Shady Lady (16 page)

Waldo said, “Don’t mention to Mrs. Chesney that we are investigating all suspicious deaths of women at the time her friend disappeared. I don’t think she is ready yet to accept that Lady Webberley is probably dead.”

Harper nodded. “I understand.”

“I don’t suppose you fared much better,” Waldo said, addressing Ruggles.

“No,” replied Ruggles, “although I spent an interesting hour or two at Brinsley Hall, interviewing the servants. There are two gamekeepers who were out that night hunting down poachers. They didn’t see or hear anything unusual. In fact, there were no poachers. No one was about. Of course, they weren’t keeping their eyes on the house. They were combing the woods and the banks of the stream behind the home farm.”

“What about the chaise Lady Webberley ordered?”

“No luck there either.” Ruggles smiled wryly. “We might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack. Letters have gone out to all the hostelries and posthouses we know about within a three-mile radius of Brinsley Hall. Only a fraction have responded, and they’ve responded in the negative.”

He stopped speaking as a waiter arrived at their table with three steaming cups of coffee and a plate of Bath buns. Like a true war veteran who had survived near starvation on campaigns, Harper automatically reached for the biggest bun. Suddenly remembering his manners, and realizing that he no longer had to wonder where his next meal was coming from, he grinned hugely and put the bun back.

“After you,” he said politely, offering the plate of buns to his companions.

Waldo and Ruggles made their selections and generously left the biggest bun for Harper.

After a mouthful of coffee, Ruggles took up where he’d left off. “As far as any of the servants can remember, nothing unusual happened during the house party. No one knows anything of a letter that Lady Webberley may have written. In short, we’ve come up against a brick wall.”

Harper said, “So what do we do now?”

Both he and Ruggles looked at Waldo.

Waldo wiped his fingers on his table napkin before responding. “There is no way around it. We have to question the Brinsleys and all the people who were guests at the house party. I want to know what happened to the chaise that was to take her to Stratford. Where are her traveling boxes? Did she leave anything behind or give someone a note to post? And so on and so on.”

Ruggles gave a mirthless laugh. “Better you than me. It’s one thing to go up to the Brinsley estate when you know they’re not there and question their servants, and quite another to confront the earl in person.”

“Fine. You take the house guests and leave Brinsley to me.”

Harper was interested. “What’s so special about Brinsley?”

“His connections,” replied Ruggles at once. “He is a personal friend of the home secretary. Fortunately for us, Waldo has friends in high places too. Brinsley will answer Waldo’s questions where he won’t answer ours.”

Waldo said, “I doubt that police methods will work here. What is required in this situation is a light touch—you know, tact and diplomacy.”

“You mean,” said Ruggles, smiling in spite of himself, “the same methods we used when we were in the secret service?”

“Precisely.”

Harper knew exactly what they meant. On the last case he’d worked on, he hadn’t known they were anything more than they appeared to be—Ruggles, a manservant, and the captain, having retired from the service, an idler and a ladies’ man. He’d been astonished when he discovered that they hadn’t retired and that they were still working on a case. He’d learned a lot more since then, and he now considered them among the most dangerous men he knew.

He didn’t think much of Brinsley’s chances against Captain Bowman. Not that he would ever betray his admiration to his companions. He despised toadeaters. Besides, as an enlisted man, he considered it his duty to keep officers from getting too big for their breeches.

“Share the joke, Harper,” said Ruggles.

Harper’s absent smile became a grin. “I was just wondering,” he said, “if either of you gentlemen would like the last Bath bun?”

No one did, so Harper reached for it and bit down with relish.

C
hapter
16

T
hat same evening, Waldo arrived right on time to escort the ladies to the theater. He kept a closed carriage in town for just such occasions, and he’d had his coachmen spruce it up till it gleamed like new. He was determined that no lady of fashion would eclipse Jo. Not that she would have known that he’d taken so much trouble on her behalf, but his friends knew, and speculation was rife that Waldo’s days as a single man were numbered.

