Читать книгу The Wicked Truth - Lyn Stone - Страница 12

Neil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The whole ridiculous scenario was giving him a headache. “I have a horrible premonition that the first time you show yourself, everyone’s going to point and say, ‘Oh look! It’s Lady Marleigh in breeches! How utterly daring of her, and let’s call the peelers.’ This is insane. Why don’t we just hide you?”

“Because you need me to help find the killer! I promise you no one will know me,” she said, apparently upset that he questioned the effectiveness of her disguise.

Lindy agreed. “She’s right. We do need her to keep an eye out for this man Terry met at the theater. As for the disguise, I don’t believe I would recognize her if I met her on the street, unknowing. Look at her objectively, Neil. Unless she comes face-to-face with someone who knows her quite well, I think she should be perfectly convincing.”

Neil paced. He wished he didn’t feel so disoriented. Seeing the woman got up like a man and playing the part so well unnerved him. “A big part of London’s male population probably does know her quite well!” he said.

“No, they don’t,” she argued. “Father and I just came down from Edinburgh shortly before he died. We hadn’t yet accepted any invitations in town when it happened. Then there was the, hurried journey back to Kent for his burial. I was veiled at the funeral and spoke with almost no one. Cousin Colin took care of everything. I stayed secluded until—” She broke off with a distant look and swallowed hard.

“Until?” Lindy prompted.

“The weekend at the Smythes’ estate,” she said, forcing the words out as though they hurt her throat. “Colin encouraged me to accompany him to Lady Smythe’s for a quiet weekend. Said it would ease our grief. I didn’t want to go. Father had been laid to rest only three weeks before.”

“But you did go,” Neil remarked with more accusatory force than he intended.

“Yes,” she answered defiantly. “I went.”

Lindy tapped the heel of his pipe thoughtfully and cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, there’s Lady Smythe we must avoid, I suppose. And of course, the men. What about those with whom you…”

“Consorted is the nice word you’re looking for, Lindy,” Neil supplied. Then he turned on her. “What about the two men discovered in your room with you?” The thought of it made him want to shoot the men and to shake her for her stupidity.

“Their mission did not include writing odes to my eyebrows. I doubt they looked once above my neck!”

“They bloody well did a damned essay on the rest of you, though, didn’t they?”

“Children, children!” Lindy soothed. “Let’s keep to the matter at hand.” He grasped Neil’s arm, but the new earl jerked away angrily and stalked to the window, looking out.

Seemingly satisfied that the outburst was over, Lindy continued the questions. “Now then, Betts,” he said, indicating to both of them that he intended her to be Betts from now on, “you say you don’t think Lords Frame and Tilburn would recognize you in disguise?”

Neil noted that she didn’t even look surprised that Lindy knew the identity of the men. Everyone knew.

“They were thoroughly foxed that night,” she said thoughtfully. “And I had never spoken with them before.” She met Neil’s eyes as he turned, and there was no shame in hers, just renewed anger. “They were only there for a moment,” she added.

“Damned swift, then? Must have disappointed you no end.”

“Shut up, Neil,” Lindy barked. “Have done with your bickering or I’ll do this in private!”

Neil stiffened with surprise. Lindy never used that tone with him. “Next you’ll have me defending her honor, I suppose!”

“Watch your mouth, my lord, or I’ll rearrange your teeth for you, and don’t think I can’t do it. This arm can bloody well pack a punch, thanks to you. Now sit down over there and mind your manners.” The inspector jerked his head toward the bed.

Lindy was right. Neil sat. Why was he acting such a bastard about this? What right had he to judge Elizabeth just because he was enamored of her and mad as hell about it? He almost wished Lindy had made good the threat and planted him a facer. He admitted he deserved it.

Lindy kept at her, but at least his voice was kind. “The incident with the boat—how many saw you then?”

