Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman (20 page)

Having evidently covered the back stairs at quite a clip, Lady Waterford was out of breath, her silver-gold hair hung in tangles around her face, and her ivory shantung silk skirt was twisted at her waist, giving her a rather lopsided, unbalanced look. The skirt's back, now worn on Lady Waterford's right hip, had several ruinous grass stains. Her fine silk blouse with its intricate gathers and tucks had been ripped away at the sleeve.

It struck Mrs. Jackson in that moment that Lady Waterford looked exactly as if she had been pulled through a hedge backward, and she had the sense to avert her eyes. When she was sure that her face would not betray surprise, she risked a glance and was grateful to see that Lady Waterford was looking back at her with an expression of frozen dignity that forbade any comment whatsoever. A moment of silence hung between them. Then Lady Waterford asked her if she would be so kind as to bring her a cup of tea and while she was at it to send up her maid. She then proceeded past the housekeeper toward the guest wing as if nothing had happened at all.

In four minutes flat Mrs. Jackson accomplished three things: she ran downstairs and asked Agnes to find Lady Waterford's maid, instructed Iris to prepare a tray of tea to be taken up to Lady Waterford, and doubled back to Lady Montfort's room.

Lady Montfort had evidently just emerged from her bath, as she was wrapped in her dressing gown and staring out of her window down at the rose garden, evidently deep in thought, when Mrs. Jackson walked into her sitting room. If she was surprised to see her, thought Mrs. Jackson, she wasted no time in grasping that she had arrived on an errand of great importance.

Mrs. Jackson came straight to the point: “I have just seen Lady Waterford, m'lady. She has been placed in rather an awkward situation. And if I might be so bold, I think it would be a good idea if you went to her immediately.”

“Yes, of course, Jackson.” Clementine looked around for her slippers. “When you say awkward, what do you mean exactly?”

“Well, her appearance is rather disheveled; I would go so far as to say very disheveled,” replied her housekeeper, with the vision of Lady Waterford's extraordinary appearance etched distinctly in her mind.

“Do you mean someone attacked her?” Lady Montfort turned, the better to judge her expression.

“M'lady, I think Lady Waterford needs your help. And I am sure she has something to tell you.” Mrs. Jackson was concerned that, given some moments to collect herself, Lady Waterford would lock down before Lady Montfort got to her.

To her credit, her ladyship needed no further prompting. Mrs. Jackson watched her fairly fly down the wide corridor from her room and turn left at the top of the stairs to fly another one hundred feet to the guest wing. Mrs. Jackson had just rounded the second corner when she saw Lady Montfort knock on Lady Waterford's bedroom door, crack it open, and slide into the room, leaving the housekeeper to stand outside to wait for further revelations.

*   *   *

Clementine had always admired Gertrude Waterford's remote, cool beauty. It was well known that John Singer Sargent had been desperate to paint this lovely, enigmatic woman's portrait, but Lady Waterford had refused and he had had to make do with Madame Pierre Gautreau instead. Used to seeing her friend draped in a pose of careless but haughty elegance on a drawing room sofa, Gertrude's extremely raffish appearance brought her up short.

She looked as if she had returned from the sort of country house party that went in for high jinks and the wilder sort of lawn games in vogue with the younger married set. Clementine was not familiar with this type of house party, but she had certainly heard some outrageous stories: sliding down the stairs on tea trays, and playing games of hide-and- seek where soda siphons were used to hilarious effect, sprang to mind. Gertrude looked as if she had spent the afternoon taking part in a giddy romp of blindman's buff with her friends, had fallen on her bottom, and had then been dragged, whooping with laughter, across the lawn by one arm. That was of course except for Gertrude's palpable air of exhausted despair.

Clementine dismissed Gertrude's maid, who was standing helplessly by with a hairbrush. It was going to take some time to extricate the bits of twig and leaf from those tangles, thought Clementine.

“Ah, Clemmy, here you are.” Gertrude's voice sounded flat and tired as she sat down at her dressing table and stared at herself in the looking glass without expression. “Bloody hell, what a ruffian I look.” Clementine could not help but admire Gertrude's attempt to pass off her alarming appearance. Gertrude picked up a brush and began to brush her hair, her movements jerky and ineffectual.

