Death on a Silver Tray (27 page)

“You are not a burden,” I assured her. “You have all the strength you need. And do you know what strong women—and

men—do when they have had a shock?”

She shook her head.

I rose to my feet. “Follow my motto: ‘When your spirits are low, get another bottle.’ May I bring you a glass of wine?”

She nodded and managed a weak chuckle. I moved toward the remaining decanter and poured her a glass. I paused, then poured myself one and swallowed the contents in one gulp. It is not every day that my person is endangered, you know.

Returning to Miss Ashton, I said, “This has been a dreadful time for you. You are allowed to ask for the help of friends.”

“I suppose you are right.”

“Good! I shall send for Miss Lavender.”

Giving her hand a squeeze, I left her and stepped into the hall. Here I found the Bow Street man conversing with Ned and Ted. The twins had come inside at the commotion.

Mr. Lavender eyed me and seemed satisfied I had suffered no harm. “I’ve been waiting for you, laddie. Everything went according to the plan you outlined in your letter last night. Except for that bit with the rector and the broken glass. Is Miss Ashton all right?”

“She would be better with some company. Do you think your daughter could come to her?”

“Sure and she would be glad of the opportunity to meet the girl.”

I beckoned to Riddell, who lingered in the back of the hall. He took down the direction of Miss Lavender’s shelter and walked silently away to send a message to her.

The investigator leaned against the stair rail, plying a toothpick. He indicated the twins. “These are two fine specimens of youth and strength, Mr. Brummell. I’m thinking I could use their help in my work every now and then.”

I lifted my right eyebrow and lowered my tone—to about thirty degrees Fahrenheit. “They are in my employ as chairmen.”

“But that doesn’t take up all of their time, now does it?” Crafty, the man is crafty, I tell you.

Ned’s face glowed with excitement. “Ted and me would jump at the chance to help, wouldn’t we Ted? Even though we don’t rightly have any experience at catchin’ criminals. Well, now wait just a minute here whilst I correct myself, because I recollect the time we helped Mum catch a duck thief. I don’t know if that counts or not, but we did run the fella down right through the cow pasture. Caught him when he slipped on a pile of—”

“If Mr. Brummell agrees,” Ned interrupted his brother, “we would be honored to help you, Mr. Lavender. But our first loyalty is to him.”

The Bow Street man looked at me.

I took in the eager faces of the two country boys. “I am willing to discuss it. Another time.”

Mr. Lavender whipped out his notebook. “That’s good, that’s good. Meanwhile, I need to take a statement from you, Mr. Brummell.”

* * * *

I entered the house in Bruton Street worn to the bone.

Robinson met me as I flopped down—quite uncharacteristic of me to flop, mind you—in the chair behind my desk in the bookroom.

“Has everything been resolved to your satisfaction, sir?”

“Yes, it is as I told you last night when you returned from Oatlands. Mr. Dawlish is really Mr. Turtleby. He held a long-standing hatred of Lord and Lady Wrayburn because of what they had done to his mother. When it looked as if another female would fall victim to Lady Wrayburn’s wrath, it triggered an irrational, violent response in Mr. Turtleby.”

Robinson tsked. “Thank heavens we can put that behind us.” He handed me a square of vellum. “Here is a letter from Lord Petersham.”

“Oh,” I accepted the missive. “Did everything run smoothly on the coach ride home?”

Robinson pursed his lips. “Lord Petersham slept the entire way, leaving me to the company of Mr. Digwood and that cat.”

“Chakkri gave you trouble, did he?”

The valet hesitated. “I cannot really say that he did, sir.”

“Come now, admit it. The little fellow has gained your affection,” I said with a perfectly serious expression.

Robinson narrowed his eyes. “The only time I shall feel the least fondness for that animal is when I see him crated for his return to Siam.”

“Pity. For that is not going to happen. Why not take the afternoon off, Robinson? I plan on going to bed after I have written to the Duchess and will not need you again until this evening. You could go down to the Tower and see the lion. Think about how an animal of that size would shed fur. It might make you feel better.”

