The Duke of Northumberland took command. He ordered that a doctor be summoned, only to find he already had one in his house. Doctor Wendell hurried to Roger Cranworth’s body. The doctor felt for a pulse, but looked at us grimly and shook his head. It was too late. Roger Cranworth was dead.
And Freddie was the one alone with him when he died.
I managed to slip into the small room and stand beside her. “Freddie,” I whispered. I squeezed her ice-cold hand for a moment. “What happened?” Overcome with shock, she could not speak. Her wide gaze fixed on the corpse and did not waver. The Duke of Northumberland, Freddie, and I watched silently as Doctor Wendell examined the body.
Prinny stood outside the room as if he was on guard himself—he always imagines himself a great military man—though I suspect he did not want to be in the room with a dead body. He did allow Victor Tallarico to enter.
Just when Doctor Wendell said, “It appears Mr. Cranworth is the victim of some sort of poison. I suggest that glass on the floor be examined for traces of the drug,” Cecily Cranworth’s face appeared at the door next to the Prince, and she heard the words.
Seeing her brother on the floor, she began calling his name and crying hysterically. Doctor Wendell abandoned the dead man and hurried to Cecily’s side, keeping her outside the small room and attempting to comfort her.
Victor Tallarico said, “Dio mio, was he murdered or did he take poison to do away with himself?”
“That is a matter for Bow Street,” the Duke of Northumberland replied. He then ordered everyone from the turret room. We filed out, and he shut the door on the dead body. He then issued orders for a messenger to ride to Bow Street. In the meantime, he posted two footmen outside the turret room door.
Guests milled about, stunned. The Duke saw to the gathering. Everyone would no doubt be most annoyed at this interruption of their fun by the death of a lowly member of the country gentry, but the party was over. Perhaps they could spend the remainder of the evening gossiping about why her Royal Highness, the Duchess of York, had been the one at the corpse’s side.
Julia, The Duchess of Northumberland, led the Prince, Cecily Cranworth, Doctor Wendell, Freddie, and me into the Red Drawing Room. Victor Tallarico slipped in at the last moment. “I escorted the Royal Duchess here, Mr. Brummell,” he told me, then went to sit by Freddie.
The Duchess of Northumberland closed the doors to the room to keep out the curious while we waited for Bow Street.
There followed an agonising time while Cecily Cranworth could not be consoled. She seemed equally upset over Lady Ariana, who would have to be told her fiancé was dead. Doctor Wendell asked that Lady Crecy be located and brought to the drawing room. That lady arrived and took Cecily into her arms. Doctor Wendell was finally able to give Cecily a drop of laudanum in a cup of tea.
My mind reeled. What the deuce had happened? Who could have poisoned Roger Cranworth? I did not believe for a second that he had committed suicide. Was there yet another person involved in the highwayman scheme and the subsequent plan to blackmail Freddie and me? Or had Roger been killed for another reason? Why was Freddie alone with Roger in the turret room?
He must have approached her regarding the letter. If only I could speak to Freddie privately. But I could not.
I looked at her. Clad in an ivory silk gown with silk roses trimming the high waist, Freddie’s skin was much whiter than her dress. She darted a look at me, but quickly looked away. Victor Tallarico did not have any luck either. His attempts to converse with Freddie were met with a little shake of her head. It was as if she had turned inward and would not be drawn out. The Duchess of Northumberland sat in a chair next to her and offered tea from a tray brought in by a footman.
“Thank you, Julia,” Freddie said in a quiet voice. “If someone could send word to my maid, Ulga, that I am all right.”
The footman cleared his throat and looked at his mistress.
“Yes?”
“Her Royal Highness’s maid is just outside the door, Your Grace. She is quite distressed and wishes to be of service.”
Freddie addressed the young man. “Tell Ulga to remain in the servants’ area until it is time to leave.”
The footman bowed and walked backward—as one does in the presence of royalty—from the room.
Prinny said, “What happened back there, Frederica? Who was that man in the room with you? I dare say he is unknown to me.”
