Death Comes to London (13 page)

“Our quarrel was with Napoleon, not the French people,” Broughton said quietly. “Professor Orfila is a brilliant man regardless of his nationality and choice of residence.”

“What exactly did he write?” Robert asked.

“
Traité des Poisons.
It’s the first scientific treatise about how to identify the most commonly used poisons that leave traces inside a body.”

Robert managed to repress a shudder. “And how does one go about detecting such evidence?”

“If one wishes to be polite, I would say one ‘delves deeper’ into one’s subject.” Broughton shrugged. “Science isn’t always pretty, Kurland, but sometimes the end justifies the means.”

“And you both believe that Orfila’s book will help provide you with an answer as to what killed the dowager countess?”

“It might do, sir. It depends on what killed her,” Dr. Redmond said. “But as we’ve already noted, there are many ways to make poison.”

“Would privet do it?”

“As I said, Major, I can’t yet be sure of the cause. Professor Orfila’s book offers various methods to establish the identity of a specific poison.”

“What about lily of the valley?”

Broughton cleared his throat. “There’s no point in questioning the man, Kurland. He’ll report back to us when he has concluded a proper and scientific analysis of the available evidence and not before. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“And in the meantime, unless there is anything else you wish to tell me, I’ll keep looking for young Oliver.” Robert nodded and rose to his feet. “He has to turn up eventually.”

“Unless he is guilty.”

Robert glanced briefly at Dr. Redmond, who was looking troubled, but it seemed that Broughton didn’t mind speaking in front of his physician.

“There could be any number of things preventing him from coming home, Broughton. It is a thoughtless age. I rarely bothered to speak to my parents unless I needed more money.”

“That sounds just like Oliver.”

Robert patted Broughton’s shoulder. “Don’t despair quite yet. We’ll find him.”

“Thank you.” Broughton let out his breath. “I am beginning to fear the worst.”

Robert was, too, but he didn’t think that Broughton in his current weakened state needed to hear his thoughts on the matter yet. He’d agreed to meet Silas Smith at nine in one of the taverns on Fleet Street Oliver had liked to frequent. He glanced at the clock on the landing chiming the half hour. If he could avoid the countess, he’d go and speak to Miss Harrington before he left on his mission to recover Oliver.

Lucy was sitting in the drawing room with Mrs. Hathaway when the butler announced a visitor. She had decided not to go out with Sophia and the Clavelly party to yet another ball. A rather enthusiastic dance partner the evening before had bruised her foot, and she’d decided to stay home and rest it rather than potentially making it worse.

“Major Kurland, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hathaway went to rise, but the major held up his hand. “Don’t get up, ma’am. I do hope I’m not disturbing you? I wanted to have a word with Miss Harrington about a Kurland St. Mary matter.”

“You’re always welcome here, Major.” Mrs. Hathaway gestured at the tea tray. “Would you like some tea, or perhaps something else to drink?”

“A brandy would be most acceptable, Mrs. Hathaway. Thank you.”

While his hostess spoke to the still-hovering butler, the major came over to Lucy.

“Why aren’t you out dancing?”

She indicated her slippered foot, which reposed on a footstool. “I injured my foot last night at a ball we attended after our visit to the Broughtons.”

He cast a critical gaze on her elevated limb as he took the seat beside her on the couch. “It looks perfectly fine to me. Is your ankle swollen?”

She hastily smoothed down her skirt. “That is none of your business.”

“I assume it isn’t broken. Otherwise Mrs. Hathaway would’ve called a doctor to attend to you.” He smiled. “You must recall that I am something of an expert on the malfunctioning of a limb, Miss Harrington.”

“Not my limbs. And I am fairly sure that your toes have never been crushed on the dance floor by an overweight man.”

He glanced down at his gleaming top boots. “Not while I’m in uniform, although I have had a few memorable encounters on the dance floor with some remarkably clumsy women.”

“Do you miss that?” she asked impulsively.