He knew there was trouble brewing the moment he saw her. Color was high on her cheeks and she looked everywhere but at him. Mrs. Daventry didn’t appear to notice Jo’s silence. It was she who innocently put him wise to what was going on. His charming mother and sisters had called that morning and they’d had a comfortable coze, getting to know each other. Lady Fredericka was so thoughtful, so kind.

Not by a look or a word did he betray that he could happily strangle his mother and think nothing of it. But her barging in uninvited wasn’t his doing. Jo’s wrath was misplaced.

He handed Mrs. Daventry up first. When it was Jo’s turn, he tried to break the ice by remarking that she looked very nice. That was no exaggeration. In fact, she looked quite stunning in her silver tissue gown with its low bodice and puff sleeves. His compliment was rewarded by a frosty “Thank you.” He tried again, this time by asking how Eric would amuse himself while they were away.

“Harper,” she said, “is teaching him how to play chess.” With that, she stepped into the carriage, sat down on the banquette, and immediately began an animated conversation with her aunt.

Face like granite, Waldo followed her in and shut the door with a snap.

It did not take long for Jo to come to her senses. A few eloquent looks from her aunt soon dampened her ire. As Mrs. Daventry had already pointed out, it was irrational to blame Waldo for the sins of his mother. Besides, what was the fuss about? Lady Fredericka and her charming daughters gave every indication that they’d enjoyed the visit.

Jo already knew all that, but what was so frustrating was that no one would accept that marriage was the furthest thing from her mind. Everyone seemed to think that she must be angling for Waldo because he was such a catch—Lady Fredericka, her daughters, and now Aunt Daventry.

She knew this wasn’t Waldo’s doing. She knew it was unfair. But she had to take her frustration out on someone, and he was right there.

By the time they arrived at the theater, however, she had given herself a mental dressing-down and was prepared to make amends by expressing her pleasure in everything—the well-sprung coach, the drive, the performance that evening, and the patrons she would meet. She would mind her tongue and behave with the utmost decorum.

When she alighted from the carriage, however, and looked into Waldo’s cold eyes, she felt as though she had lost something precious and it could not be retrieved by guile. Only honesty would do.

Her voice was husky when she spoke. “I’m sorry. I behaved like the veriest child. I know you didn’t send your mother and sisters to the house this morning to embarrass me. There’s no excuse for me. I can’t even explain why I get in such a taking.”

The coldness in his eyes melted a little. He studied her face a moment longer, then rewarded her with one of his dazzling smiles. “Don’t you? I do. Now, don’t get fired up again. We’re here to enjoy ourselves. Just for a little while, let’s cry truce and stop trying to strike sparks off each other. All right?”

He was deliberately trying to strike sparks off her again with his provocative remarks. In the interests of harmony, she decided not to rise to the bait. “Agreed,” she said.

Mrs. Daventry, who had been hovering while effecting to be deaf, suddenly exclaimed, “Well, thank heaven for that! Come along, children. Let’s take our seats before the play begins.”

She led the way to the crush of glittering fashionables who were entering the King’s Theater.

The play was by Sheridan,
The Rivals
, and though Jo had seen it many times, she still found herself laughing at Lydia Languish’s antics. But there was more involved in going to the theater than the play on stage. During the intermissions, people strolled in the corridors and stopped to chat with friends and acquaintances, much as they did when driving in Hyde Park.

It was hard not to be impressed by the glamorous surroundings and the equally glamorous patrons in their satins and gauzes. But it wasn’t all one-sided. She had made an impression as well. She recognized it in the gleam of appreciation that flashed briefly in Waldo’s eyes when he introduced her to his friends. The whole experience made her feel as though she’d been in hibernation and was just awakening to the sights and sounds of the world outside her burrow.

Now she was beginning to sound like Lydia Languish, and even knowing it did not dim her pleasure. It was a glorious, exciting occasion, made all the more agreeable because Waldo was there. It was easy to understand why her aunt had taken such a liking to him when he’d taken her in to supper.