Freddie’s small hand trembled on her teacup. “Mr. Cranworth was a country neighbor of mine.”
“Didn’t come up to Town much, or I’d know about it,” the Prince said. “What were you doing alone with him?”
“He asked to speak with me privately,” Freddie replied. “I am not certain what he wanted. He-he collapsed before he could tell me.”
In an effort to divert the Prince, I said, “As Miss Cecily Cranworth was saying to me earlier, her brother had recently become engaged to Lady Ariana, Lord Kendrick’s cousin. Lady Ariana is staying with Lady Crecy here in London. Perhaps his betrothed is the reason Mr. Cranworth is in Town.”
“Lord Kendrick? The marquess who was murdered at Oatlands?” the Prince asked in no small measure of surprise.
“The very same,” I replied.
The Prince looked at Freddie. “Where, exactly, is my brother?”
“I believe him to be in Geneva, sir,” Freddie answered. “However, I wrote to him after the ordeal with Lord Kendrick. He may return to London now, I cannot say.”
That is just what we all needed: the Duke of York to return and make things worse.
As it turned out, the person who made things worse was none other than Mr. John Lavender. He arrived with four constables and was led directly to the turret room. Before he entered the room, he looked over at Freddie and me with a dark expression that did not bode well.
Everyone rose to gather once more outside the turret room. At last I had my chance to speak to Freddie.
“Freddie,” I whispered in her ear. “What happened?”
She spoke without looking at me. “You did not recover my letter last night as you had promised, did you, George?”
“No,” I said in a dismal voice.
“Instead I heard from Roger Cranworth. He wrote me that he would seek me out at Syon House tonight. He said he had something that belonged to me.”
“So you met him in that room?”
“Yes. He sought me out earlier and told me when and where,” her voice broke. “I-I agreed, and-and he had the letter in his hand. Then before he could say anything, he-he grasped his chest in pain and fell down.” Tears formed in Freddie’s eyes.
The Duchess of Northumberland could not hear us, but she saw Freddie’s distress and came to take her hand.
I walked toward the turret room like one about to come upon a scene of horror and unable to turn back. At the door, the scene played out. Mr. Lavender crouched down and examined the corpse. I saw each movement in vivid clarity. The moment when he reached inside Roger Cranworth’s pocket. The next moment when he withdrew what I knew with a certainty was Freddie’s letter from inside Roger’s coat. A second sheet of paper accompanied the lethal letter. A translation from the original French, I thought, so that Roger, unversed in the language, could read the letter aloud to Freddie if necessary while making his demands.
Mr. Lavender scanned the lines. Twice. Then, without a word, he folded the papers and put them in his pocket. He rose slowly to his feet, turned and saw me standing in the doorway.
There was an emotion in the Scotsman’s eyes I had never seen before when he looked at me. Disappointment.
He quietly gave his men orders for the removal of the body.
I had to step out of the way as the constables carried the body of Roger Cranworth from the room and towards a hidden door in the Gallery that led outside.
Cecily Cranworth’s sobs served as a distraction for everyone. While the attention was on her and Freddie, I stepped into the turret room just as the constables stepped out and before Mr. Lavender could exit the room.
The Bow Street man said, “The nobility are not known for their high morals. But I didn’t want to believe it of you, laddie.”
“Do not believe it,” I said fervently. My voice strong but low, I compelled him to believe me. “That letter was written in a moment of high distress. Her Royal Highness has never broken her marriage vows.”
He measured my sincerity, then said ominously, “Perhaps not, but if it were thought that she had, both of you would be ruined.”
“I know what you are thinking—”
“Brummell?” the Prince called.
I swung around, “Yes, sir, I shall be right there.”
Mr. Lavender made as if to move past me.
“Wait,” I said. “I deliberately misled you earlier. I have been investigating Lord Kendrick’s death. I do have information for you. Give me another day.”
“You’re asking me for time? Time where you could find a way to protect the Royal Duchess?”
“Do you really think she is capable of killing anyone?”
