An Artless Demise Read online

  “Her ladyship seems to have recovered rather quickly,” I couldn’t help but remark as Hotchkins left us to notify the earl.

  “Yes,” Gage replied, his eyes narrowed in consideration of something unpleasant. “Either she’s made of sterner stuff than I’d suspected, or she’s not grieving half so much as she wishes us to believe.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned to peruse the books covering the dark shelves along one wall. “That makes anything she chooses to tell us questionable.”

  I allowed my gaze to travel over the contents of the room, from the gleaming wooden desk whose surface was clear but for one neat stack of papers, to the ornamental fireplace. A second door stood shut next to the only painting of any interest hanging above a cabinet. All the while, I considered what I knew about the countess, but regrettably it wasn’t much. I’d met her a handful of times, and always at balls and soirees where one was least inclined to be genuine.

  “Is your father acquainted with the earl?” I asked, leaning closer to examine the brushstrokes of the Cotswolds landscape.

  He pulled a book from the shelves to examine it. “I’m sure they’re acquainted. But how well, I couldn’t say. The earl is a rather prominent Tory, and my father’s political beliefs lean more in that direction than any other.”

  He was returning the book to its place when the earl strode through the door. “So you are here. I was half-afraid you’d change your mind.” He exhaled as if in relief, but his eyes said otherwise. I began to wonder if he regretted asking us to investigate.

  He gestured for us to be seated in the two mahogany caned bergère chairs set before his desk, before settling into the chair behind it. “Now, how do you intend to proceed?”

  Gage couched his words in his most diplomatic tone. “First, we’ll need to speak with you and your family about Lord Feckenham’s activities, particularly in the past few days. And we’ll also need to question your staff to discover if anyone might have seen or heard anything that could point us to the killer. Those things will tell us what to do next.”

  The earl reached out a finger to fiddle with the edge of the blotter on his desk, and then, as if conscious of my eyes scrutinizing him, hastily clasped them in his lap. “Then I suppose you have further questions for me.”

  “We do.”

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “Do you know what your son’s plans were for yesterday evening?”

  He sank deeper into his chair. “I’m afraid not. I didn’t pay much mind to either of my sons’ comings and goings.”

  “But he was living here, correct? All of your family is?”

  Why this question should make him twitch, I didn’t know, but he shifted restlessly. “Yes. Both my sons are . . . were in residence. My daughters are currently at Silvercrest with their governess.”

  Gage rested his ankle over his other knee. “Do you have any suspicion what his intentions for yesterday evening were? Any notion to his usual haunts?”

  “I believe you’re referring to my mention of his gambling. I know he frequented several dens.” Redditch’s eyes flicked briefly toward me. “As well as other disreputable establishments. But his friends could tell you better than I which those were.”

  Gage dipped his head once, accepting this answer, though the look in his eyes communicated he didn’t believe the earl was quite so ignorant of his heir’s movements. In response, the earl’s already ruddy complexion reddened further, but he held his gaze.

  “Last night, you said you weren’t surprised that someone would murder your son,” Gage reminded him. “Why?”

  At this, the earl’s gaze fell to the blotter he no longer resisted touching. “Don’t get me wrong, I cared for my son.” His gaze lifted. “But that doesn’t mean I was blind to his faults. And he had many. He was skilled at driving people into a blinding rage.” He sighed heavily. “Including me.” His brow furrowed in discontentment. “I’m certain he ruined more than one man at the tables. And he trifled with a few young ladies when he knew better.”

  At this, Gage’s expression turned forbidding. A gentleman did not sully an unwed lady in such a manner.

  Redditch scowled in return. “Yes, I know. Fortunately, between the ladies’ families and ours, we were able to stifle any rumors before they could begin. Otherwise I would have forced Feckenham to offer for them. I would have done so the first time it happened, had I not thought the girl better off escaping such a lot.”

  Of all the surprising things he’d revealed, this might have been the most astounding of all. Regardless of the gentleman involved, young ladies were almost always considered better off marrying him whether she’d encouraged his attentions or not. That the earl should take her well-being into consideration was not only open-minded, but indicative of his low opinion of his heir.

  “Did these young ladies’ families agree with you? Might they have desired retribution?” Gage asked.

  “I can’t say.” His jaw hardened. “And neither will I share their names.”

  My husband began to argue, but Redditch would not be swayed. “I promised them I would never reveal their identities or the scandalous details of the incidents, and nothing shall make me break my word. I owe them that.” His chin arched defiantly. “Despite what you may think, I do have my honor, even if my heir had none.”

  Gage studied the other man across the desk. “I can’t fault you for that. And in fact, if it should prove that was the motive for Feckenham’s murder, I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather it remain unknown. I suppose we shall confront that possibility if we come to it.”

  The two men shared a look of mutual understanding, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the earl had broached this subject as a distraction. After all, if he wished to divert suspicion from his family, what better way than to mention the people his son had wronged while also refusing to name names. Anyone who knew a smidgen of Gage’s character would realize how outraged he would be on behalf of these young ladies. It was one of the reasons I loved him. But it was also an area in which he might fail to exercise proper restraint and judgment.

