Death on a Silver Tray (25 page)

I watched the scene with satisfaction. Here was a contradiction to Freddie’s statement that Chakkri was much like me. For I adore mock turtle soup.

When I noticed that Chakkri was not eating anything, I removed the offending saucer of soup to a side table. I did not want him to go hungry and thought the soup made him reluctant to partake of the rest of the meal.

I was gratified when the cat promptly returned to the meal and ate with gusto.

“Apparently the animal’s preoccupation with tortoise related items does not extend to turtle soup,” Robinson observed.

“I admit Chakkri is unpredictable,” I said, watching the cat consume his food. “He taps on my tortoise-shell plate, chews my tortoise-shell comb, but refuses mock turtle soup. His diversity makes him more interesting, do you not agree?”

“No, sir.” Robinson stated stubbornly, and with a final swipe with the cloth across the sleeve of my coat, declared me fit for company.

Throughout the evening, I presented my usual self to the company, but inside I felt distracted and restless. I could not stop thinking of Lady Wrayburn’s murder and trying to come up with suspects. A niggling feeling that some clue to the killer’s identity was just out of my reach haunted me.

Despite the comfortable bed, I tossed and turned all night and awoke unrefreshed the next day. I played billiards cheerfully, watched politely while a group of men shot birds out of the sky—although I find the practice repulsive myself—and participated in several lively games of chance with Scrope and Petersham among others.

But it was not until Sunday afternoon when everyone crowded into the drawing room again that I met Lord Sidwell and his friend, Lord Inskip, and received a piece of information which changed everything.

Chapter Twenty-two

Rain drove everyone indoors Sunday afternoon. Some gentlemen decided to head back to London early. Thus it was a small party that remained at Oatlands.

In the drawing room, tables were set up for cards. Freddie played a game of whist with Petersham, Scrope, and an older man I did not know. A still more elderly gentleman sat nearby, not participating, but watching the game with interest.

I walked over to where Old Dawe stood on duty behind a tray of decanters. A handsome man of about thirty-five years, whom I recognized as Lord Ackerman, berated the servant.

“I asked you for claret. This is Burgundy. It’s not the same thing, is it?”

“No, sir. They are similar—” Old Dawe began.

“Whether they are similar or not doesn’t concern me,” Lord Ackerman snapped. “Burgundy isn’t what I asked for, and won’t do, will it?”

Old Dawe’s hand tightened on the decanter. “No, your lordship.”

“That would not happen to be a Chambertin Burgundy, would it, Old Dawe? If it is, I shall I have a glass,” I said. “Oh, hello, Ackerman. Care to try the best Burgundy ever to roll past your tongue? Or in your case, I collect I should say slide across the points of your tongue.”

Lord Ackerman gave a twisted smile. “I suppose just this once I could.”

Old Dawe poured out two measures of the Burgundy. His expression did not change, but I saw the smile in his eyes.

After accepting our glasses, we moved a few feet away, and Lord Ackerman pronounced his wine tolerable.

“Glad you like it,” I said, holding my glass up and gazing at the contents. “I hear you like housemaids as well.”

Lord Ackerman looked startled at the abrupt change of topic. He let out a snort of laughter. “They’re convenient.”

“Not so convenient when they become with child, though, are they?” I asked tilting my head in an inquisitive manner.

Lord Ackerman fixed me with a belligerent stare. “They find the door quick enough if they are foolish enough to let that happen.”

I felt like punching him, but thought better of it. I would not want to mar the perfection of my hands. “Ever wonder what becomes of the girls?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“You know what they say, out of sight, out of mind.”

“I have heard that, indeed. But take a girl like Mary, for example,” I went on, undaunted. “Or, er, best forget that. I think you already have taken her.”

Lord Ackerman leered and swallowed some wine.

“I hear she lives at place called Haven of Hope. A friend of mine told me her baby should be arriving any day. I daresay the shelter could use a sizeable contribution to help with costs and such, you understand.”

I had his grudging attention now.

“Otherwise, Mary might find herself back out on the streets. She could make quite a nuisance of herself, I imagine, what with a squalling baby and a sad story of debauchery. Lady Ackerman strikes me as the type of woman who would object to such a fuss.”

Lord Ackerman paled.