“In the world you live in, Mr. Brummell, reputation is everything. If Cranworth were blackmailing you, both you and the Royal Duchess had motive to kill him.” The Scotsman shook his head. “Each and every one of us is capable of killing if the provocation is great enough.”
“She did not do anything wrong, I give you my word as a gentleman,” I insisted.
“Are you confessing, then?”
“Look here, give me a day, just one day. Do not show the letter to anyone in the meantime. I am asking you on the strength of our ... well, our friendship.”
He studied me intently. “Ach!” was the gruff reply I received before he stepped past me and exited Syon House.
“Zeus!” the Prince exclaimed when I joined him. “I’ve a mind to continue the party at Carlton House,” he said indicating a large group of people waiting for him. “Come with us, Brummell.”
“Sir, I beg that you will excuse me. I am acquainted with the deceased’s fiancée and wish to offer my condolences.”
He waved a royal hand. “Very well, then. All I can say is that I will be glad when Frederick returns and sees to his wife. Gads, she shouldn’t be allowed to have a corpse at Oatlands. Now here she is with a dead fellow in the middle of a party. Looks damned odd.”
“Yes, sir,” I agreed in order to placate him. “You know the way her Royal Highness likes to help those less fortunate. In this case, she was too late.”
“Eh?” Prinny said, already anticipating how to amuse himself at his residence at Carlton House.
I bowed low. “I shall call on you later in the week, sir.”
“Do,” he said absently, walking away.
I hastened to where the Duchess of Northumberland, Lady Crecy and Doctor Wendell hovered over Cecily Cranworth.
Lady Crecy said, “Oh, Mr. Brummell. What are we to do? Miss Cranworth here has no where to go, so I have offered her my house.”
“That is most kind of you, my lady,” I said. “Er, where is the Royal Duchess?”
“Signor Tallarico escorted her back to St. James’s Palace. What a shock it must have been for our dear little Royal Duchess to have someone expire right in front of her.”
“Yes.” Mayhaps she would accept Tallarico’s comfort.
“And now,” Lady Crecy was saying, “we must go home and tell Lady Ariana. Oh dear, oh dear.”
My mind raced ahead. “Lady Crecy, allow me to come with you. Perhaps I could be of some assistance.”
Lady Crecy pressed my arm. “How good of you, Mr. Brummell. One needs a gentleman present in circumstances such as these. Lord Wrayburn has already taken Penelope home in his carriage and is sure to have departed for Wrayburn House before we arrive home. While I am convinced Doctor Wendell is a fine man, well, as I said, a gentleman is needed.”
Riding in Lady Crecy’s luxurious Town coach a few minutes later, I had time to think. Lady Crecy sat next to me, with Cecily Cranworth and Doctor Wendell opposite.
I had been so sure that Roger Cranworth had killed Lord Kendrick. Now Roger was dead. I still believed he had killed Neal. But who had given Roger poison? I refused to even consider that Freddie, desperate over the letter, had had anything to do with Roger’s death. That meant that the poison that killed Roger had been given to him prior to when he met her in the turret room. But how much earlier? My knowledge of poisons is somewhat limited, you understand, never having had occasion to use one myself.
Could Roger have been given the drug before the ball at Syon House? Or had someone slipped him a poisoned drink at the party?
Who wanted both Lord Kendrick and Roger dead?
I looked at Cecily Cranworth. She would have motive to kill Lord Kendrick, but not her brother. Despite Roger’s care-for-nobody ways, Miss Cranworth still loved him. More importantly, she knew her friend Lady Ariana loved him. Cecily would do nothing to hurt Lady Ariana.
What about Doctor Wendell? He would have knowledge of poisons. He had been at the Oatlands house party, angry at Lord Kendrick’s brutish treatment of Cecily Cranworth. But as for Roger ... When I arrived at Syon House, Cecily and Doctor Wendell had told me of their engagement. Roger, thinking himself soon to be rich by blackmailing Freddie, apparently had given the couple his blessing. Doctor Wendell would have no reason to kill Roger. He would not want Cecily hurt—as she appeared now—by her brother’s death.