“Lots, I suppose. Maybe ten or twelve people, but I was bedraggled as a drowned cat and I still…had my hair.” She fingered the short tresses just above her ear. When she saw Neil watching the gesture, she quickly pocketed her hand and lifted a defiant chin. “I don’t recall speaking to any of the guests Colin invited down. Twice I was accosted in the hallways, but it was rather dark. After that, I mostly kept to my room.”

“Accosted?” Neil certainly wanted to follow that up.

“Shut up!” the others said in unison, turning on him with eyebrows raised as though he’d said something out of turn. Neil held up his palms in a mute apology that he in no way meant.

“Have you attended any public events during your stay here or kept company with anyone else?” Lindy asked, as though Neil hadn’t interrupted.

She lowered her head and answered softly, “No. You see, we’ve never gone about much in society and have done no entertaining since my mother died. I was thirteen then. My friends, or the few I claim, are of rather modest means and live in our village.”

“A veritable recluse,” Neil muttered sarcastically, clamping his mouth closed when Lindy shot him another warning look.

“Well then!” MacLinden summed up her revelations. “We have nothing much to worry over, do we? Keep well away from Colin Marleigh and Lady Smythe and there should be no problems. Needless to say, do keep a sharp eye out for anyone who looks familiar and avoid him or her at all cost.”

He turned back to Neil. “You and your” assistant’ should begin to frequent Terry’s haunts, I think. Perhaps Boodle’s and White’s would be good places to begin. Men talk freely at the clubs, don’t they, and who knows what you might glean? I have no entrée to either place so you two could assist me greatly in the investigation. You might do the theater a few times and see if you spot or overhear anyone who resembles the man who approached Terry. You can manage all that, eh, Betts?”

“My pleasure, Lindy,” she said, her good humor apparently restored by MacLinden’s show of faith. The challenging tilt of her head dared Neil to object.

He nodded at Lindy. “Wednesday night,” he suggested. “Terry always went to White’s for cards on Wednesdays.”

“Very well, then. But first we have to get through the funeral,” Lindy said. “I’ll be with you, of course, both out of respect and in the event that anything untoward should happen. If Betts is unmasked, you see, I can Lake her into custody immediately and whisk her away.”

The three of them looked at each other wordlessly. Neil knew Elizabeth felt every bit as apprehensive as he did about her appearing in public dressed as a man. How she could put up such a courageous front was beyond him. Lindy must be terribly worried about the effect on his new position at the Yard if the truth came out. And as for himself, he thought it would take an act of God to get through Terry’s funeral under the best of circumstances. Dread didn’t begin to describe his current state of mind.

Later that afternoon, Trent MacLinden handed his favorite bowler to the same aging excuse for a butler that he’d interviewed at Marleigh House only hours after Terry Bronwyn’s murder. He carefully hid his surprise at finding the man now established at the country estate of Colin Marleigh.

He supposed it wasn’t that unusual, though, come to think of it. As far as Thurston knew, Lady Marleigh had disappeared, and the vacant Marleigh town house hardly needed a butler. Where else would the old man be expected to go but to her cousin, the earl?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Thurston. I’ve come in hopes of a word with Lord Marleigh. Do you remember me?” Lindy asked.

“Of course, Inspector. His lordship’s meeting with his steward at the moment. If you’ll follow me?”

Lindy measured his steps to the butler’s rather dragging gait. Light from the clerestory window above the front door threw reflections off Thurston’s hairless pate. The man’s sour odor and rumpled appearance must be anathema to his new employer, Lindy thought. He might look like an unmade bed, but he had a voice any actor would envy. The gnarled hands shook as the old man reached for the door handle and pushed it downward. The heavy portal swung open without a sound.

“Inspector MacLinden, Scotland Yard, milord,” Thurston announced in his well-modulated baritone.

“Oh very well,” Marleigh mumbled absently, his attention still on the papers he was folding away. “That will be all, Hinkley,” he said to the man Lindy assumed was the steward. “While I’m away I’ll expect reports at least every other day, as usual. You have my itinerary?”