I restrained a smile. I had him now. “But it is all conjecture on my part. Pay no attention to me. Enjoy your wine,” I said and wandered over to the card tables.

“George! Say you will make a fourth for our next hand,” Freddie begged. “Lord Petersham says he is too tired to continue.”

Petersham looked petulant.

“Very well,” I said, pulling up a chair to the square gaming table and watching the game currently being played.

“I do not think you know Lord Sidwell,” Freddie said.

Introductions were made. Lord Sidwell, the gentleman who had been forced to sell off treasured art objects due to gaming debts, was an overwrought man. He was all nervous movement. First he fidgeted with his cards, arranging and rearranging them in his hand, then he constantly turned his wine glass round and round. All the while I could see his right knee jerking up and down in an effort to release his excess energy.

“Good to see you, Brummell,” Lord Sidwell said, barely taking his eyes off his cards. “This here is my friend, Lord Inskip. It’s his first visit to Oatlands.”

“How do you like it, my lord?” I inquired politely. Lord Inskip had to be eighty if he was a day. A ring of white hair surrounded his balding head. Loose flesh hung off his throat and bounced whenever he coughed, which was often.

“The Royal Duchess here is a fine woman,” he wheezed. “She runs a comfortable house. Too bad her husband acts like a lout.” He placed a card on the table.

Freddie turned pink.

Lord Inskip did not notice her discomfort. “I like dogs, though, so I’m having a fine time. They’re better company than some people.” The elderly man nodded his head in Lord Ackerman’s direction. He was back to badgering Old Dawe. “Watch him, Duchess. He’ll get a leg over anything female.”

A short silence followed this coarse comment.

“Ackerman’s always has an eye for his female servants. Why doesn’t he set up a mistress or two like everyone else?” Scrope chimed in. He had just entered the room and stood hovering over the gaming table looking at everyone’s hand of cards.

I raised my quizzing glass at him. “There is a lady present, you oaf.” His words were especially awkward in light of the fact that the Duke of York was so public with his mistress.

Scrope caught my meaning. He looked ruffled at possibly having embarrassed the Duchess of York and mumbled an apology.

Freddie’s features were composed, but I saw she gripped her cards tightly.

Lord Inskip, however, remained oblivious to the implication of his words. “Governesses, companions, lady’s maids, and housemaids are always falling victim to the master of the house. They are readily available and cost nothing. Mistresses, on the other hand, are expensive,” He ended with a wracking cough.

The cards in Freddie’s hand shook.

I felt compelled to change the subject. Anything to spare Freddie humiliation. The first topic that sprang to mind was Lady Wrayburn’s murder. Without giving the matter any further thought, I said, “They have yet to make an arrest in Lady Wrayburn’s murder, I hear.”

“Tight with her money, the Countess was,” Lord Sidwell bemoaned. His left eye twitched. “Once she held a card party and I won fourteen pounds from her. She never paid me! When I taxed her on it, she said it was just chicken stakes and I should forget the matter. Imagine that! A gentleman is forced to honor his gaming debts no matter the cost, whereas one is supposed to forgive a lady? Where’s the logic in that, I ask you?”

No one answered his passionate query.

“There was something about Lady Wrayburn that gave me a disgust of the woman. Can’t remember now ... “ Lord Inskip trailed off.

Petersham said, “She made a terrible scene at a recent auction.”

I glanced at him sharply. The auction had been of Lord Sidwell’s art objects. Surely he would be mortified by the reminder of his straitened circumstances. Lord Sidwell, however, was too busy examining his cards with a baleful eye, his leg jumping, to pay any attention to what Lord Inskip or Petersham was saying.

The game ended. Freddie was the winner.

Lord Sidwell groaned.

I was just about to exchange chairs with Petersham when Lord Inskip startled the party by slapping his hand down hard on the table.

“I’ve been trying to remember what it was about Lady Wrayburn that turned me against her. By God, I have it now!” Lord Inskip drew in a deep, wheezing breath. “She caught Lord Wrayburn with the governess. Sweet girl, she was. The governess, that is.”

I listened with half an ear. It was the same story Lady Salisbury had told me. I sat at the table and scooped up the cards.

“Lady Wrayburn threw the girl out when it became known she was going to have a babe. The governess fled up to Yorkshire way, not far from where I live.”