His smile faded. “Dancing? Yes, rather more than I thought I would, actually. I miss a lot of things.” He turned to the butler, who set a bottle of brandy and a glass at his elbow. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Hathaway settled herself on the other side of the fireplace and had her nose in a book and a cup of tea at her elbow. She waved a lace-mittened hand at Lucy.

“Don’t mind me. I’m far too engrossed in this story to make intelligent conversation. You’ll have to make do with each other.”

Lucy hoped Major Kurland didn’t notice the wink Mrs. Hathaway gave her. She didn’t understand why all her female relatives were constantly imagining there was anything between her and the major other than a great deal of irritation. Couldn’t they tell the difference between a man in love and one who sought out an intelligent opinion? She’d never met a man who seemed able to do both. She was beginning to believe such a man didn’t exist.

“Miss Harrington, Dr. Redmond believes the dowager
and
Broughton were poisoned at Almack’s.”

“Does he know how?”

“He suspects the poison was in the orgeat. He said it was strongly flavored enough to conceal anything added to it.”

“Which makes a horrible sense.” Lucy sipped at her tea. “Did he reveal what kind of poison he thought it was?”

“He refused to be more specific than that. He insisted he needed to consult some new scientific book about detecting poisons before he could be absolutely sure what was going on.”

“That must be Orfila’s book.” Lucy nodded. “I’ve read some of it.”

“You have?”

“Naturally. My father ordered a copy as soon as it became available.”

“And what did you think of it?”

“That it was fascinating, although I’m still not sure why proving
how
something works in a chemical manner makes a difference to the effect it has on the body. The person is still dead after all.”

“But the ability to identify which poison was used could rule out more natural causes of death and convict a killer.”

“We’re all going to die of something, Major. I still don’t see how it changes anything.”

Major Kurland shifted in his seat. “To get back to my original point, Miss Harrington. If the dowager and Broughton were both poisoned by the orgeat, who put the poison in there?”

“I assume Lieutenant Broughton still thinks it was Oliver?”

Robert refilled his brandy glass. “Well, Oliver did have access to his grandmother’s stillroom. He could’ve taken the privet berries, or the lily of the valley water, or whatever else the dowager was making, and used it to poison his own family.”

“I suppose he could’ve done.”

“Why do you sound so doubtful?”

Lucy put down her cup and considered. “Any of the Broughton family
or
their servants could’ve gone into that stillroom and taken something.”

“The door was locked.”

“But the key was hidden in a very obvious place.”

“That’s true, but Oliver had a grudge against the whole family and was known to have a vicious streak. Poisoning sounds just the sort of dramatic thing he would do,” Major Kurland countered

“Yet, it is still considered a woman’s weapon. Think of Catherine de Medici or Lucrezia Borgia, or—”

“Yes, yes, but in this instance we’re dealing with an overemotional boy, not an exaggerated view of a historical figure.”

“Mrs. Peters in the village poisoned her husband.”

Major Kurland began to tap his fingers on the head of his cane. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“She was a tiny woman and her husband beat her. She didn’t even deny poisoning him. She said that it was the only way she could stop him from hurting her and their children.”

“So you’ve managed to convince yourself that the murderer is a woman?”

“If the dowager was the intended victim, everyone at odds with her apart from Oliver was female.” She counted them off on her fingers. “There’s Miss Chingford, Anna, although she is certainly not guilty, the current Countess of Broughton, and Lady Bentley, who all had good reason to dislike the dowager.”

“Dislike her, yes, but
kill
her? And what about Broughton? Are you quite sure that
he
wasn’t the one who was supposed to drop dead? Oliver hates him
and
his grandmother.”

“So if it
is
Oliver, you could be right. I’m not convinced.”

He scowled down at her, but she refused to be cowed.

“It’s not a competition, Miss Harrington. I’m merely speculating as to the motives and identity of a murderer.”

“So am I.” She held his irritated blue gaze. “You must also recollect that a stillroom is very much a female’s domain. If Oliver was indeed in his grandmother’s stillroom looking for ways to dispose of his brother, someone might have noticed. Have you spoken to the servants yet?”

“No, I’d rather find Oliver first before I start spreading suspicion and doubt among the Broughton staff.”

