Death Comes to London (25 page)

“I understand that.” Robert looked around at the other three faces. “Then how
can
we prove it?”

Miss Harrington rose and went to the desk, returning with a piece of paper and her pen and ink. “Perhaps we should start by making a list.”

Chapter 16

A
s Robert stepped over the threshold and shook the rain from his cloak onto the marble-floored hall, the Broughton House butler appeared and bowed.

“May I take your hat, Major?”

“No, thank you. I’ll take it up with me.” He glanced down at his bedraggled headgear. “It got rather wet in the rain. Foley has a special way of reviving the feathers. Is he in my room?”

“I believe he is finishing up your packing, sir.” The butler cleared his throat. “We shall be sorry to lose you and Mr. Foley.”

“Thank you, but I don’t wish to further inconvenience Lady Broughton at this difficult time.” Robert paused on the bottom step. “Is Lieutenant Broughton home?”

“Not yet, sir, although I believe he is expected shortly. Her ladyship is still in her bedchamber and not to be disturbed.”

“I’ll write her a note before I leave. If the lieutenant does come in, will you let me know?”

“Certainly, Major.”

Robert continued up the stairs, his hat tucked in the crook of his arm. Foley was in his bedchamber, busy counting the bags stacked by the door.

“There you are, sir. Do you wish me to go ahead to Fenton’s and start unpacking?”

“Yes, why don’t you do that, Foley.” Robert hesitated by the door. “There is one more thing you could do for me before you leave.”

Foley clucked his tongue as he came forward to relieve Robert of his hat. “I’ll certainly do my best to dry this out, sir, but the damage might be permanent.”

“That’s very good of you, but I need your help with another matter.”

“Anything, sir.”

“Without drawing attention to yourself, will you give Miss Hester Macleod the address of the Hathaway house on Dalton Street and ask her to attend Miss Harrington there as a matter of urgency?”

Foley frowned as he confiscated Robert’s hat and stroked the bedraggled feathers. “What am I to say if she asks me why?”

“Tell her that it concerns the dowager countess’s death.”

“You haven’t got yourself involved in something dangerous again now, Major, have you? Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“I don’t have time to explain the intricacies of the situation to you right now, Foley. Just obey my orders and give Miss Hester the message.”

“Yes, sir.” With an obvious huffing noise, Foley turned on his heel and left the room, shutting the door very firmly, but precisely behind him.

Robert stood in front of the fire and warmed his hands. All his instincts urged him to find Broughton and confront him with his suspicions, but what good would it do? Broughton would either get angry and challenge him to a duel, or laugh in his face. In either scenario, Broughton stood to gain valuable information that might convict him if they played their cards carefully.

He needed firm evidence. And what better place to start looking than the untidy desk in Broughton’s bedchamber?

Robert walked down to Broughton’s rooms and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he went in. Nothing had changed since his previous visit. The room was still untidy and the desk even more so. Edging closer, Robert began to read the scattered pieces of paper and mentally tallied up the demands for payment they represented. He slid the bill he’d borrowed from Tattersalls into one of the piles.

If Broughton was defaulting on paying the two pound and ten shilling coal bill, how much debt was he in, and how long had he been accruing it? They were only two years away from Waterloo when Robert had served alongside Broughton throughout the last desperate campaign to prevent Napoleon’s return to power.

“Kurland? Were you looking for me?”

Robert turned slowly to face the door where Broughton now stood. “Indeed, I was. I’m intending to leave for Fenton’s shortly. I wanted to make sure that I said good-bye.”

Broughton continued to lounge in the doorway, blocking Robert’s line of retreat.

“My butler said he told you I wasn’t in.”

“He did.” Robert moved casually away from the cluttered desk and toward the shaving stand. “Foley said he’d taken the cufflinks and silver buttons I borrowed from you and brought them back here. I distinctly remembered you saying you didn’t need them and decided to come and retrieve them myself.”

He pointed at the shaving stand. “Ah, there they are. Seeing as I have to attend a ball sponsored by the Prince Regent this Saturday, I thought I might be needing those rather modish cufflinks again.” He paused. “I hope you don’t mind. It seems rather extravagant to send a messenger all the way to Kurland St. Mary just to collect a pair of regimental cufflinks.”