During the last intermission, Mrs. Daventry met up with a friend from Greek Street, and she waved Jo and Waldo on so that she and Mrs. Nairn could have a good gossip. Jo suspected her aunt’s motives, but there was nothing she could do.

They were returning to their box when they came upon Viscount Morden, who was with a party of friends. At sight of them, his face closed up. Lady Margaret, however, who was by his side, greeted them warmly. The viscount had no option but to introduce them to his companions. Only two of them were of interest to Jo: Lord and Lady Brinsley.

Waldo already knew them, quite well by the sound of it, and as they chatted of this and that, Jo made a veiled perusal.

There was a marked resemblance between the earl and his son. Their features were blunt, but not unpleasant. Where the viscount’s hair was brown and receding at the temples, however, the earl was almost bald, except for a fringe of white at his ears. He was perhaps close to seventy, but not infirm. His back was straight and his presence commanding. Jo judged that very little got by his eagle eye.

Her gaze shifted to take in Lady Brinsley. She was of average height and her dark hair was liberally shot with silver. Although she must have been in her sixties, her sensitive face still held remnants of the beauty she must have been in her youth. Where her husband and son exuded health and confidence, however, she seemed frail.

Jo’s gaze shifted again, to the lady who had been introduced as her ladyship’s companion. Miss Dunn was not much younger than her mistress, stern-faced, and solid. She was standing very close to her ladyship, giving Jo the odd impression she was either her ladyship’s gaoler or her nursemaid.

Her attention was brought back to the conversation when she heard Waldo mention Chloë’s name.

“An odd business,” the earl said, addressing Jo. There was no interest in his eyes that Jo could detect. He seemed to be talking as a matter of form. “Victor mentioned that Lady Webberley was missing. I wish I could help, but neither I nor any member of my family has the least idea of what became of her after she left Brinsley Hall.”

Jo said, “It
is
an odd business. But someone must know something, whether they know they know something or not.” She looked at Lady Brinsley, but Lady Brinsley looked back at her with blank eyes.

Waldo said in his easy way, “This matter is too serious to discuss here. I should be obliged, Brinsley, if you would be at home tomorrow afternoon so that we can discuss this in private.” He looked at the viscount. “I’d like to talk to you too, Morden.”

The earl silenced his son by raising one hand. To Waldo, he said sharply, “I’ve already told you we know nothing. There would be no point in discussing this in private.”

Now Waldo sounded merely bored. “Fine. If you prefer to talk to a magistrate, that can be arranged.”

Brinsley looked as though he would like to strike Waldo. With considerable restraint, he evened his breathing. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’ll be at home tomorrow afternoon.”

As though oblivious of the undercurrents of hostility in this exchange, Lady Brinsley said, “Lady Webberley is one of my dearest friends. I hope, Mrs. Chesney, everything turns out for the best.”

Brinsley silenced his wife with a look. She averted her eyes and edged closer to her companion. Jo looked at the viscount, but there was nothing to read in his expression. Only his betrothed seemed distressed.

Like the well-bred people they were, they smiled, nodded, and went their separate ways.

When the Brinsleys were out of earshot, Jo said, “What an unpleasant man! And I don’t think much of his son either. Who do they think they are?”

“Aristocrats,” replied Waldo with a smile. “They believe they were born to rule, and they don’t suffer lesser mortals questioning their word.”

“Does that apply to Lady Brinsley also? I thought Brinsley was very callous, silencing her with a glare.”

“Yes,” Waldo said thoughtfully. “But I think she has found a way of escaping her unhappy lot.” To Jo’s questioning look, he replied, “Opium. You can see it in her eyes. Her pupils are pinpoints. It’s not as uncommon as you might think, and it’s easily available.”

“Laudanum,” she said. Every medicine chest had a bottle of laudanum. A drop or two in a glass of water could ease pain or help someone sleep. One had to be careful to use it only as prescribed by a doctor or one might become addicted.