“Of course, milord.” The steward bowed himself out, and Lindy watched Thurston follow and quietly close the door behind them.

Lindy waited patiently while Colin Marleigh busied himself locking away record books and the other paperwork he’d apparently been discussing with his man.

True to his training, Lindy used the time to observe the young lord, who appeared to be in his late twenties. Marleigh was short and rather stocky, tending toward portliness around his middle. Straight blond hair lay in thin, pomaded strands across an extremely high forehead. A virtually lipfess mouth was compressed into a nearly perfect horizontal line.

His nuse might be noble, Lindy thought, but the ears were doubly so. They protruded outward from his head like clam-shells. Some effort went toward disguising them by employing bushy dundreary whiskers in front and longish, fluffed-out hair behind them.

Given the stick-straight hair on top, Lindy suspected the man’s vanity had bowed to using curling tongs for the locks at the back. The thought prompted a laugh, but he neatly squelched it by clearing his throat. It solved two problems. He got his lordship’s notice.

“Scotland Yard, you say? Then you’re here about my cousin,” Marleigh said, looking up at last through cold, green eyes.

“Lord Marleigh.” Lindy gave a curt nod and what might be construed as a bow if one were generous. He didn’t like the concept of obeisance to anyone, even royalty, though he recognized the need to play the game. It had proved a hard object lesson in his early army days. “Good of you to see me without an appointment.”

Colin Marleigh managed to make his shrug look regal. It barely caused a ripple in his impeccably tailored Tweedside coat. “Could hardly refuse, could I? Lady Elizabeth’s servants came to me with what happened immediately after you questioned them. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can add to what they’ve told you.”

“You could help immensely, milord, if you would give me a bit of insight as to the lady’s character.” Lindy saw no reason to beat about the bush. “Do you believe Lady Elizabeth capable of the shooting?”

Marleigh’s sharp green gaze shifted down and raked the carefully arranged desktop. Lindy wondered why the question bothered the man. Surely it was expected. After a long exhalation of breath, the young lord finally looked up. “No, Inspector, I think not. You see…”

The words had drifted off into a protracted silence. When nothing else was forthcoming, Lindy prompted, “Yes, mi-lord?”

“She’s a shy little thing for the most part.” Marleigh rested an elbow on the desk and leaned forward, massaging his forehead with long, white fingers. “Perhaps. Maybe in one of her spells. I confess I don’t know for certain, but I hate to believe she would actually, well, shoot anyone.” He glanced up, the look almost pleading in its intensity. “Do you think?”

MacLinden shook his head sorrowfully and sighed. “It certainly appears as though she did. She had best access to the weapon. She knew the victim quite well, and Lord Havington would have allowed her entry without suspicion.”

Lindy paused as he watched the earl fidget with a jeweled letter knife. “However, we are wondering about the motive, you see. Have you any idea what might have prompted her? That is, if she is guilty.”

“Madness,” Marleigh said in an agonized whisper.

“I beg your pardon, milord? Madness?” Lindy blustered loudly, breaking the mood of quiet suspense he thought the earl was trying to engineer.

“Yes, by God, the woman is mad!” Words tumbled out now as Marleigh threw up his hands and shoved back his chair to rise. Agitated, he began to pace. “She’s been nothing but confounding of late! Haring around in her underthings, making assignations with bounders she wouldn’t have given the time of day four months ago, indulging in screaming fits that would raise the dead. You can’t feature the embarrassment that woman has caused me since her father died!”

“Why, that’s terrible, milord,” Lindy declared, looking aghast at the news.

“Damned right it is!” Marleigh seemed to calm a little now that he’d made his point. Then he sat down again, his face sorrowful. “If only I’d confined her when I first admitted it to myself, poor Havington would now be alive.” He hung his head and let his hands drop by his sides, clenching his fingers as if in frustration. “I feel responsible.”