Broughton’s expression relaxed. “Indeed, especially if you won’t be needing them much longer yourself.”

“Exactly.” Robert put them in his coat pocket and held out his hand. “Thank you for inviting me to stay with your family.”

“It’s hardly been a pleasurable visit, has it?” Broughton half-smiled as he came forward to shake Robert’s hand. “Next time you come up to London I hope things will take a better turn.”

“I certainly hope so.” Robert paused. “Have you fixed a date for Oliver’s funeral? I would like to attend.”

“I’m considering waiting for my father’s return so that we can take both the bodies down to our country estate and bury them more privately.” Broughton grimaced. “I suspect our local parson might be the only man willing to allow Oliver to be laid to rest in the family vault on consecrated ground.”

“But surely Oliver didn’t mean to kill himself? I assumed his mind was disturbed by his illness and he was unaware of what he was doing?”

“That’s what the coroner agreed to say, but you and I know better, don’t we?”

“I’m not sure I understand you.”

Broughton took a deep breath. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You were there. Oliver killed himself because of what he’d done to his grandmother. He was always an emotional,
unnatural
boy. I suspect his guilty conscience allowed him no rest.”

Robert forced himself to maintain steady eye contact with Broughton. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I suppose it makes sense.”

Broughton gripped his upper arm. “And I know I can depend on you to keep that to yourself? They are both dead now. No one gains anything from exposing our family shame to the masses.”

“Your stance does you great credit, Broughton. I give you my word of honor that I will never malign Oliver to
anyone.
” Robert saluted and stepped back. “I wish your family nothing but good fortune in the future.”

“Thank you.”

Before he could betray himself, Robert left, but not before he’d seen Broughton’s slight smile. At least now he had no doubt that his erstwhile friend was involved in several murders. It would give him great pleasure to bring the man to justice.

“Anna sent me a note this morning asking if we were both well,” Sophia said. “She sounded rather worried.”

Lucy sighed. “I’ll have to talk to her about Broughton soon. I must admit that I keep putting it off. She seems rather infatuated with him. I cannot imagine why.”

“Men in uniform, my dear.” Sophia held her arm as they alighted from the carriage in front of the Bentley residence. “They have the strangest effect on a woman. Look how fast I fell in love with Charlie.” She pinched Lucy’s gloved wrist. “Look at your Major Kurland.”

“He’s certainly not mine, Sophia. But I have to admit that he does look rather dashing in his uniform. I can only imagine how he might appear astride a horse brandishing his sword.”

Sophia turned to her at the bottom of the steps that led up to the black painted front door. “Do you know, I don’t think I’ve seen him astride a horse in uniform or out of it since he recovered from his wounds. Isn’t that odd?”

Lucy fixed her attention on the front door where the brass knocker was tied with a black ribbon and picked up her skirts. “Come along, Sophia. It’s too cold to be standing around out here in the rain.”

Sophia wouldn’t be the first person to notice the major’s peculiar aversion to riding a horse, or the last. His chances of going out in public in London and keeping that secret worsened by the day. Lucy only hoped he had a plan to overcome his fear, but suspected he would be too proud to take her advice on the matter. Men’s pride was a peculiar, prickly thing. And he wasn’t really her concern after all.

“May I help you?”

Lucy smiled at the butler and handed over her card. “We’d like to see Mr. Bentley. Is he at home?”

The butler bowed. “If you will come into the hall, ma’am, I’ll inquire.”

Eventually, they were ushered into a drawing room dominated by a large oil painting of a young Lady Bentley with a little boy sitting on her lap gazing up at her adoringly.

“Mrs. Giffin? Miss Harrington? I understand that you wish to speak to me about my mother?”

Lucy turned to see Mr. Bentley coming into the room and caught her breath. He looked as if the loss of his mother had made him lose himself, too. She impulsively went forward and took his hand.

“Oh, my dear sir. I am so
sorry
for your loss.”