  A soft rapping broke the silence, though it hadn’t come from the door through which we’d entered, but the second door I’d noticed across the room.

  “Come in,” the earl called.

  “My lord, I noticed the numbers . . .” The walnut brown–haired man who entered glanced up from the paperwork he was studying and stumbled to a stop at the sight of us. “My apologies, my lord. I thought you were alone.”

  “It’s no matter, Poole,” the earl replied impatiently. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  The man bowed and retreated through the door he’d entered. I decided he must be a secretary or steward of some kind.

  Redditch tapped the arms of his chair, eager to be finished. “Is there anything else you wished to ask me?”

  “That’s all for now,” Gage replied. “Do you know where we might find her ladyship?”

  “Hotchkins will know. And he’ll be able to assist you with the staff.”

  “Of course.”

  Gage and I rose to our feet, though I noticed as we departed the study that the earl made no move to summon his secretary. Instead, he sat staring out the window behind his desk, his brow puckered and his mouth tight.

  Hotchkins directed us to the countess’s parlor—a small room wallpapered in silk patterned with pink twining roses. The creamy furniture was dainty and soft, and the fireplace tiled in white marble. Everything was decorated in the height of elegance, except for the half-dozen needlepoint pillows scattered about the furniture. That they’d been embroidered by her daughters, I had no doubt, for the efforts were not altogether successful. But the very fact she kept them displayed so prominently rather than tucked away made me soften toward her. I could well imagine my sister doing much the same thing once my nieces, Philipa and Greer, were old enough to wield a needle.


  Pressing a surreptitious hand to the tiny swell of my abdomen, I wondered if this child was a girl who would one day also follow suit.

  We were admitted by the same phlegmatic maid who had assisted her mistress the night before. She scrutinized us with a swift glance from head to toe before stepping aside. Much as I’d expected, the countess lounged across a fainting couch, her morning dress covered by a stylish capucine dressing gown. The dark orange color was not one I would have chosen for the countess, but it was actually quite flattering.

  At the sight of us, she pushed upright, gesturing for us to take a seat. “My husband told me you would likely wish to speak to me. I do apologize for my hysterics last night,” she leaned forward to say. “It was such a great shock. I thought I wouldn’t be able to bear it.” She sighed. “But, of course, one must. For the sake of the family.”

  Her gaze dipped to the claw-and-ball feet of the tea table, her thoughts dwelling on something specific. Something that tugged the corners of her mouth downward in disapproval. Then she seemed to gather herself, offering us a weary smile. “Tea?” She glanced at her maid, who lingered by the door. “Hettie?”

  “Oh, no, thank you,” I said.

  Gage also declined, and Lady Redditch dismissed her maid with a wave of her hand.

  “Now, what can I tell you? I’ll answer anything I can. I do so want this villain who killed my son to be found and punished.” Her hands tightened into fists as if to choke the life from the person herself.

  “We’re trying to establish Lord Feckenham’s movements during the days and hours before he was killed, to discover what, if anything, might have happened to precipitate his demise.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she demurred. “My son wasn’t in the habit of confiding in me.”

  Gage seemed momentarily nonplussed by this swift denial after she’d just assured us she would assist us to find her son’s murderer. “So you don’t know what his plans were last night?”

  She shook her head. “Off to one of his clubs. Or out to dine with some friends. I really can’t say.”

  “When was the last time you spoke with him?” I interjected. Surely she could tell us that.

  She tapped her chin. “Let’s see. He dined at home three nights past. And then . . . oh! I spoke with him briefly yesterday afternoon.”

  “About?”

  “He was protesting his brother’s desire to move to a set of rooms at The Albany. Thought it was silly for him to take up residence elsewhere when the townhouse was large enough for all of us. Personally, I agreed. But my husband wasn’t opposed to the move. Said George was merely showing proper feeling for the fact his brother would one day inherit this house while he would not.”

  I didn’t know what to make of this speech. From what I’d observed of Lord Feckenham, he hardly seemed the type of man who cared where his brother lived. In truth, I found it easier to believe he wished his brother to leave than stay. Unless he thought that would place his mother’s undivided attention on him. But from all appearances, Feckenham did precisely whatever he wished, regardless of parental feelings.

  “Did Mr. Penrose begrudge him that fact?” Gage asked.

  “Oh, no! Of course not. He’s known, since birth, what is coming to him. And his settlement as a second son is not ungenerous. More generous than most, I should say. He has no cause to complain, and he would be the first to tell you so.”

  Yes, but a generous settlement is quite different from a venerable earldom and all the wealth and property that goes with it. All of which, with his brother’s death, he would now inherit.

  As if this same thought had just struck her, her head rocked backward. “My goodness. George shall now inherit. Oh, but that’s . . .” She broke off, as if suddenly mindful to whom she was speaking. “Well, I’m not sure he will like that, but he shall simply have to adjust.”

