Rosemary Stevens (5 page)

Immediately, an increase in the volume of voices resulted.

“Fairingdale, cannot you see we shall have a panic on our hands with this crowd at any moment? Do not make matters worse,” I said.

More constables appeared on the scene.

But there was no stopping Fairingdale.

Raising his voice, he cried, “You won’t have to serve as second in that duel now, will you, Brummell?”

“Nor will you.”

“At least I was Mr. Jacombe’s friend,” the fop cried, making sure his voice carried. People around us had stopped their own conversations to listen. “I wonder who could have done this to such a good man?”

Nodding heads and murmurs of agreement went through those nearby.

“It’s outrageous!” a voice called.

“Jacombe was one of England’s finest men,” another declared.

“Who killed him?” someone asked.

“Whoever murdered him will be hanged!” declared a stout man.

Fairingdale needed no more to fuel his speech. “In our supper box just a short time ago, a boy came and delivered a note to Mr. Jacombe. Mr. Jacombe left our table after reading the note and never returned. Undoubtedly it was a note from the killer. Why, the boy in question might have been that one right there!” he ended, extending his arm and pointing a finger at Lionel.

“‘Tweren’t me!” Lionel exclaimed.

“You’d hardly admit to it,” Fairingdale retorted.

“‘Tweren’t me!” Lionel shouted at him again. He took up a fighting stance in front of Fairingdale.

“You are talking nonsense, Fairingdale,” I said. “You have consumed so much wine you would not know one boy from another. Cease your accusations.”

“I am only pointing out the obvious,” Fairingdale said stubbornly.

“There is nothing obvious here other than that a man is dead,” I countered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noted Mr. Read listening to our conversation. Devil take Fairingdale.

“Go find the girls, Lionel,” Miss Lavender intervened. “No one believes you to have delivered any note.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Lionel cried. Shooting Fairingdale a belligerent look, the boy hurried away.

Fairingdale turned a curious eye toward me. “Whoever killed Jacombe had time enough to come around to the front of the Cascade. Perhaps you’ve already served as that soldier’s friend, Brummell.”

I took three steps and stood directly in front of him. “Unless you want me to introduce your nose to my right fist, you had best cease prattling dangerous nonsense. I have been standing right here—”

“Nay. You disappeared from the company for a good quarter of an hour, right before Jacombe’s body came over that waterfall. You had plenty of time to kill him, and so I shall tell Bow Street.”

Anger and frustration welled up in me. “You are the most unprincipled man I have ever had the misfortune to know. You will stop at nothing in order to discredit me, will you, Fairingdale?”

The fop looked down his nose at me. “I shall lead Society one day.”

“No, you will not. Even if I died tomorrow, you could never take my place. You have no character, no sense of style, no honour.”

“We’ll see about that.” Fairingdale’s face turned into a glowering mask of rage. He stepped over to Mr. Read and began speaking with the Bow Street magistrate.

Even though I knew Fairingdale’s word would not be taken seriously, it rankled that Mr. Lavender would have to hear my name spoken in such a way.

At my side, Miss Lavender spoke. “What is that awful man trying to do, Mr. Brummell? Is he saying you killed Jacombe? What is happening? I confess my head is spinning.”

I put a protective arm about her shoulders. “Do not be anxious, Miss Lavender. Fairingdale shall not get the better of me.”

“You couldn’t have killed him. You didn’t know what he—”

Whatever Miss Lavender was going to say would have to wait. For at that moment, her father appeared from behind the Cascade. An army of constables was with him.

Mr. Lavender, a grim expression on his face, held Lieutenant Nevill by the arm. A sobbing Molly trailed behind them.

The young soldier tried to give the appearance of confidence, but there was fear in the back of his pale blue eyes.

“‘Tis Nevill!” Fairingdale bellowed. “The soldier who was supposed to fight a duel with Mr. Jacombe in the morning. He decided the outcome of the duel tonight, it seems. He murdered Mr. Jacombe!”

A roar went up in the crowd. Behind me I could feel people pressing forward. I tightened my protective grip around Miss Lavender’s shoulders. The ring of constables around the lieutenant made sure no one got close. As they passed shouts rang out.

“Coward!”

“Murderer!”

