Romancing His English Rose (Entangled Scandalous) (4 page)

The truth was Simon wasn’t exactly sure why he had gotten so upset in the first place. Normally he was pretty unflappable and really all she had done was make a few arrangements to aid in their investigation. But her assumption that he would say yes to all of her plans irked him. He was a grown man and able to make his own decisions, damn it. He did not need her. He did not want to need her.

“I don’t need you,” Simon muttered, as he plodded down the steps and toward the carriage.

“What was that?”

“Nothing…let’s just get this over with,” Simon said gruffly.

…

Rose frowned to herself as Simon helped her into the carriage. She was rather sure he had said he didn’t need her. But the way he said it indicated that he might have been thinking her help had been nice rather than presumptuous. Was he fighting feelings for her? Not feelings of love, certainly, but of camaraderie of sorts? She had—for a moment there—felt they had been united in their task, in their goal, to prove Caleb guilty. Perhaps he had too? The question was, why was he struggling against it? She rather thought, if they had to be married, wouldn’t it be nice to have somewhat like minds? Love need not enter into it, but being compatible would surely be a bonus. A bonus, frankly, she never before thought they would enjoy. Marrying Simon was still not something she was looking forward to—he was a notorious womanizer after all—but maybe they could enjoy some sort of mutual understanding.

Couldn’t they?

Sighing, Rose decided trying to understand men, especially this man, made her head hurt.

Chapter Five

Try smiling; it hides a multitude of sins.

—The Duke of Lancaster

Leicester St. was located only a few blocks past St. James Church, just after Piccadilly turned into Coventry. In the past, it had been a rather fashionable area in which to live—the nearby Leicester House was once the residence of Frederick, the Prince of Wales—but in the past few years the area had declined and it was no longer such a smart address.

It certainly wasn’t an area a well-bred young lady should ever venture into alone and Rose was very glad that Simon had agreed to escort her, however reluctantly.

It wasn’t long before their carriage arrived in front of Dr. Charles Bell’s house. It was a modest row house with an unremarkable frontage that sat just down the way from the Hotel De La Sabloniere. It was clean and neat, but Rose found that that was about all she saw to commend it.

Simon lifted her down and offered Rose his arm. She smiled at his gallantry and took his arm gratefully, and together they made their way up the steps to the front door of the house.

At Simon’s knock, the door was opened by a harried looking gentleman whose hair was standing all on end and who was missing his cravat altogether.

Rose tried not to appear too scandalized by the man’s unkempt appearance, but it was rather hard to do so. Generally speaking, a gentleman did not allow himself to be seen by others unless perfectly coifed.

“May I help you?” the man said.

“Er, yes,” Simon replied. “We have an appointment to see Dr. Mathieu Orfila.”

“Hmmm? Orfila, you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see. Very good. Come in, come in,” the man said, waving them into the small cramped front hall.

Simon looked at Rose with a raised eyebrow. She shrugged and followed the untidy man into the house. She wasn’t going to allow a little lack of convention to keep her from meeting Dr. Orfila.

Rose and Simon followed the gentleman a short way down the hall. As the man passed by a hanging mirror, he happened to take a look at himself. He stopped abruptly—nearly causing Rose to run into the back of him—and began to run his fingers through his hair in a useless attempt to get it under some sort of control. Finally, he just hung his head and looked back at Simon and Rose. “I must apologize for my appearance. I was working on an experiment earlier today, when the, er, subjects…managed to get away from me. I find rats most difficult to catch once loose, don’t you?”

Rose gasped in horror and glued herself to Simon’s side while searching the hallway for any signs of the foul creatures. She would have jumped on his back if etiquette had allowed such a thing.

Simon, on the other hand, just nodded at the man and said, “Well, yes, they are quick little vermin.”

“Precisely!” The man smiled, clearly taking Simon’s understanding as acceptance of his apology. “I’m Dr. Charles Bell, by the way.”

“Mr. Simon Trumbull,” Simon replied, shaking the doctor’s hand. “And this is Miss Rose Warren.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Now then, this way…I believe Mathieu mentioned he was expecting you.”

Rose breathed a sigh of relief to be on their way. The hallway was becoming rather confining and she was beginning to feel a little frantic.

“Are you all right?” Simon whispered.

“If you leave my side for even one second, I will kill you,” Rose vowed.

“What,” Simon asked in a teasing tone, “you don’t like rodents? They play such an important part in the sciences.”

“Yes, but not in one’s house!” Rose retorted, trying not to laugh. She could scarcely believe Simon was able make her smile in such a situation. Rose was beginning to think she liked the man!