The elderly man shook his head. “Damn shame, it was. Her son, for the baby was a boy, grew up angry that his father had abandoned them. But Miss Turtleby never bothered Lord Wrayburn for a shilling. Made her living teaching Bible lessons and taking in sewing.” A coughing spell interrupted his story. Lord Sidwell slapped his friend on the back.

My hand suddenly stilled in the process of reaching for my glass. I felt a chill run through my body.

Recovered from his fit, Lord Inskip went on: “Everyone said her name ought to have been Miss Turtle
dove
as she was so devoted to Lord Wrayburn, even though I doubt she ever saw him again. The boy was different, though, more’s the pity. Hated his father and the name Wrayburn. He worshipped his mother, even promising her to go into the clergy, which was her fondest wish.”

“Whatever happened to him?” I asked. I slowly lowered the cards back to the table and stared at Lord Inskip. Every nerve of my body was on alert.

Lord Inskip squinted beneath his bushy eyebrows. “He changed his name. I don’t know what he calls himself now, but the last I heard he was a parson up London way.”

I rose to my feet so quickly, my chair banged down on the floor behind me.

The company stared at me.

“Fred—er, that is to say, Your Royal Highness, I must leave at once. Do not worry. I shall send word—”

“What?” Freddie half rose from her place. “What in heaven’s name is it, George?” Her blue eyes rounded in concern.

Lord Inskip broke out into a fit of coughing.

I spared a second to right my chair. “Petersham, you ride back to London with Robinson and Diggie. I am going on horseback.”

“Now? On horseback?
In your evening clothes
?” Freddie exclaimed.

“What the devil has got into you, Brummell?” Petersham asked, rising.

“I daresay whatever it is, I should not be rushed back to London in such a manner,” Scrope declared. “Unless it has to do with a horse race. Does it, Brummell?”

I did not answer him. “Old Dawe!” I shouted, heading for the drawing room door. “Send word to the stables to have a horse made ready for me.”

“Yes, sir. At once.” He hurried away.

I bolted up the stairs to my bedchamber.

Robinson started at my entrance. Chakkri raised his head from where he was sleeping on the bed.

I ignored them and found my Hessian boots. Kicking off my evening pumps, I went to pull them on.

“Sir!” Robinson howled. “What in heaven’s name—”

“I do not have time to explain! I need to return to London immediately. I shall be riding. My evening pumps will not serve.” I struggled with the boots. My hands were shaking.

“You are
riding
back to Town?” Robinson’s lips compressed. Then he grabbed my arm to prevent me from putting on the boots. “Sir, if you are riding, you will ruin those silk breeches.”

“I do not care. Let me go at once,” I commanded in a strong tone I rarely employ.

Robinson obeyed, his mouth dropped open in shock. He hastily procured a pair of leather breeches from the wardrobe. “At least put these on first please, sir.”

Frustrated at the delay, but realizing the wisdom of wearing something sturdier, I stripped off my evening breeches and scrambled into the leather ones. I accepted Robinson’s help with the boots. All the while he flung questions at me about what on earth could be the emergency that could cause me to go running off dressed so
inappropriately
.

I never replied. I was entirely focused on something else. Nor did I pay any attention to Chakkri. The cat remained rooted to his spot on the bed, watching me intently with his intelligent blue eyes.

My mind raced as a clear picture of what had happened fell into place.

All I wanted to do now was get back to London in time to lay a trap for a murderer.

Chapter Twenty-three

At precisely ten o’clock Monday morning I arrived at Wrayburn House hoping my carefully laid plan would succeed. I ordered Ned and Ted to remain outside, then knocked on the door.

Riddell answered. “Good morning, Mr. Brummell.”

I walked into the gloomy hall and handed him my greatcoat, hat, and stick. Later I would regret parting with the stick.

“Good morning, Riddell. May I inquire as to whom is in the house?” I jingled coins in my pocket to encourage him.

“Well, sir,” the butler said consideringly, “Mr. Hensley has gone to Hensley Cottage. Mrs. Hensley went to a weekend house party. Mr. Fairingdale has not yet come home from last evening. That leaves Miss Ashton and her visitor, Mr. Dawlish, besides the servants.”