“How tempting,” he retorted, his lip curled. “Shall I wait for your letter to the Royal Duchess?”

“Yes. I do want her to get the news about Mr. Turtleby and Miss Ashton without delay.”

While Robinson stood by, I wrote out a letter outlining the morning’s events. I ended it by begging Freddie’s forgiveness for leaving Oatlands so abruptly.

... For you know I treasure the time I spend with you and would not have departed prematurely without good reason.

I might travel to Brighton to see the Prince this week. What are your plans? May I hope you will decide a breath of sea air would be beneficial?

 Your humble servant

 George Brummell

I sanded the note and gave it to Robinson. He stalked away without another word.

Petersham’s letter lay unopened in front of me. I picked it up and broke the seal.

Brummell,

Matters are resolved between Munro and me. He has leased a house in Brighton so we might be fashionable and follow the Prince. I daresay there are a few weeks left of decent weather before the cold truly sets in. Perhaps we shall meet you there.

 Petersham

P.S. Munro gave me the most superior snuff box. I cannot wait for you to see it.

Ah, Petersham had a new snuff box. All was right with the world!

* * * *

I slept soundly until late afternoon. Cornering a murderer is a tiring activity.

Dressed for the evening in a royal-blue coat, I once again took a hackney cab to Fetter Street. I wished to learn whether or not Miss Lavender had seen Miss Ashton.

And, I must admit, I owed Mr. Lavender my thanks.

To that end, once I arrived in Fetter Lane, I paid the coach driver and paused to look in the window of Allen & Butler, Ivory Box Makers. Seeing the very thing I desired, I roused the shopkeeper from his dinner and then made the disturbance worthwhile to him.

Several minutes later, I knocked on Mr. Lavender’s door.

The bluff Scotsman answered. “I didn’t think to see you again so soon, laddie.”

He motioned me inside. We sat down in the small parlor.

Miss Lavender came forward. “Mr. Brummell, I must thank you for sending me to Miss Ashton. But first, would you care for some refreshment?”

I held up a detaining hand. “I am expected at my club, but thank you. The purpose of my visit is twofold. First, I did want to learn Miss Ashton’s condition.”

“The girl’s a brave lass,” Mr. Lavender pronounced. “Lydia brought Miss Ashton here, not wanting her to stay at Wrayburn House another night. She’s asleep right now. Worn out, I imagine. I’m glad she was not the guilty party.”

“Rebecca is coming to work with me at the shelter,

Mr. Brummell,” Miss Lavender said with a broad smile. “I feel most fortunate. It’s extraordinary when one finds another with a like mind. Rebecca will be an invaluable addition to Haven of Hope.”

“It pleases me greatly to hear it,” I said.

“Indeed, sir, I am in your debt. For our agreement was that I would take Lizzie in, and now it seems she does not need a place to go. Instead I have Rebecca as a helper, and just today, I received a large draft on Lord Ackerman’s bank.”

I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise. “Is that so?”

She laughed. “Yes. I expect I have you to thank for that, although I confess I do not know how you did it.”

“Your debt to me is paid by the pleasure of your acquaintance, Miss Lavender. I have an appreciation for beauty, you see.”

We smiled at one another.

Mr. Lavender cast a glare at us that would have withered heather. “If that is all then, you’ll be on your way,

Mr. Brummell. Unless you care to discuss letting Bow Street have use of the twins?”

I lifted my watch by its chain and checked the time. “Er, I must be off. But, before I go, I did want to give you this, Mr. Lavender.” I held out my gloved hand. In my palm lay the purchase I had just made. It was a small ivory box intended to hold toothpicks. In the exact center, a tiny round turquoise stone rested.

Miss Lavender squinted at it, then leaned closer to get a better look. Devil take me if the girl is not near-sighted.

She studied the gift and gasped. “How lovely!”

Her father accepted the slim box. He stared at it, speechless at first. Then, “Don’t know if it might not be too fine for a Bow Street investigator.”