…

Smiling cheerfully to himself, Simon found he kind of liked that Rose was so uncomfortable with the loose rats. Of course, he would be the first to admit his enjoyment was a bit vindictive, but he rather thought she deserved it after the morning he’d had.

Simon also quite liked playing the role of her protector. To a lesser extent, to be sure, he told himself, but it was nice nevertheless.

Feeling positively light in the step, Simon followed Dr. Bell into a small room at the end of the hall, with Rose attached firmly to his side. The room was dark and the style dated, but it was clean and the furniture looked in good condition—worn, of course, but well cared for.

In one chair, placed near the warmth of the small fireplace, there sat a young man reading a book. The man looked up when the trio entered and he smiled. Getting to his feet, he said in very precise French, “Ah, you must be Mr. Trumbull.”

“Yes, sir, Simon Trumbull,” he replied in French as well.

Simon stepped forward to shake the gentleman’s hand. He was surprised to find that the man, who he assumed was Dr. Orfila, was of a similar age to him—maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven years old.

“Dr. Orfila, may I please introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Rose Warren.” It felt a little strange introducing Rose as his fiancée and Simon realized it was the first time he had ever done so.

Rose appeared a little taken aback by the introduction, as well, or perhaps it was Simon’s fluency with the French language. Most of London high society knew enough conversational French to manage well enough, but for some reason most people did not expect such proficiency from Simon, though he was never sure why not.

Rose recovered herself quickly and said, in her own impeccable French, “How do you do, sir?”

“Very well, thank you. It is lovely to meet you,” Dr. Orfila said, raising her hand for a chaste kiss.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I am a great fan of your work,” Rose replied.

Dr. Orfila raised his brows slightly, as he motioned for them to have a seat on the sofa across from him. “Really? I was not aware my work was so, er, readily available in England.”

Simon thought that was a rather tactful way of implying the doctor was not aware that a woman would have access to his work.

Rose must have thought so too, though she didn’t appear to take any offense. “My father is a great collector of scientific works and he procured a copy of your Traité des poisons just recently. I must admit, I found your conclusions very intriguing.”

“Your father is a man of science, too?”

“No-o-o,” Rose replied. “I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

Rose glanced at Simon, who was having trouble keeping a straight face. Lord Holderness a man of science? The science of hoarding, perhaps. She glared at him and then quickly switched to a pretty smile as she turned back to Dr. Orfila.

The doctor appeared a bit confused. “Why then does your father collect such works?”

“Ah, well…” Rose began. Simon watched as Rose took a deep breath and began her explanation. “My father enjoys the books but doesn’t have much time for reading…”—which was true; Lord Holderness didn’t have time for much more than procuring more books—“however, he fully supports my interest in the subject”—well, he was supportive in his own way, Simon supposed—“therefore I have taken advantage of his collection myself. I am quite well-read on many areas of science, including, though not limited to, biology, chemistry, and human physiology.”

Rose smiled broadly, clearly hoping that her confidence would be enough to sway the doctor into accepting her explanation. Simon thought the doctor would either laugh heartily in her face or accept her for what she was, just another person interested in the sciences.

“Well, now…that is just splendid!” Dr. Orfila exclaimed. “It is an honor to meet such an, er, unusual supporter of the sciences.”

Rose nearly sagged in obvious relief. She smiled triumphantly at Simon, who raised an eyebrow and nodded once in a silent salute.

“Thank you, Dr. Orfila. As I said, the honor is all mine,” Rose replied.

Dr. Orfila smiled and then turned to include Simon in the conversation. “I gathered from your note that you are in need of my help?”

“Yes, sir, we are,” Simon said. He paused for a moment, not quite sure how to proceed. “To be honest, Doctor, I am not sure how to say this.”

“I find that being straightforward is always best.”

Simon thought that was probably a good idea. The topic of discussion would not become any less distasteful no matter how he eased into it. “In that case…Rose and I are here because we believe my cousin was, well, poisoned.”

Nodding, Dr. Orfila said, “I had a feeling it was something like that. So tell me, did your cousin survive the suspected poisoning?”

“No, sir, he did not.”

“I am terribly sorry to hear that, Mr. Trumbull. You have my sympathies.”

“Thank you. It happened some time ago, but he was a good man and a good friend, in addition to being my cousin.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, just how long ago did it happen?” Dr. Orfila queried, clearly concerned as to what the answer may be.

“Oh, a little more than a year ago, or thereabouts,” Simon replied, before adding, “Why do you ask?”

Dr. Orfila grimaced slightly.