“Gertrude, I am here to help you. But you have to tell me what on earth is going on.” Ignoring the tea tray, Clementine went to the door and asked Mrs. Jackson to fetch brandy and two glasses. This was done with the speed of anticipation and she poured a generous amount into a glass and handed it to Gertrude. “Now, tell me what happened to you,” she said, and to steady her nerves she took a sip of brandy.

Gertrude shook her head, knocked back her brandy in two quick swallows, and drew a long, deep, sighing breath. Then she turned back to the looking glass and began to pick garden debris from her hair. “I can't say anything Clementine; I am in no position to.” Clementine saw her friend gathering herself together and before she could shut her out, she crossed the room and taking the brush from Gertrude began to gently untangle her hair. But her tone was uncompromising: “Who did this to you, Gertrude?”

Lady Waterford shook her head.

“Gertrude, you have to tell me what happened, so I can help you.” She caught her friend's eye in the looking glass and held her gaze. “Tell me.”

“Very well then.” The last of Gertrude's resolve to soldier on alone evaporated. “I was being blackmailed by Teddy.” Clementine continued to untangle, keeping her face passive. This explained all the tension of the past few days, but not Gertrude's appalling appearance.

“But you were not the only one Teddy was blackmailing, were you?” she said, lifting her eyes to look at her in the glass. She stood with the hairbrush in one hand and waited.

After what seemed an awfully long time, Gertrude finally said, “No, I am not alone, Clemmy, but I am horribly at risk. Teddy had a letter to me from someone I had an association with for several months. A very revealing letter.”

Clementine decided to come straight to the point: “A letter from Lord Booth.”

She was completely unprepared for the panic her statement caused. Gertrude almost bolted to her feet and her voice was very loud in the quiet room. “Oh dear God, then everyone knows!”

Clementine placed a firm hand on her friend's shoulder and gently pressed her back into her chair. “No, Gertrude. No one here is aware of the trouble you are in but me. And I didn't
know,
I guessed. But now you have confirmed it's Lord Booth.”

Clementine did not particularly approve of Lord Booth. He was certainly a man who attracted female admiration, she thought. He had all the attributes of masculine magnetism with his thick, wavy, silver and black hair and a luxuriant mustache the kaiser would have envied. But she thought she recognized that under the engaging manners of flattering pursuit there was a quality of self-adoration that bordered on narcissism, which she found particularly unpleasant.

Gertrude, her secret out, allowed the floodgate to open: “Teddy was blackmailing both of us. He had Lord Booth's letter to me. Lord Booth was to meet with him on Saturday evening after dinner. Teddy didn't have the letter with him, but the little bastard actually quoted from it to Lord Booth. He wanted us to buy the letter from him; the sum he named was unbelievable. Then on Sunday we heard that Teddy had been found. Lord Booth managed a search of his room here, but couldn't find the letter. If it's discovered … well, there's our motive for murder.”

Gertrude would not look at her or catch her eye in the looking-glass and her voice was low with shame as she said, “Lord Booth is not dealing with the situation well, as you saw this afternoon. He's on edge and he seems to have lost his nerve now that this policeman from London is coming here. I am terribly worried he's going to muff it all completely.” Gertrude sank her head in her hands in such a tired and dispirited way that Clementine poured her another dash of brandy.

“Here, Gertrude, sip this one slowly.” She handed the glass to her friend. “First of all, I think if the letter had been found you would have already heard from Colonel Valentine. So it might be safe to assume that Teddy had the letter hidden somewhere. Chances are it will remain hidden and no one will ever find it.

“Did you have an opportunity to talk to Teddy, before he…?” Clementine had finished with the tangles and now sat down close to her friend, took a small sip of Gertrude's brandy, and gave her some time.

“Yes, I did. I could sense that things had not gone well between them, because Lord Booth was so preoccupied and snappish. I also thought that if I had the opportunity, I might persuade Teddy to come round.” She colored a little; at least her ears were red and hot at the tips. “Later on that night, toward the end of the ball, I cornered Teddy on the terrace and took him off to the south pavilion. I asked him what I could do to get the letter back. I was prepared to do … well, anything at all. I made this clear to Teddy.” She paused, the humiliation of what she was confessing apparent only in her bowed head.

