Death on a Silver Tray (21 page)

Mr. Hensley sat back in his chair. “My brother’s moved out of the country. May return now that Mother’s dead. And as for me,” he shrugged. “I don’t think of it any more. The whippings on her order, the hours locked in my room, her coldness. It’s nothing to me. I’ve shut myself off from it.”

“That would be for the best, I imagine.”

“But there’s no getting away from her, is there? Here she is, making life hell for Miss Ashton.” Mr. Hensley looked away.

“And Lizzie,” I added softly.

“What?” His gaze cut back to me.

“It must be particularly hard for you about Lizzie.”

Mr. Hensley sat forward and poured yet another drink, his gaze now on the bottle. “I don’t quite know what you mean.”

I held out my glass. “May I?”

“Oh, yes, yes.” He rushed to pour the rum, spilling a bit on the desk near the drawing book, but he did not notice.

“Thank you,” I said. I took a moment and sipped my drink. “What I meant was it must be disheartening for you to watch the girl increase with your child.”

Mr. Hensley stared at me. I gave him my best sympathetic expression.

“She told you, eh?”

I remained mute, not wishing to lie. He took my silence as an agreement.

“The women in this house seem to confide in you effortlessly, Brummell.”

I managed a chuckle. “One of the perils of being a bachelor, I suppose. They must think that as I have no other females to look after, they can rely upon me.”

Mr. Hensley raked his fingers through his hair. A full minute went by. Finally, he spoke in a near-whisper, “The devil of it is that I wish I could acknowledge the child as my own.”

“That is natural enough,” I assured him quietly. “You must be terribly dismayed, having no heir to claim your estate.”

Anger suddenly gleamed in his eyes. “Damn if you don’t have the right of it! And a pretty estate it is,” Mr. Hensley said vehemently. He was growing very drunk, I thought. “I’m a rich man in my own right, you know. Didn’t need Mother’s bequest. Hang it all!”

“Is there any chance that Mrs. Hensley might open her heart to the child?” I ventured, knowing full well

Mrs. Hensley would rather appear naked at Almack’s Assembly Rooms than raise another woman’s bastard.

Her husband’s answer surprised me.

“I am determined to see this child grow up. Otherwise, I would have paid Lizzie off and sent her away myself. As for Cordelia, I might find a way to convince her,” Mr. Hensley declared boldly.

His daring must be coming from the bottle. I wondered if the bravado would last when he sobered. His next words stunned me.

“If I had something to hold over Cordelia, you know, something she would not want anyone else to learn. Ever. If you catch my meaning. Then,” he said, nodding, “then she’d let Lizzie stay, mark my words. We could come to some sort of arrangement where I would not go to Bow Street, and Cordelia and Lizzie would go away to the country for a while. When they returned, we would produce the babe and say it was Cordelia’s. Lizzie would understand.”

I doubted that. But I realized Mr. Hensley was trying to convey to me that he believed his wife had poisoned Lady Wrayburn. Was this a tactic intended to throw me off? Despite the rum, did he comprehend he was sitting across from a man bent on learning the identity of his mother’s killer?

Or was it possible I had been wrong about him?

Was he innocent of his mother’s murder?

Did he genuinely believe his wife had killed his mother?

“Mrs. Hensley and your mother did not get along,” I ventured.

“O-ho! There’s an understatement. Cordelia wished Mother at the dower house on my country estate. She wanted to rule supreme at Wrayburn House. Change all the furnishings, entertain as hostess, and queen it over all her friends. Mother stood in the way.”

Mr. Hensley began to laugh. He still held his glass, the contents shaking violently. “It’s all so damned funny. Cordelia is the same as Mother. Never approves of anything I do. Calls my sketches rubbish. Tells me only females should sketch.”

His voice rose. “All these years. No babies. Cordelia blamed
me
. Me, did you hear? When all along, it was
her
fault!”

He suddenly slumped onto the desk, his arms cradling his head, convulsed in drunken laughter which quickly gave way to anguished sobs.

I rose to my feet, put my glass on the desk, and went to find Riddell. He needed to see to his master.

Entering the hall, I saw Ned and Ted seated on chairs waiting for me. Ned was speaking while pointing to a chair leg shaped like a serpent. “If one of those things was real, I’d shoot it.”