“Hang him!”

Good God, what had happened? The lieutenant could not have killed Mr. Jacombe. I refused to even consider it. The duel was set. He would never commit a cold-blooded murder in order to avoid it.

Additional constables joined the ring around Mr. Lavender and his prisoner, more to protect them from the angry crowd then to keep the young soldier from bolting.

After a few words with Mr. Lavender, one of the constables broke off to speak to Mr. Read. That man nodded his agreement to the words spoken, and the constable rushed back to Mr. Lavender.

All this happened in the space of a minute. Then the lieutenant was led away. Molly screamed his name between sobs.

I raised my voice, “Molly!”

The girl saw me standing with Miss Lavender and hurried to our side. I had to pull my arm from around Miss Lavender when Molly threw herself into Miss Lavender’s arms, sobbing her heart out.

The crowd began to disperse, some following Mr. Lavender and his prisoner, some remaining in order to get a glimpse of the body. One of Mr. Read’s men found a cloth and laid it over Mr. Jacombe.

I judged it best to lead the ladies toward the exit where Lionel should be waiting with the other girls from the shelter. I desperately wanted to question Molly, but the girl was obviously hysterical. I would have to give her a little time.

“Let us move away from this gruesome scene,” I said, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket and handing it to Molly.

She wiped her face and clung to Miss Lavender’s arm. I placed a hand at Miss Lavender’s other elbow and carefully guided our steps out of the Cascade area.

When we passed by the now empty supper boxes, a glimpse of a paisley design caught my eye. There was Miss Lavender’s shawl. I recalled a couple had been seated in that particular box before, so I could not have seen it.

I released her arm for a moment and picked up the shawl. “Here, a little worse for its ordeal, but I think you can clean it.”

“Thank you.” Miss Lavender accepted the shawl gratefully. Despite its soiled condition, she put it about her shoulders, hugging it tight.

“Shall we sit here for a moment, ladies? Lionel is probably still gathering the other girls,” I said.

The idea was quickly agreed upon. I saw them seated in one of the boxes, then I noticed a footman closing up a refreshment booth.

Telling the ladies to remain where they were, I procured two glasses of ratifia for them and a glass of wine for myself and sat across the small round table from them. Once Molly had taken a few restorative sips, I began my questioning.

“Now, Molly, can you tell us what happened?”

The girl’s eyes welled with tears, a gulping sob escaping her lips. Her shiny dark hair was coming out of its pins, her pretty, wholesome looks marred by swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

She used the handkerchief I had given her, then spoke. “After that horrid scene with his grandfather, Nicky and I just wanted to be alone. We were going to get something to eat, but the supper boxes were crowded. So Nicky led me to the grassy area behind the Cascade exhibition where we could be completely private.”

“No one else was back there?” I asked.

She shook her dark curls. “No one really. The man who turns the crank that makes the waterfall turn was there. But it was very dark. We stayed in the shadows. Anyway, he was drunk and singing to himself. I think he was oblivious to everything going on about him. By the time your father came around the exhibition, Miss Lavender, the operator was unconscious.”

Miss Lavender nodded. She was being very quiet. The demeanour she had adopted from the time she first heard the lieutenant’s grandfather’s condemnation of her shelter was still in place.

I looked at Molly. “So the two of you were back a bit from the actual operation of the Cascade.”

“Yes. Nicky and I were talking . . . and, well, kissing you know. We are betrothed.”

“Of course.”

Molly took another sip of her drink. “I was trying to talk Nicky out of that duel. I was so afraid for him!”

“I applaud your efforts. In fact, I was trying to find him, so I could try to reason with him.”

“You’re a good friend, Mr. Brummell.”

“What happened next?”

Molly looked to one side as if seeing everything in her mind’s eye. “Nicky said he had to fight the duel. His honour was at stake, as well as mine. Then we were kissing again when we heard the shot. At first we didn’t know what it was, perhaps fireworks. It was just a loud noise nearby that startled us. We drew apart and saw a figure run past us in the shadows.”

“A figure?” I said, leaning forward in my chair. “A man or a woman?”

Molly shook her head. “As I told Miss Lavender’s father, it all happened so fast, and it was so dark back there, neither Nicky nor I could tell whether it was a man or a woman. There was just the blur of a person running. That’s all.”