“Balderdash,” I said calmly. “It is a gift from me to thank you for saving my life. Another minute and Mr. Turtleby might very well have accomplished his second murder.”

Mr. Lavender looked at me, then said grudgingly, “I suppose I need to thank you, as well. If not for you, I might have arrested the wrong person.”

I smiled.

He shook his finger at me. “But don’t go thinking you can ever get involved in another murder investigation. Leave such matters to Bow Street.”

My smile changed to a wry twist of my lips. “I shall be happy to do so, I assure you. In fact, I am considering a visit to Brighton. Nothing ever happens there.”

We walked to the door. I bowed over Miss Lavender’s hand, under her father’s sharply disapproving eye.

Donning my hat, I put my hand on the door handle and turned to make a final goodbye. Just then I saw something I wish I had not.

Mr. Lavender apparently perceived a minuscule bit of dirt on the top of the ivory toothpick holder. He spat on it, then rubbed it clean on the sleeve of his shirt.

I shuddered.

Lydia Lavender caught my eye and winked.

* * * *

That night I made my way through my clubs, ending at my favorite, White’s. Talk abounded on the apprehension of Lady Wrayburn’s murderer.

Though I knew my story would be relished, I kept silent about my part in the investigation. It was enough that everyone knew I had been correct when I proclaimed Miss Ashton innocent.

At one point during the course of the long evening, I crossed paths with Sylvester Fairingdale. He gave me a most unpleasant look before casting his chin in the air and moving away without speaking.

I noticed his gloves were plain white.

Dawn began to break as I made my way home through the Mayfair streets. I entered the house as quietly as one who had consumed approximately three bottles of wine could. Earlier I had told Robinson he need not wait up for me. I imagined he had spent the evening at the Butler’s Tankard, perhaps regaling the other valets on my virtues.

Then again, perhaps not.

Slipping into my bedchamber, I saw Chakkri raise his head from where he was sleeping in his usual place, the exact center of my bed.

“No need to get up, old boy,” I told him somewhat unsteadily. Robinson had laid out my nightclothes, and I struggled to get into them. “I shall be there in a flash.”

It might have been my imagination, but he seemed to view my condition with scorn. With a low “reow” he jumped down off the bed and went to warm himself by the waning fire.

I blew out all the candles save the one by my bedside and climbed into bed. “You might greet me with a little more respect, you know. I am the one who keeps you in lobster patties.”

The cat made no reply. He traversed the room and leaped onto the crescent-shaped side table.

“Oh, no! Not my tortoise-shell Sèvres!” I yelled.

But for some odd reason, one I shall never fathom, the cat had no further interest in the tortoise-shell plate. A fickle fellow, do you not agree? No doubt he would leave my

Tortoise-shell comb alone. He might even partake of turtle soup.

Who could understand it?

This book is dedicated with love to my son, Tom Stevens

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Many thanks to Paul Cox of the National Portrait Gallery in London for his kindness and generosity in showing me the various likenesses, both authenticated and non-authenticated of George Bryan Brummell held by the Gallery.

Real historical personages appear in the Beau Brummell mystery series. They are:

George, Prince of Wales
The Duke of Clarence
The Duke of York (and his mistress, Mary Anne Clarke)
Frederica, the Duchess of York
Viscount Petersham
Lady Salisbury
Robinson
John Lavender
Scrope Davies
Edmund Kean
Poodle Byng
Lumley Skeffington
Lord Yarmouth
Old Dawe
Juan Floris of Floris’s (which is still in London today)
W. Griffin, the sedan chair maker
Weston, the famous tailor
Meyer, tailor
Guthrie, tailor

The Beau Brummell Mysteries are:

DEATH ON A SILVER TRAY

THE TAINTED SNUFF BOX

THE BLOODIED CRAVAT

MURDER IN THE PLEASURE GARDENS

For the latest news, please visit my website at
www.rosemarystevens.com

Copyright © 2000 by Rosemary Stevens

Originally published by Berkley Prime Crime [0425174689]

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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