Riddell, on duty at the door, was trying not to stare at them.

“Riddell, your master needs you in the library.”

“Yes, sir,” the butler said and began to tread without sound in the direction of the library.

“Mr. Brummell!” a female voice called.

I looked up and saw Miss Ashton coming down the stairs. “What is happening?” she inquired. “I must know.”

Her pale face showed the days of strain she had been under.

 I kept my voice low so we would not be overheard. “I have just been questioning Mr. Hensley. Did you know Lizzie’s baby is his?”

Miss Ashton looked startled. “Yes, she told me. The poor thing needed someone to confide in.”

“Of course.”

“Mr. Brummell, I do not know what you think of

Mr. Hensley, but he has promised to take care of Lizzie and the baby. I believe him.”

“In case he fails, I have spoken with a Miss Lydia Lavender. She runs an establishment for women called Haven of Hope. Lizzie is welcome there at any time. She has only to give my name.”

“Oh, Mr. Brummell, that is good news indeed. How very kind you are to have done this,” she said, reaching out and giving my arm a grateful squeeze. “But I confess to a certain curiosity. Is the lady who runs the shelter a relation of Mr. John Lavender from Bow Street?”

“Yes, she is his daughter. Do not distress yourself. Miss Lavender strikes me as being her own person. She cares deeply for the plight of women who find themselves in difficulties, indeed for all women. I believe she works hard to put her beliefs into practice.”

“Really,” Miss Ashton murmured thoughtfully. “If I had my freedom, I would assist her, if she would allow it.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. Pray believe me when I tell you my views most likely parallel those of Miss Lavender. For room and board I would gladly lend my hands to her cause.”

“What of Mr. Dawlish? Has he no chance of winning your affections? I hope you do not think me impertinent for asking, but your future is a concern to me.”

Miss Ashton smiled. “You may ask me anything,

Mr. Brummell, after all that you are doing to help me. I am sorry to say I do not return Mr. Dawlish’s regard. He is a friend, nothing more. He has many fine points, believe me, such as teaching Lizzie her letters. And I know she is not the only girl he teaches. He is a good, God-fearing man, but I fear that Mr. Dawlish’s feelings sometime border on an intensity that I cannot like. His beliefs can, on occasion, be overwhelming and even feverish.”

“I understand.”

“It is all a moot point, though,” Miss Ashton said ruefully. “For I may not have a choice to make about my future. Should Mr. Lavender come for me ....”

“Hold on just a little longer, Miss Ashton. I shall speak to Mr. Lavender and see what he learned from Dr. Profitt about the poison that killed Lady Wrayburn. I want to share a theory I have about the murder as well. No, no, I cannot speak of it yet. Concentrate on what you will do once this is behind you. You know the Duchess of York will allow you to stay at Oatlands for a time, I am sure, if you and Miss Lavender are unable to agree on an arrangement.”

Miss Ashton nodded.

“Send word to me if you need me, or if you think of anything at all that might be of help. Otherwise, I shall be in touch with you tomorrow.”

I turned to go, but she cleared her throat and said,

“Mr. Brummell, I do not like to say this ...”

“Go on,” I said encouragingly.

“I have racked my brain trying to think of who would have taken my journal and given it to Bow Street. Though it pains me to point a finger at anyone, I will say that Mrs. Hensley holds me in dislike. I do not know why, but there it is.”

“Thank you, Miss Ashton. I shall bear it in mind.”

Bear it in mind I did, as the twins carried me through the darkening London streets to White’s Club. Indeed I could think of nothing but the Hensleys.

Mr. Hensley’s confession to fathering Lizzie’s baby; his feelings about his mother; his none too subtle hints that his wife might have been responsible for his mother’s death. These things would all be laid out for Mr. Lavender.

And I had not missed the fact that Mr. Hensley liked to sketch. I wondered if his tastes had recently run to drawing gentlemen’s coats and skeletons.

It was too late to expect Mr. Lavender to be at Bow Street now, but I did not want to call on him there in any event. My doing so would surely be common knowledge across London within an hour of the occurrence.

No, it would be best to go directly to the Bow Street man’s house. I made a mental note to have Robinson find out his direction so I could go there in the morning. I groaned aloud thinking of the early hour I would have to awaken to catch the man before he went to his office.