She said, “But why would Lord Brinsley allow it, or doesn’t he know?”

“He must know. He’s not a fool. I suppose he allows it because it’s the only way Lady Brinsley can function.”

“Miss Dunn,” said Jo, thinking to herself.

“The companion? What about her?”

“I think she’s a nurse.”

They were almost at their box when Jo’s eye was caught by the lady she had noticed in Hyde Park, Mrs. Walters. She was clothed in violet again, but this gown was more elaborate, and more daring. It was a deep amethyst silk with a low bodice that bared more of the lady’s bosom than Jo thought was decent. Her dark hair was threaded with diamonds. By her side was a stout little gentleman who gazed at the world with an affable eye. When he caught sight of Waldo, he beamed.

Whether Waldo had seen the couple or not was debatable. He had opened the door of the box so that Jo could precede him inside, but, in spite of his hand on the small of her back urging her forward, a contrary spirit had taken hold and she dug in her heels.

“Waldo,” she said sweetly, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

He gave her a long, narrow look. “If you promise not to do anything that will land us both in Bow Street.”

She stared at him blankly, then, catching his drift, said in a tight little voice, “I think your conquests have mounted to your head. I’m not interested in creating a scene. In fact, I’m not interested, period.”

Laughter gleamed in his eyes. “Liar,” he said, and before she could come back at him, he turned aside to greet the couple who were bearing down on them.

Waldo made the introductions with practiced ease. Mrs. Caroline Walters and Mr. Bruno Walters, he intoned politely. It surprised Jo that a woman of such compelling beauty should be married to such a funny little man. She liked Mr. Walters at once. He joked, laughed, and smiled a lot. Mrs. Walters’s expression was very different. She dismissed Jo with a flick of her lashes and fixed those predatory eyes on Waldo as though he were her next meal. It took all of Jo’s considerable control to keep a smile on her face. It occurred to her, fleetingly, that if she were wearing Chloë’s red dress, Mrs. Walters would have to take her a little more seriously.

When they entered the box, Waldo said, “I’m entitled to my past, Jo. And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject of Mrs. Walters.”

She replied coolly, “Try telling that to her husband. He may not be as complacent as you.”

For a moment he seemed puzzled, then he chuckled. “Caro isn’t married. She’s a widow. Bruno is her brother-in-law.”

“Oh.” When she thought about it, that made sense.

“So you see, our short-lived affair hurt no one.”

But that did not make sense to Jo. If the affair was over, Caro Walters didn’t appear to know it. Or maybe it was bravado. No woman could relish the position of discarded mistress.

“Jo?”

Her eyes jerked up to meet his. “Don’t look to me for sympathy,” she snapped. “I’m sure you won’t be lonely for long. Men like you never are.”

Mrs. Daventry entered the box at that moment, was instantly aware of the chill in the atmosphere, and kept up a monologue of good-natured chitchat until the curtain went up.

Jo was still thinking of Waldo and Mrs. Walters when she got ready for bed. It seemed inconceivable to her that a woman who could attract males like a flame with moths should settle for an affair when she was free to marry. Unless, of course, she prized her freedom above everything. When a woman married, all her money and property came under her husband’s control. In that case, why not embrace the single life as she had done?

Idiot!
Not all women were as cold-blooded as she. Some craved passion as much as she craved making a success of her newspaper. Each to his own.

She thought of Waldo and sighed. Whether he knew it or not, he deserved better than a string of affairs with women like Caro Walters. He was more than a handsome seducer of women, more than a charming rake. He had many fine qualities that she truly admired.

She sat on the edge of the bed and gazed into space, cataloging all that she found to admire in Waldo’s character. Before she could prevent it, she had a flash of recall. She was in his arms and he was kissing her passionately. Her lips burned; her breasts felt heavy; her nipples were so sensitive that she had to palm them to ease the ache. Heat was spreading through her, making her tremble. A tiny moan escaped her lips.

On a cry of alarm, she shot off the bed, hurried to the washstand, and doused her face and body with cold water.