“Is something wrong, Doctor?” Rose asked.

“Well, yes.” Dr. Orfila admitted. “Poisons are extremely difficult to detect in human tissue, though as you may have read, I have discovered a way to identify certain types. Unfortunately, many toxins do not remain in the system for very long. Add to that the fact that your cousin has most certainly been interred by now, I don’t see much hope of my being able to help you.”

But Rose was clearly not ready to give up. “Isn’t there any other way to prove a poisoning?”

“There are other ways yes, but first, why don’t you tell me why you believe this man was poisoned.”

“We believe he was killed for his title, Doctor…by his brother.”

“Yes, that is a common reason, as we are all aware,” Dr. Orfila agreed readily, “but, no, what I meant was, what behavior did he exhibit prior to his death? I assume it was suspicious in some way?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Rose hurried to say, blushing a bit. “Frederick was the picture of health leading up to and throughout the dinner party he was hosting, but after dinner he began experiencing horrible stomach pains and he soon could barely stand upright. Obviously, the guests did not remain long after that, but within hours we heard that he was dead.”

“Hmmm, I see,” Dr. Orfila murmured, before turning to Simon. “As his cousin, do you know of any other symptoms that may have appeared after everyone left?”

Simon was very grave in his response. “By that time, Frederick was unable to stand on his own. I helped him to his room and offered to help my aunt care for him. For hours, he had profuse diarrhea and vomiting. In all my years, I have never seen someone…expel so many fluids in such a short amount of time. We tried to get him to drink water and tea, but he was simply unable to keep anything down. The doctor we called in suspected cholera, but I never quite believed that. And he died within seven hours of the initial stomach pain.”

Rose reached over for Simon’s hand and squeezed it gently. Not able to look at her, he just took her hand more firmly in both of his and clung to her. He hadn’t realized how much he would need the support, her support, as he remembered the death of his cherished cousin and friend.

Dr. Orfila responded with quiet assurance. “I believe that you are correct, Mr. Trumbull. I do not think your cousin had cholera. I believe he was poisoned with arsenic.”

“Arsenic?” Rose said, her face lighting up with hope. “Didn’t I read that metallic poisons, like arsenic, can be detected in the hair and fingernails even years after a poisoning?”

“Very good, Miss Warren. That is correct.”

“But wouldn’t Frederick have had to ingest an awful lot of arsenic for it to kill him so quickly?” Simon asked uncertainly.

“Not as much as you would think, no, but because you said your cousin appeared in very good health up to the night in question, I suspect he had not been poisoned over time, but rather received an extremely toxic dose of something the night of his death. Something like La Cantarella.”

“Isn’t that what Lucrezia Borgia was rumored to have used to murder her political rivals?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Dr. Orfila replied.

Simon looked at Rose. Where did she come up with some of her knowledge?

“With the poison being primarily metallic in nature, if we could provide you with a hair sample, would you be able to test for it, even after all this time?” Rose asked thoughtfully.

“Yes, actually, I could. Do you have such a sample?”

Rose looked at Simon, but he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rose,” he said, sick about what he was saying. “We burned everything in Frederick’s room after he died. The family was afraid of his illness being contagious. I can’t imagine where we might find a sample, except on the body itself.”

“But we can’t exhume the body without the family’s permission…without Caleb’s permission,” Rose whispered.

“I know. And that, of course, would alert him to our suspicions.” Simon sighed.

They looked at each other with equally haunted looks. They were not going to be able to bring justice to Frederick after all.

“You know, there is another way to determine a poisoning,” Dr. Orfila offered.

Rose and Simon turned to the doctor and said, “There is?”

“Yes, not only can I detect poisons in human tissue, but also on surfaces.”

“Of course!” Rose said. “If we could find the dish or glass that held the poisoned food…”

“Exactly, Miss Warren!” Dr. Orfila announced, clearly impressed with Rose’s quick thinking. “Arsenic is odorless and colorless and can be easily incorporated in food or drink, which is how I suspect your cousin was poisoned; my tests can detect even the smallest amount of residue left behind on any surface.”

“But certainly the dishes will have been washed a number of times since Frederick’s death,” Rose said, deflating somewhat. “Far too many times for us to find any remaining poison.”

Simon sat up suddenly. “What about what Caleb carried the poison in?”

“What do you mean?” Rose asked, a puzzled look on her face.

“Well, clearly Caleb had to bring the poison in a container, right? Some sort of vial or what have you. Something that—”

“—may not be washed as readily as a plate or glass!” Rose finished for him. “Simon, that is brilliant!”