He patted her gloved hand and then released it, the sheen of tears in his eyes. He wore black and seemed to have aged a thousand years. “Thank you. Please sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Bentley.” Lucy waited until he sent the butler away and took the seat opposite him. “May I be blunt with you, sir? Just before she died your mother confided in me about her issues with the Broughton family. I wanted to ask you about the circumstances surrounding her death, and whether you have had any further thoughts about the matter.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” He looked even more wretched. “I will never forgive myself for causing the death of the woman I loved most in the world.”

“But what if you weren’t entirely responsible for her death?”

He raised his troubled gaze to hers. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You and your mother were taking the Broughton family to court to regain jewelry you believed the dowager countess had stolen from you.”

“That was the original plan, yes. But what does this have to do with my mother’s death?”

“If I might continue, sir. I believe you told Lieutenant Broughton that you had evidence to support your claim.”

“So my mother told me.”

“Might I be so bold as to ask what that was?” He hesitated and she continued. “I’m not asking out of vulgar curiosity, sir. I’m simply trying to right a terrible wrong and bring you some peace.”

He sighed. “It’s rather complicated. I assumed my mother meant that she had letters or inventories from the Bentley estate that showed the provenance of the jewels, but actually she had something rather different.”

“And what was that?”

“You have to understand, Miss Harrington, that my mother had obsessed about the return of those rubies for decades. In her quest for justice she kept in touch with a network of London jewelers and money lenders who were paid to alert her if any rubies came into their hands. Within the last year, one of the jewelers did.”

“Which explains why she decided to raise the matter with the dowager countess again.”

“Indeed. In truth, I was unaware of the full nature of her plan to discredit the Broughtons until the day of the boating party.”

“What did she intend to do?”

“She ascertained that the rubies were the ones she considered part of the Bentley estate and bought them back. One might think that having achieved such a coup she would be satisfied, but she decided to pursue a lawsuit to make the dowager’s life as difficult as possible. She wanted to see her exposed as a liar and a thief.”

“Quite understandable, Mr. Bentley, if she thought the dowager had deliberately pawned her rubies and was still busy trying to ruin her socially. I assume that when you went directly to Broughton at the boating party, she became worried about you becoming involved in her plans and told you the truth?”

“Exactly. My beloved mother didn’t want me involved in a lawsuit that was for her own private amusement. I don’t think she ever meant to go through with it. She said she was hoping the dowager would come crawling back to tell her the rubies had been sold, and then she would’ve been able to pull them out of her drawer and crow over her rival.” He grimaced. “Not a very pretty picture, but the dowager countess was something of a shrew.”

Lucy drew a slow breath. “I don’t suppose your mother kept the receipt from the jeweler for the rubies, did she?”

Mr. Bentley stared at her. “On the contrary, I’m quite sure that she did. I doubt she would’ve neglected any opportunity to wave a piece of evidence like that directly in the dowager’s face.” He rose to his feet. “Would you like to come and see my mother’s bedchamber? Her dresser is currently sorting out her possessions. We might find something useful there.”

By the time Lucy and Sophia returned home, it was getting dark, and they had both almost fallen asleep in the carriage. Lucy’s mind was whirling with ideas and conjectures and . . . she wished Major Kurland were there to talk to. He had a unique ability to take her ideas and somehow make sense of them. She didn’t always agree with his conclusions, or appreciate his somewhat acerbic manner, but having another opinion was always helpful.

She ran through the rain into the hallway followed by Sophia and smiled at the butler. “Has Mrs. Hathaway been wondering where we’ve been? We haven’t missed dinner, have we?”

“No, Miss Harrington. Mrs. Hathaway is in the drawing room, and dinner will be served in half an hour.”

“Thank you. We have time to change and warm up a little.” She blew a kiss to Sophia as they separated on the first landing and headed to their respective bedchambers. “We’d better hurry!”

When she rejoined the Hathaways in the drawing room, she had put on one of her older and warmer dresses from her Kurland St. Mary wardrobe and dressed her hair in a simpler style. She felt far more like herself. Her sister, Anna, jumped up out of her seat and came toward her.