“Very wise, Major.” Lucy nodded. She could sense that he was becoming irritated with her circuitous reasoning. “There is, of course, one other option that we should perhaps consider.”

“What’s that?”

“The dowager had specifically marked those poisons in her herbal, hadn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Then one might assume that she was either planning to make them or often made them.”

“Agreed.”

“Then might one also speculate that she was conversant in their usage?”

“We already agreed that she might have used at least one of them as a home remedy to regulate her weak heart.”

“That’s true, but is it also possible that she accidentally poisoned herself?”

Major Kurland shook his head. “Sometimes your meandering path of reasoning astounds me, Miss Harrington. How on earth did you come up with that melodramatic claptrap? This isn’t a gothic novel.”

Lucy raised her chin. “The dowager’s eyesight was bad, her temper and disposition were abominable, and she enjoyed tormenting people. Perhaps she was the one who decided she’d had enough of Broughton, the countess, or Oliver?”

“Which would mean Broughton is lucky to be alive.”

“I gave
her
the glass of orgeat, Major, when she was confused and she was extremely reluctant to take it from me. Perhaps she meant to pick up her own, and the ones with the poison in them were meant for Broughton and Oliver.”

“That would require a degree of planning and forethought that I doubt the dowager could have accomplished in such a public setting.”

“Well, someone did. Why not she? She did seem to be seriously unwell and became confused. Perhaps she even added the poison to her own glass and meant to hand it to Oliver, and drank the wrong one?”

“This is all fascinating, Miss Harrington, but also extremely far-fetched, and with all due respect simply the typical product of an overactive female imagination.”

Lucy sat back and folded her arms. “Says the man who feared he was imagining a shadow against the church wall and begged me to investigate.”

The look he gave her was scorching. “That’s not the same thing at all, and you know it.”

“But I at least gave you the benefit of the doubt, and didn’t assume you had an overactive imagination, did I?”

“Of course not. You knew that as a military man I wouldn’t . . .” He stopped speaking and sighed. “All right, then. I’ll take your lurid imaginings and bear them in mind as I search for Oliver.”

“Thank you, Major Kurland. All I ask is that you keep an open mind. Has a memorial service been arranged for the dowager yet?”

“I don’t think so, why?”

“Has the body even been released to the family?”

“The last I heard, Dr. Redmond was examining it. I suppose it depends on whether he makes his suspicions public and asks the coroner to investigate.”

“What do you think Lieutenant Broughton will do if his brother is indeed the culprit?”

“Possibly nothing. I suspect he’d be reluctant to drag his family’s name into such a sordid matter.”

“Then you really need to find Oliver soon.”

“I’m doing my best, Miss Harrington. London is rather a large city.” He put his brandy glass down. “In fact, I’m off after the young fool this evening.” He consulted his pocket watch and slowly rose to his feet, one hand gripping his cane. “It’s always a pleasure to speak to you, Miss Harrington. I appreciate your insight.”

“And I always appreciate your company, Major.”

“Liar.” His sudden smile was unexpectedly charming. “We fight like cat and dog.” He bowed. “Good evening. I’ll let you know if I discover anything new.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

She watched him make his halting way over to Mrs. Hathaway and make his adieus and then returned her attention to her hands that were folded in her lap.

“Lucy?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hathaway?”

“Come and sit by me, dear.”

Lucy concealed a sigh and went to sit by her chaperone. “I know it isn’t proper to have such a long conversation with one gentleman, especially at this time of night, but Major Kurland is an old family friend and I feel obliged to offer him my advice when he seeks me out.”

“As I was sitting here chaperoning you the whole time Major Kurland was present I’m hardly going to be lecturing you about that, now am I?” Mrs. Hathaway patted Lucy’s hand. “What I was going to say was that some men, actually most men, don’t like to think that women are intelligent. It frightens them.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Lucy said gloomily.

“Which is why a lady on the lookout for a husband must
conceal
her intelligence until she has safely hooked her man and married him.”

“That seems remarkably deceitful.”

“Oh no, dear. It’s simply good advice. Every man needs to be flattered a little and told that he is right even when he isn’t.”