“I see,” Lindy said, smoothing his mustache. “What did you think about her contemplating marriage to Lord Having-ton?”

“Was she?” Marleigh looked properly shocked. “He certainly never approached me for her hand, and she never said a word. There were rumors, of course, but then there always are. I never pay attention to gossip.”

“He announced it at White’s earlier on the night he died.”

“Fancy that,” Marleigh said, shaking his head. “The match might have worked wonders, but I doubt it.” He sighed. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he brought the interview to a close. “Well, if you have no further questions, Inspector, I’ll be off. My coach should be ready by now.”

“Where might I reach you if I need to speak with you again, milord?” Lindy asked politely, stepping toward the door and pulling it open. Thurston, waiting just outside, handed him his hat.

“I shall be searching for my cousin, if you must know,” Marleigh said. “The poor woman could be anywhere, terrified of what is to happen to her. Despite her unstable condition, Inspector, I really can’t see Elizabeth committing murder, or think of any reason why she should even if she were capable.”

The earl placed a restraining hand on Lindy’s arm as they reached the front door. “If you happen to find her before I do, MacLinden, may I count on you to treat her gently?”

Lindy regarded the man, trying to perceive how sincere he was. Not very, he concluded with a nod. “You certainly may depend upon that, milord. I shall give her my every consideration.”

The next day, Elizabeth fully assumed her role as Dr. Per-cival Betts. In their preoccupation with getting her dressed appropriately for the funeral, both she and Neil were able to avoid dwelling on the event itself. Arrival at Gormsloft Castle brought on the realization that their final, respective farewells to Terry were all too imminent.

Pitifully few mourners came to the lichen-covered chapel at Gormsloft. Neil had mentioned that the castle was the oldest and smallest of the Havington properties, dating back some three hundred years. The only servants about looked ancient enough to have been there since the castle was constructed.

Feeling -extremely vulnerable and exposed, Elizabeth walked a few paces behind Neil as he approached Terry’s coffin. She brushed the brim of her beaver stovepipe back and forth against her left leg, wishing it were proper to keep it on her head. Terry wouldn’t have cared a jot for such a breach of respect. He’d have laughed himself silly at the sight of her.

The tight feeling in her throat increased. Oh, she wished he could see. She wished to God he were alive to see instead of lying in that satin-lined, mahogany box. From where she stood now, she could just see a slice of his forehead and the tip of his nose. Another step forward and his whole face would be visible. She drew in a steadying breath to brace herself and moved up to see him.

Oh God, his hair was combed too neatly. Too neat for Terry. A sound escaped the constriction in her throat and she swallowed hard, twice, to stifle a full-fledged sob.

The doctor turned slightly, his eyes heavy lidded and admonishing. If I can do this, so can you, they seemed to say. Grasping her hat in one fist, her cane in the other, she locked her knees against the urge to flee.

Holding her breath, Elizabeth kept her eyes on the earl as he approached the edge of the casket. He carefully tugged off his right glove, and his bare, long-fingered hand reached out hesitantly. He touched Terry’s forehead, gently disturbing the carefully coiffed waves so that they rested in their usual disorder. His fingers trembled and then curled into his palm. Neil bowed his head. His slowly released sigh was the only sound inside the chapel.

Elizabeth forced herself to draw a breath and let it out. Through a sheen of tears, she focused on a spray of flowers beside the coffin, counting the petals of one particular bloom, seeking the Latin name in the recesses of memory—anything to block grief from her mind until she could master her emotions.

When she had herself in hand, she looked back to see that Neil had stepped aside slightly, still staring down at the remains of his nephew.

Knowing she must, she moved to the edge of the bier and gazed on the face she had last seen smiling. He looked waxen, his lips too finely drawn. Satin billowed so high around his head the ears were almost completely covered. I won’t think why that is! I won’t! she warned herself, as her breath caught in her throat.