“And?” prompted Clementine, as if offering yourself to your blackmailer was the usual way of settling things.

“And Teddy turned me down flat, laughed at me actually. He made it clear there were no alternatives. He told me how much he wanted for the letter. It was an outrageous amount. If we didn't come up with the money he would sell the letter to the
Daily Express
. Can you imagine? I knew exactly how poor Daisy Greville felt after she sent that stupid letter to Lady Beresford and Charles Beresford threatened to take Daisy to court.
I
can't be the woman who is used as an example of indiscretion to future generations of silly girls.”

Gertrude continued to recount the details of her humiliation on the night of the ball: “Well, Teddy left and I sat there for a while before I went back to join everyone on the terrace. When I got there, I could see Teddy; he was looking frightfully smug and smoking a cigarette on the other side of the rose garden. I was already thinking how I could put up my half of the money.”

Clementine took another sip of Gertrude's brandy and asked her what time that had been.

“About half past three, probably a little later, I am not completely sure. The next day I heard Teddy had been found.” Gertrude looked at her empty glass, picked up her hairbrush, and began methodically to brush her hair.

Clementine said, “Sir Hugo—”

Gertrude rushed in with such emphasis that her voice was almost loud in the still room, “Must
never
know,
never
. It is not part of the understanding we have.”

Clementine felt great sadness for her friend's lonely and vulnerable situation. She completely understood the rules of the game. The overriding consideration was that there must be absolutely no exposure of any misconduct. The unforgivable sin was to bring disgrace among them. And apparently as far as Gertrude was concerned, her husband would not be her ally, no matter what arrangements they had. Sir Hugo wouldn't divorce Gertrude if this all came out, but he would certainly make life difficult. She had seen that on the lawn this afternoon. Lord Houghton Lew had never spoken to his wife again, except in public, after her affair with Charlie Stampton became known.

Clementine asked her friend if she thought Lord Booth might have killed Teddy.

There was only a moment's hesitation before Gertrude answered quite plainly, “I wouldn't be surprised, Clemmy. He lost his temper in a very horrid way this afternoon: he actually…” Gertrude nearly broke down as the remembered shame and shock of the incident returned, “shook me … violently … threw me on the ground. His rage was devastating. Yes, I think he is capable of murder.”

“Then keep away from him, Gertrude. There is nothing you can accomplish here at this point. Let's just pray the letter is never found. Are you planning on coming down to dinner?”

“Oh yes, Clemmy, of course I am. I have only an hour to get myself dressed but I must come down.” She laughed. “Can't let anyone see I'm rattled.”

*   *   *

Clementine walked slowly back to her room as the dressing gong sounded in the hall. Mrs. Jackson was waiting for her in her sitting room, and no doubt since they were both sharing information she was hoping for an explanation. If she updated her, she would be moving into forbidden territory in discussing her closest friend's business with her housekeeper.

But wasn't it a bit too late for that? she asked herself. Hadn't she made an agreement with Mrs. Jackson when she wanted her housekeeper to get information for her? Now they had reached a tipping point and she knew she must not be rash. She remembered that she had drunk nearly two glasses of brandy, which were now floating around in her stomach with nothing but half a cucumber sandwich and a bite of Victoria sponge cake to give it ballast. She fixed Mrs. Jackson with her eye rather sternly, as if the poor woman had already said,
Well, what's going on then with Lady Waterford, ay?
and told her housekeeper as accurately as she could what Lady Waterford had told her: intimate letters, blackmail, and sudden death. It was the stuff of penny dreadfuls, she thought.

“So you see, Jackson, things are looking pretty dire for Lady Waterford,” she finished up.

From the look on her housekeeper's face, she obviously had not wanted to be taken into Lady Montfort's confidence. The rules that upper servants lived by were as rigid and unbending as those of her own class. In telling her housekeeper about the blackmail of Lord Booth and Lady Waterford she had crossed the line and had taken Mrs. Jackson with her, and they might survive with their respect for each other intact, if they were prudent.