Inside Lady Crecy’s grand house, we gathered in the drawing room. A footman was sent to Lady Ariana’s room to bring the lady down. Some minutes went by before the pale, wispy girl slipped into the room.
Cecily Cranworth promptly burst into fresh tears.
Doctor Wendell sat close to Cecily on the sofa murmuring words of sympathy.
Lady Crecy stood wringing her hands.
I said, “Lady Ariana, come and sit in this chair. I fear we have bad news to share with you.”
The girl obeyed. Lady Crecy seated herself and watched anxiously as I pulled a chair close to Lady Ariana.
“Why is Cecily crying?” Lady Ariana said in her child-like voice.
I took a deep breath. “Because something very sad has happened.”
Vacant eyes looked at me. “Sad?”
“Yes. Lady Ariana, I am afraid that Roger Cranworth partook of some wine or other drink which made him quite ill this evening.”
The girl looked at me with a benign expression.
“Lady Ariana, I am so very sorry to tell you this because I know how much you love Roger, but the illness was a fatal one. He could not be saved.”
“Dead?” She said uncertainly.
“Yes.” I tried to take her hand, but she pulled it back. She clasped her hands in her lap.
“No, you are mistaken. It is Connell who is dead,” she said, thinking of her cousin, Lord Kendrick. “And he deserved to die.”
Lady Crecy gasped and reached in her reticule for her salts.
On the sofa, Cecily Cranworth allowed Doctor Wendell to put his arm around her as she sniffled.
I tried again. “You are confused, Lady Ariana.”
She shook her head. “No, I am not. Connell deserved to die. He killed Uncle, you know,” she said referring to the old Marquess of Kendrick. “He gave him something to drink that caused an attack of Uncle’s heart. Connell did it so he could be marquess. After Maynard died, Uncle was the only one standing in the way.”
Good God! I knew Lord Kendrick was a dissolute criminal, but a murderer besides? Yet I remembered thinking it very convenient that a second son without prospects, dependent upon his father for a miserly allowance, should suddenly find himself the possessor of a title and wealth.
“Lady Ariana, listen to me carefully,” I said gently. “Please look at me. I am unaware of what Lord Kendrick did or who killed him. I am speaking now of your betrothed, Roger Cranworth.”
She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “Yes, Roger and I are to be married. He was reluctant at first, but then I gave him the ticket to good fortune, and he said he would marry me.”
A chill ran through me.
“Ticket to good fortune?” I looked at Lady Crecy. She shook her head implying she knew nothing of any money.
Lady Ariana went on, “Connell had given it to me to hide in my room. It was a secret. A folded piece of paper. Connell told me not to look at it or he would send me away to a lunatic asylum. He said that I must be careful not to say anything about it because it was his ticket to good fortune.”
The letter. She was talking about Freddie’s letter. It had been in Lady Ariana’s room at Oatlands, as I had suspected. I had just been too late to reclaim it.
“I did what Connell said. I did not want to be sent away.” Lady Ariana looked at me for approval.
“You did just as you ought,” I said.
“That is what Roger said. After Connell died, I told Roger I loved him. I asked him to take care of me.” She frowned. “At first, he said no. He said he could not afford a wife, but then I told him about the ticket to good fortune and what Connell had said. After I gave Roger the folded paper, he said that as long as I did not tell anyone about the paper, we would be married.”
The dastard, using someone fragile like Lady Ariana to launch a blackmail scheme. He probably never would have married her, finding some excuse to break the engagement.
Lady Ariana went on: “But since Roger has been in London, he hardly ever comes to see me. He still wants to marry me, does he not? I begin to wonder. It is wrong for a gentleman to go back on his word, you know.” She turned to me. “I have been very angry thinking he would not wed me after he promised.”
“Lady Ariana, I know that Roger loved you very much,” I lied. “He did want to marry you and would have, I am certain, had he lived.”