“Touch him,” Neil whispered—a dare, a plea, permission? “To say farewell.”

Following his example, she tucked her hat and cane under one arm and removed one glove. Then she laid her fingertips on Terry’s left cheek. The coldness of his skin stunned her and her heart lurched in her breast. Her throat worked desperately. This couldn’t be all that was left! Not of her warm, exasperating Terry who was never still for a moment, always laughing, teasing, wriggling with enthusiasm. Her hand curled in a fist before her eyes, the knuckles white as Terry’s skin. Neil’s grasp on her elbow pulled her away and turned her, breaking the horrified spell.

Wordlessly, they returned to the family pew, sat down and replaced their gloves. The sound of the scuffling feet of other mourners covered his next words. He leaned toward her so that his lips were near her ear. “Weep later. Promise yourself you can, and dwell on that. Delay it.”

She realized what he was doing. In the midst of his own grief, he was giving her advice on how to cover her own turmoil. He must know that, as a woman, she’d never been called upon to conceal her tears. Men always were.

“Count the flower petals,” she returned in kind, nodding. She patted his thigh gently, offering the little consolation she could. He shifted uncomfortably, and Elizabeth snatched her hand away, suddenly aware of the intimacy of her unthinking gesture.

“Whatever it takes,” he mumbled, fiddling with his watch fob. He eased the watch out of its pocket and held it for a moment. Then he put it back impatiently, as though realizing it would not appear proper to glance at the time now. So he was anxious to have this over. His habit with the watch irri-tated her, especially now, even though she had felt much the same ever since they’d arrived.

For a moment there, she’d thought he was concerned about her. A warm feeling of comfort had begun to develop. Now she understood. If she were unmasked by one of the guests, he could be adjudged guilty along with her, as an accomplice. A coldness rivaling that of death drove out all warmth. She felt desolate, empty.

Others—she counted only fourteen, including servants—made their way to the coffin, and out of mourning, respect or curiosity, took their turns at view. She recognized no one among the mourners.

One by one they approached Neil and muttered their regrets and comforts. Due to her proximity to the earl, she was next to receive the handshakes and murmurs. Those in attendance obviously believed her to be a close friend of the family. She quirked a brow at the thought. And so she was.

When everyone was seated, the service began. She grasped every word and examined it for truth as applied to Terry. In turn, she had to hold back tears, laughter and outrage. When the vicar finally closed his mouth, her relief was so great she wanted to scream with it. The clear, pure tenor of the vicar’s wife rose in an a cappella version of “Amazing Grace.” Elizabeth soothed herself with the thought that Terry at least would have appreciated that. All the rest would have been a grand old joke—the vicar’s syrupy eulogizing of a budding rake he barely knew, his ignorance of Terry’s blatant irreverence in the face of a solemn occasion. God in heaven, she wanted to hear him laugh about it. She smiled for Terry.

Neil’s dark look promptly erased it.

Elizabeth used the fear of discovery to distract herself from her grief. She dedicated her every gesture, each facial expression to his memory, calling up his actions and reactions like required recitations in the schoolroom.

Thankfully, the entombment would take place after the mourners had departed. Terry would lie beside his father and the mother he had never known in the stone vault behind the chapel, with all the former earls and their families.

Elizabeth left the chapel, head down, avoiding the others. Dismal fog hung about the churchyard like apall, persisting long after it should have burned away. She craved sunshine, but perhaps this suited. Terry would never see the sun again.

Due to Gormsloft’s proximity to London, none of those who had driven down for the ceremony would be staying the night. After less than an hour of desultory mingling outside the ancient stone chapel, the gentlemen returned to their coaches and departed for town, their noble duty done. On with life.

Neil excused himself to oversee the entombment, and MacLinden ushered Elizabeth inside the old keep to wait. They sat at the table in the drafty old hall while the caretaker’s woman went to fetch tea.

