback by its contents.

Dear Mr. Francis,

Many thanks for your kind letter. Unfortunately, my schedule at present does not allow for a visit to Richmond, so I’m afraid we will not be able to meet. I thank you for alerting me to the situation you mentioned, and assure you that I have the matter well in hand.

Yrs., etc.
C. Berry

7

I
STOOD IMPATIENTLY ON THE STEPS OF THE
M
ARLBOROUGH
C
LUB,
twirling my parasol, wondering what could be delaying Mr. Berry. After leaving Richmond, where Cécile had stayed for tea with Beatrice, I had headed directly for the Savoy Hotel, carrying the letter with me. He was not in his room, but the man behind the desk said that, if the matter was of some importance, the gentleman could most likely be found at his club. I got the distinct impression that the staff at the Savoy were quite accustomed to unaccompanied ladies calling for Mr. Berry.

“Lady Ashton, I am astonished you have come here,” he said, when at last he appeared before me.

“You’ve kept me waiting nearly half an hour.”

“Apologies, of course. I was lunching with the Prince of Wales.”

I was not impressed. “I’d like to speak with you.”

“So I see,” he said. “Shall we go to the Savoy? My rooms are quite comfortable.”

“Really, Mr. Berry, I’m in no mood to be trifled with. Let’s go to the park.” The dress I was wearing was one of Mr. Worth’s creations,
expertly cut from a lovely floral fabric. The neck was high, the sleeves slightly puffed, and lace wrapped tightly around the lower section of the bodice, making my waist look impossibly small with only a moderately laced corset. It flattered my figure and was elegant in a subtle, alluring way. I had selected it that morning in an attempt to improve my mood. It was not, however, a good choice when calling on a man like Mr. Berry, who was looking at me with a rather lecherous intensity.

“Where is your carriage, Lady Ashton?”

“I walked.”

“Walked! How industrious you are. At Versailles, you know—”

“No Versailles today, Mr. Berry.” I ignored the arm he offered, and we headed across the Mall into St. James’s Park. “I would like to talk to you about Mr. David Francis. I believe you have corresponded with him?”

“The name is vaguely familiar.”

“I imagine it would be,” I said, giving him the note. “Why did he want you to come to Richmond?”

“Impossible to say. I’ve never actually met him, you know. I believe he had asked if I would dine with him.”

“Strange to be invited to dine by a man you’ve never met, don’t you think?”

“I find that my position generates many such invitations. People are likely to overlook formality in an attempt to meet me.”

“You do know that he is dead, don’t you?”

“Francis? How dreadful. I recall reading something about it in the papers.”

“He was murdered, Mr. Berry.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, but I don’t see how it’s any concern of mine.” We came to a bench that stood between two groves of trees and provided a fine view of the canal. Mr. Berry sat down, not bothering to first offer me a seat.

“What was the situation about which you thanked him for alerting you?”

“The best I can remember is that Mr. Francis wanted me to buy something from him. He had a number of objects that belonged to my twice
arrière-grand-mère.
Said I shouldn’t allow my family heirlooms to slip away and would offer me a good price for anything I wanted. He invited me to dine with him and look over his collection.”

“Do you still have the letter he sent you?”

“Heavens, no. If I kept all the inconsequential notes I receive, I’d be overwhelmed with paper.”

“Do you own anything that belonged to Marie Antoinette?”

“No.” He scowled. “But I expect that to change soon enough.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to him on the bench. “Why have you really come to me, Lady Ashton? Were you distressed by the news of my engagement?”

I am certain that I bristled visibly at this comment and immediately removed my hand from his. “Not in the least.”

“It’s all right. Isabelle’s most understanding.”

I was not about to let this nonsense go any further. “Mr. Berry, I am here only because I hoped that you might be able to tell me something of use regarding Mr. Francis. As it appears that you cannot, I must beg your leave.” I started to stand, but he yanked me back down and leaned close to me.

“Please don’t think you’ve embarrassed yourself by coming to me like this. I find it surprisingly alluring. I’ve heard all about your illicit assignations and probably should have suspected that you would approach me so directly. My official position is going to change very soon, and when it does”—he began to massage my hand—“I expect I shall see much more of you.”

I pulled my hand away. “You cannot think that I would—”

“I will, of course, need you to be more discreet once I am king, but until then, you may amuse yourself as you see fit. Do you plan to
marry Bainbridge, or are the two of you just playing? I imagine he’d be as understanding a spouse as Isabelle.”

“You have no right to ask me such a question,” I said, furious, and stormed out of the park without uttering another word.

W
hen I arrived at Berkeley Square, Cécile had not yet returned from Richmond. Eager though I was to tell her what had transpired since I left her, I was happy for the opportunity to take a bath, a very long, very soapy bath, and wash any trace of Mr. Berry from my person. After I had dried off and put on a lace-covered dressing gown, I sat in my bedroom and was just starting to comb through my wet hair when my friend knocked on the door.

“It is intolerable that Isabelle should be forced to accept such a husband,” she said after I had recounted my conversation with Mr. Berry. “We should have encouraged Pembroke to elope.”

“You’re right,” I said, feeling acutely guilty that I had not done more for the girl. “She’s the only person I know who spent most of her youth actively dreaming about romantic fairy tales. For such a girl to wind up with Mr. Berry is not to be borne.”

“I’m afraid there is little that can be done about her engagement now.”

“He’s such an awful man!” I said. “What do you think he was referring to when he mentioned my
illicit assignations
?”

Cécile waved her hand dismissively. “The most foolish sort of gossip, Kallista. I heard it reported at a party several nights ago. The story is that the Duke of Bainbridge was seen leaving your house at five o’clock in the morning.”

“Jeremy? Why on earth would he be here so late?”

“It became clear that the time in question was the second night the intruder broke into your room. Someone must have seen Monsieur Hargreaves and thought he was the duke.”

“But they look nothing alike.”

“
C’est vrai
. I cannot imagine anyone would mistake one for the other.”

“Colin’s being here wasn’t inappropriate in the least,” I said. “The police came the next morning, and the story was in all the papers.”

“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?”