I nodded, concealing my disappointment. “That is understandable. Go on.”

“Well, Nicky and I moved toward the Cascade. The operator was slumped over in his chair, but then . . . but then we saw—”

She broke off, tears choking her. Miss Lavender made soothing noises while placing an arm about the girl’s shoulders and hugging her.

When Molly had control of herself again, she said, “It was awful. We looked up and saw Mr. Jacombe—only we didn’t know it was him then—we saw that he was caught in the mechanism that makes the big waterfall move down the mountain. His body was being lifted and sent over the side. I screamed when I saw it.”

I remembered hearing that scream right after the thudding sound. “What did you do then?”

“I just stood there. Nicky put his arms around me, then he told me we had to get out of there, but he stepped on something. It was the gun, Mr. Brummell. The killer had left the gun behind. I remember thinking how small it was for something so deadly.”

“Indeed.”

“Nicky picked the gun up from the grass. He said it was warm. We figured out that someone had shot the man. I was so scared, but Nicky said we would turn the gun over to Bow Street and tell them what happened. But then there was all the screaming from out front.”

“Mr. Jacombe’s body had come over the waterfall,” I told her.

Miss Lavender trembled.

Molly continued. “Then all I know is that there was a man, I don’t know who he was. He was finely dressed, so I expect he was of the Nobility. He saw us standing there. Then Mr. Lavender came and saw Nicky holding the gun.”

I closed my eyes. How much more damning could the situation be for the lieutenant?

I opened my eyes and looked at Molly. “I assume you and Nevill told Mr. Lavender everything you just told me?”

“Yes. I am to report to Bow Street in the morning to tell everything I know again. I don’t know why.”

“That is normal procedure, Molly,” Miss Lavender said.

“What about the other man? The one you said was of the Nobility?” I asked.

Molly shook her head. “I don’t know who he was. Mr. Lavender spoke to him and took notes. Then Mr. Lavender said he was taking Nicky into custody on suspicion of murdering Mr. Theobald Jacombe.”

Molly burst into fresh tears. “That’s the first we even knew who the killed man was! I swear it!”

“We believe you, don’t we, Mr. Brummell?” Miss Lavender said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

Molly spoke through her tears. “It doesn’t matter though, because your father doesn’t believe us, Miss Lavender. I’m so afraid! They’ll hang Nicky!”

When I woke early—around ten—the next day, my first thought was of young Nevill. The problem with this murder investigation, I decided, was that there were no other obvious suspects. The lieutenant had been found literally with the gun in his hand, so Bow Street would not even be looking for anyone else.

I had not been well-acquainted with Theobald Jacombe. My task would have be to find out more about him. Specifically, who would want to kill a man with a spotless reputation.

First, though, I wanted to see if Bow Street was still holding the lieutenant. I hoped he had not been sent to prison, but it was a frail hope.

The door to my bedchamber opened. As all good menservants should, my valet, Robinson, had somehow perceived that my eyes were open. He entered holding a tray containing a pot of tea and some rolls. Later, after I had bathed and completed The Dressing Hour, I would have a proper breakfast.

“Good morning, sir,” Robinson intoned. He was dressed as meticulously as yours truly in one of my old dark blue coats cut down to fit him. His build is slightly smaller than my tall frame. His blond hair was carefully combed into the Brutus style and his lips were pursed. The cause of this sign of disapproval laid in the centre of my bed: Chakkri.

Chakkri is the only Siamese cat in England. He is leaner than most cats I have ever seen and extraordinarily graceful. His colouring is a fawn tone, except for his face, paws, ears, and tail. These are a rich velvet brown. His eyes are his most remarkable feature, though. They are an incredible shade of blue.

This unusual animal was given to me by a Siamese emissary who visited England almost two years ago. Mr. Kiang had left the cat with me, along with a cryptic note saying Chakkri reminded him of me. I still do not know what he meant by it. Perhaps if you are so inclined you can puzzle it out.

Chakkri had been engaged in his own morning ritual of bathing. His pink tongue efficiently washed his fawn-coloured body. He licked his right paw well, then used it to clean his whisker pad.