The inspector drew out his ever present pipe and gripped it between his straight, white teeth. He drew on it once as though it were lighted, causing an irritating little sucking sound. “The service was rather nice, wasn’t it?”

Elizabeth stared at him, incredulous. She recalled the pious, beak-nosed vicar and his nauseating nonsense about Terry’s being the flower of England’s youth. Terry would have choked. And all that trash about his death being God’s will made her see red. Her thoughts spilled out. “God’s will, indeed! I wanted to smack the fellow in the teeth with my cane!” She huffed and shivered. “Bloody fool. Why couldn’t he just call down God’s vengeance on the bastard that shot Terry and be done with it?”

“Now, now, steady on, Betts. Man’s just doin’ what he can to keep his living here. Not his fault he’s no talent for the pulpit. You’re just-overset.”

Lindy ran a finger around the rim of his bowler as he changed the subject. “Didn’t happen to notice a familiar face or voice, did you?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “The man from the theater? No, I’m afraid not. Matter of fact, I didn’t see a soul I know personally.” She frowned at the thought. “Not many attended. Probably because of Terry’s relationship with me.”

“Quite possibly,” he agreed. The good inspector certainly wasn’t one to gloss things over, she thought

They fell silent for a while. MacLinden sucked on his pipe. Elizabeth glared at him until he wrinkled his nose in apology and tucked it back in its special pocket.

Not long after tea, Neil returned and curtly announced he was ready to leave. MacLinden bade them a perfunctory fare-well and took his own rig, intending to stop over in Charing Cross.

For Elizabeth and Neil, the three-hour ride back to the city was silent but for the creaking of the coach springs and the sound of hoofbeats. From under lowered lashes, she studied her companion from time to time. Encased in tense silence, he gripped his engraved gold watch in a bare, fisted hand as he stared out the window into the darkness. His thumb rubbed the watchcase in a hard, circular motion, as though the thing were a talisman to ward off pain.

They arrived at the town house well after nine. Elizabeth pulled her stifling cravat loose and sank down on the bed in the countess’s chamber of the master suite. Neil had finally agreed to allow her to sleep here, but not before locking her hall door so that the only way out was through his room. He was alone in the adjoining room now and the silence was deafening,

Was he crying for Terry? His eyes had looked bloodshot throughout the day’s ordeal, the irises so dark a blue they appeared black. She felt a new respect for men and their capacity to remain dry-eyed in situations such as this. Even though she’d wept copiously the night before, the funeral had nearly destroyed her composure all over again.

Because of the autopsy, Terry had not lain in state at the town house, but had been carried directly from the morgue to the mortician and then to the chapel at Gormsloft. Though she had braced herself for it, seeing his sweet face composed in death had come as a frightful shock. It had taken all her concentration to hold herself in check.

Divesting herself of her male attire, Elizabeth drew on one. of Terry’s dressing gowns. She hugged it about her as though she could draw some of the young earl’s former warmth. Then she cried again for the friend who was gone forever.

Later, she woke to a clinking sound from next door. She slid out of bed and was lighting the lamp as the door opened. Neil appeared, balancing a tray on one hand.

“I suspect you are little at tea. Are you hungry?” he asked. Elizabeth stepped away so that he could deposit his burden on the bedside table beside the lamp.

She wrinkled her nose at the smell of burnt toast. “You cooked?”

He shrugged his shoulders. His voice sounded constrained and hoarse. “Not very well, I’m afraid. There’s ham, compliments of Lindy’s mother, and I’ve done up some eggs. Bread’s a mite singed at the edge, but there you are. Tea’s good and hot.” Not once had he looked up.

They stood close enough to touch. Elizabeth reached out. She couldn’t seem to help herself. It was the first time in memory that anyone had given a thought to her comfort who hadn’t been paid to do so. Even her father had ignored her for the most part after her mother died. Now Neil, despite his suffering, worried that she might be hungry.