Arriving at White’s, I tossed some coins to Ned and Ted. “Go round the corner and have a pint of ale. Come back for me in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, sir!” Ted cried.

“We will, but the ale won’t be the same. I mean as what’s made back in Dorset County. That’s where we come from—”

“Step along, Ned,” admonished his brother.

“—Have the best malt liquor in all of England, least that’s what Mum says ...” Ned trailed away, giving in to his brother’s urging.

I walked up to the door of White’s. Delbert sprang from his place to open it for me. “Afternoon, Mr. Brummell. Or should I say evening? Was that
your
sedan-chair?”

“Yes,” I said, stripping off my greatcoat.

“Very nice, sir. If I may be so bold, I would say, ‘I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.’“ Delbert accepted my things and waited.

“
Romeo and Juliet
, Delbert. Thank you. Ah! Perry, I was just coming up to see you.”

Lord Perry descended the stairs from the coffee room. “I am on my way home. I had about given up on you, Brummell.”

We stepped to the back of the hall near the staircase, leaving Delbert to attend his duties. I said, “My apologies. I have been at Wrayburn House.”

“Anything new?”

“Perhaps. Let me ask you something, Perry. With you soon to be a father perhaps you might have some insight. To what lengths would a gentleman go to protect his interests in his child? Let us suppose the child will be born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

Lord Perry let out a low whistle. “That depends entirely on the gentleman. As you well know, numerous men care nothing for their byblows.”

“Correct.” I thought of Miss Lavender’s work, and of the pregnant governess, Miss Turtleby, whom Lady Wrayburn had heartlessly dismissed all those years ago. I wondered what had become of her and her baby.

“But then, other men care for all their children, no matter what. They take whatever steps are necessary to provide for their offspring. I tell you, this thing of becoming a parent is awe-inspiring, Brummell. I have insisted on taking Bernadette to Brighton tomorrow. She enjoys the seaside even at this time of year. And I shall do anything in my power to make her comfortable.”

“I know you will, Perry. Thank you for your help. Write me with your direction when you get to Brighton. I may be there myself before much longer. I need to mend my fences with Prinny, since I neglected to call on him before he left Town.”

“I shall certainly write,” Perry said, moving to accept his greatcoat from Delbert. “Have a care, will you? Oh, and Petersham just arrived and is upstairs looking blue-deviled. Seeing you would undoubtedly gladden his heart.”

I found the languid viscount sprawled in his usual chair by the fire looking, as Perry had said, sunk in spirits. “Where have you been?” I demanded, putting up my quizzing glass to study his pallor.

Petersham gazed at me wearily. “Munro and I had a falling out. I went to bed on Tuesday with a supply of claret and told Diggie not to wake me until Thursday. Today is Thursday, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Did you get your snuff box from Rundell and Bridge?”

Petersham nodded dully and pulled the box from his pocket. “It’s even better than the one Sidwell had. See how the Venus is done all in gold?” He raised the lid and took a pinch.

I could not help but remove my own snuff box—a Sèvres—from my pocket, and repeat the performance of taking snuff that had so entranced the Prince.

Petersham seemed equally impressed. “Do that rather well, don’t you? Egad, I wish I was good at something.”

“Upon my honor, Petersham,” I claimed, “No one is better at doing
nothing
than you.”

This cheered him. “And when I am doing something, I mix snuff to a nicety, don’t I?”

I nodded sagely. “You are in the mopes because of a personal matter, I take it?”

“Devil of a thing, one’s finer feelings. Gets one into all sorts of trouble.” He looked imploringly at me. “Why can’t people always be good to those they say they love?”

I thought of Wrayburn House and its generations of unhappy people, but I could not be maudlin when Petersham needed bolstering up.

“Delbert would quote from Shakespeare. ‘Love is merely a madness, and I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.’“

Petersham looked much struck by the sentiment.

I stood and said, “Come on, then. You can take your dinner with me. Andre has promised beef croquettes for this evening.”

The viscount rose and we walked downstairs.

“And you have not seen my new sedan-chair or my new chairmen. Sad to say, it carries only one person, so we shall have to hail a hackney for the ride. But I do want you to see it. Thank you, Delbert,” I said to the footman, accepting my things and dropping coins into his hand. “We need Lord Petersham’s hat as well. Have my servants returned?”