“But he is alive. It is Connell that is dead.”
“No!” Cecily Cranworth screamed. “Roger is dead, Ariana. They are both dead!”
Cecily began crying again. Lady Ariana’s face was a perfect blank. Try as we might, neither Lady Crecy, Doctor Wendell, nor I could get her to say another word. I think that Cecily’s words had finally penetrated, and the girl had retreated somewhere in her mind.
Doctor Wendell left Cecily in Lady Crecy’s care and motioned for me to join him in the hall. I took my leave of the ladies and followed the doctor.
“Mr. Brummell, it is of no use. Sadly I have seen cases like Lady Ariana before. She needs rest and the care of people who love her. I think she should return to the country.”
I nodded. “I expect you have the right of it.”
“Clearly the girl is not in her right mind, babbling on about that ticket to good fortune.”
“Will she be all right? Is she, in any way, dangerous?”
“There’s no way to really know. What I’ll propose is that Cecily and I wed immediately. Lady Ariana can live with us. Cecily will not want it any other way.”
I held out my hand to Doctor Wendell. “You are good. Write to me and let me know how matters progress.”
Though the hour was very late and I risked encountering a footpad, I walked the few streets home. I had to try to clear my mind of its jumbled thoughts and focus on who wanted both Lord Kendrick and Roger Cranworth dead. Although the idea that the killings were not related did occur to me, I dismissed it. Instinct told me the same person had committed the crimes.
Could it be Lady Ariana? The girl was out of her senses, that was plain to see. Doctor Wendell could not say with any certainty whether she was dangerous. Could she have been so frightened that Lord Kendrick would put her in that lunatic asylum that she killed him? Then, later, when Roger showed signs of abandoning her after he had promised to marry her, could she have killed again? She said she had been angry at the thought he would not fulfill his promise to marry her.
I entered Bruton Street with must have been a mighty frown on my face.
Robinson was all concern. “Sir, what is wrong?”
“Roger Cranworth was murdered tonight,” I said wearily, climbing the stairs.
“Heavens! His death does not have anything to do with the Royal Duchess’s missing letter, does it, sir?” he asked as we crossed into my bedchamber.
“I fear it has everything to do with that blasted letter,” I snapped, causing Chakkri, asleep on the bed, to raise his head and point his ears forward.
I immediately regretted my tone. Robinson became even more solicitous of my needs, real and imagined. When he asked if I wanted him to go down to the kitchens and warm some milk to help me sleep, I lost my temper. “When have I ever, in the time you have known me, drunk warm milk? Take yourself off. I can prepare myself for bed. I do not require, nor do I want, your help.”
Robinson’s face fell. In a quiet voice he said, “I am sorry, sir. Before I leave, if you will permit me to say one thing.”
“Go ahead,” I told him, pouring myself a large measure of brandy.
I am sorry that I was taken in by that girl, Fanny. I should have known better, since she was employed by that odious Sylvester Fairingdale. I am afraid, sir, that I was duped by a pretty face. She seemed respectable and caring, though she did try to get me to reveal the secret ingredients of the blackening I use on your boots. I never dreamed the tisane she gave me would cause such ill effects. She explained that all the herbs and such were of the first quality as she obtained them from the very same apothecary that her Royal Highness, the Duchess of York uses to mix potions whenever she is in London. I was a fool to believe Fanny. Please forgive me.”
I had been standing with my back to him. At these words, I turned around to tell him to forget the matter. But he had left the room soundlessly.
I picked up my brandy and looked at the cat. “Well, I shall tell him in the morning. I should not have been sharp with him.”
Chakkri let out a faint “reow.”
The brandy slid down my throat and I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth invade my body.
Then my eyes snapped open. “Good God!”
I placed the brandy on a side table with a sharp click. “I am the fool, Chakkri, not Robinson. The answer has been right in front of me the whole time! I just did not want to consider it. I did not want to believe it. I did not want it to be so. Dear God.”
“Reow!” shrieked Chakkri. Then he laid down and curled his tail into a “C.”