  I wanted to glance at Gage to see what he thought of this statement, but I couldn’t do so without revealing to the countess my interest in it.

  “George is such a good boy,” she ruminated softly. “Came rushing straight home from White’s the moment he learned. He’s such a comfort to me.”

  “I suppose we should speak to Mr. Penrose next, then,” Gage informed her.

  “Oh,” she gasped. “I do apologize. But he’s not here.”

  At this pronouncement, I couldn’t help but look at Gage.

  “I sent him to Silvercrest to inform his sisters. I thought they should hear of their brother’s death from family, not by letter or through some hateful gossip.”

  I couldn’t argue this point. It would be cruel not to inform them in person. But that didn’t mean that George Penrose’s absence wasn’t also suspicious. After all, he was the person who gained the most from his brother’s death. Of course, that didn’t make him guilty either.

  “How soon do you suspect he’ll return?” Gage asked.

  “A few days. He’ll wish to be here for the funeral.”

  Then we would merely have to accept this delay. And in the meantime, perhaps a stronger suspect would emerge.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hotchkins was waiting for us when we emerged from the countess’s chamber to inform us the morning room had been set aside for our use in interviewing the servants. And indeed, I was pleased to find it truly had been made ready for us. A tray of refreshments sat on the tea table next to a stack of foolscap and pencils. Gage and I rarely took handwritten notes, at least not before witnesses, but I was grateful for the butler’s thoroughness. It was a relief to discover we appeared to have at least one ally in this business.

  Now, if his testimony only proved as obliging.

  Hotchkins perched at the edge of one of the Gillows fruitwood armchairs before the hearth, his hands clasped before him as Gage asked his first question.

  “Perhaps you can be the person to answer this. Do you know where Lord Feckenham went last night? What his plans were?”

  “In general, his lordship did not inform me of his intentions. But as it so happens, he did tell me he was feeling lucky yesterday evening. I took that to mean he meant to visit a gambling establishment of some kind. But, of course, I may be wrong. There are any number of ways one might test one’s ‘luck.’” He paused. “And sadly, that feeling proved rather quickly to be wrong.”

  At first, his statement baffled me, but then I realized I had been contemplating the chain of events in error.

  “When did Lord Feckenham leave the townhouse last night?” I asked.

  “About a quarter of an hour before Mr. Gage came to the door.”

  So he had just departed for the night, intent on trying his luck, when he was attacked. But then what had waylaid him for ten minutes? The time between when Gage and I happened upon the altercation and Gage knocked on the earl’s door had been about five minutes.

  Had he and his attacker argued in the street? Somehow that didn’t seem right. Few gentlemen carried knives on their person, and the use of the sticking plaster seemed to signal the act was premeditated. Perhaps Feckenham had been returning to the house for some reason. Maybe he’d forgotten something.

  “I take it he set out on foot?” Gage asked for clarification.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did he intend to hail a hackney?”

  “He did not say.”

  Gage frowned, clearly wondering, as I was, whether his intended destination had been close enough to walk to. “Was there anyone else in the street when he departed?”

  The butler’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been considering that very thing, wondering if there might have been someone standing in the shadows. Someone I failed to notice. But at the time, I didn’t give the matter much thought. I saw his lordship off and then prepared to retire for the evening. Normally, I would have already retired before he departed, but there were a few matters belowstairs which required my att
ention. A footman was posted by the door to assist the family when they each returned.”

  He seemed troubled that he could not recall any further details, but no reasonable person could have expected him to. He couldn’t have known Feckenham would be attacked.

  “You mention the footman—we’ll wish to speak with him next—but what of the rest of the staff? Was anyone else awake at that hour, or would most of them have retired?” Gage asked.

  “Lord Feckenham’s valet. And the earl and countess’s personal servants would have been waiting for their return. In fact, I recall them being seated in the servants’ hall when I passed through. But beyond that, the rest of the staff should have been retired.” He appeared to ruminate on the matter further. “His lordship’s personal secretary, Mr. Poole, was here for some length during the evening. One of the maids took him a cup of tea at about nine o’clock. I’m not certain what time he eventually departed, but the antechamber where he works next to the study was dark when I made my rounds before seeing Lord Feckenham out the door. Perhaps Mr. Poole saw someone lurking nearby when he left the house.”

  This bit of information made Gage straighten. “Was it unusual for Mr. Poole to be here so late?”

  “Not particularly. I don’t claim to know the earl’s business, but I understand he has many properties to manage, as well as Parliamentary matters to oversee. As such, upon occasion Mr. Poole has remained late in order to finish some task or another for the earl.”

  “We shall need to speak with him as well, then.” Gage studied the butler with a measured gaze that, while not intimidating, let him know he wanted a direct answer. “I’m sure you realize this matter is delicate. That anyone with any motive to see Feckenham dead must be considered, no matter how one might shrink from the possibility.”

  “You are speaking of the family,” the butler replied, his resolve never wavering.