A Poisoned Season (18 page)
Robert looked at me, then at Ivy, then at his shoes, then back at me. “There are plenty of methods of relaxation that are not so utterly without merit.” His smile softened the remark, but not enough.
“I didn’t mean—” I said, but Ivy interrupted me.
“Oh, it’s perfectly all right, both of you. Robert has arranged for me to assist the Duchess of Petherwick with her charity work, so I’ve no time at all for reading.”
“What are you doing for her?”
“Sewing baby clothes for orphans.”
“Sewing? And this is meant to be relaxing?” I looked at Robert.
“Ivy enjoys handwork.” I could see there was no use arguing. With effort, I managed a smile. Robert pulled a heavy gold watch from his pocket. “It’s getting late. You should go home, darling. I’m to meet Fortescue and some others at my club.” Even Ivy’s curls seemed to droop, and though Robert didn’t look closely enough to notice, she could hardly keep her eyes from filling with tears. “I’ll get the carriage for you.”
“No, Robert,” I said. “Let Ivy come home with me.” I stopped myself almost at once, disgusted to find that I was talking about my friend as if she were not there. “Would you come with me, Ivy? It’s so lonely at my house without Cécile.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave you alone, Emily, but Robert—”
I hoped he would protest. “Of course you shall go with Emily. I’ll be dreadfully late—you may as well stay the night.” He looked more pleased than he ought to with this arrangement. “I can’t imagine you’ll have finished analyzing the events of the evening before morning.”
And I couldn’t imagine that, if he knew what sort of events we would be analyzing, he would approve of his wife spending the night with me. But as I gave the matter more thought, I decided that Ivy and I would not sit up until all hours discussing my investigations. Instead, we would read out loud to each other favorite passages from Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s books.
T
HE DAY AFTER THE BALL
I
CALLED AGAIN AT THE
W
HITE RESIDENCE,
and again the housekeeper rebuffed me. “I don’t think the lady of the house needs to be bothered by the likes of you,” the housekeeper said, glaring at me.
“Excuse me?”
“A lady in mourning should be left alone. This is a house of decent people. I won’t have you harassing my mistress.”
That a servant would speak to me in such a tone was astonishing, and I could hardly find my voice to reply. “That is a decision to be made by Mrs. White, not you. You give her this note. I shall come back in an hour and expect a reply.” I had thought it likely that Mrs. White would refuse to see me and in preparation for this possibility had brought with me a letter explaining that I needed to discuss with her some information about David Francis at the earliest possible moment. After an hour had passed, I returned to the house. This time the housekeeper admitted me, though she made no effort to make me feel welcome.
I began to understand her behavior the moment I met Mrs. White. She was younger than I had expected but extremely frail, and looked
on the verge of falling apart. She came into her drawing room, clinging to furniture as she walked, so slowly it was painful to watch. At last she lowered herself into a straight-backed wooden chair.
“Forgive me, Lady Ashton, for not admitting you when you came before,” she said, her voice so soft that it was difficult to hear. “I’ve never been fond of society and find it worse than ever now that Mr. Francis—” She pressed a hand to her forehead.
“I am most sorry to disturb you during such a difficult time.” I wished there was something I could say to make this conversation easier. “I have promised to assist in the investigation of Mr. Francis’s death and am hoping that you might be able to help me.”
“Are the police not capable of handling the matter themselves?”
“Yes, of course they are, but there is some concern that they made an arrest too quickly.”
“Who is concerned?”
“Mrs. Francis.”
“I see.” She had not looked at me directly since she entered the room. “I have not met her, of course. I understand she was quite devoted to Mr. Francis.”
I had no answer for this. Mrs. White sat in silence, but she was not at ease, tugging at her cuticles while she held her hands in her lap. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, but there was a tiredness in her eyes that made her look far older. I waited as long as I could bear to before speaking.
“I have offered to help Mrs. Francis, but please know that I am not here to sit in judgment of you. I just thought that, given your…closeness…to Mr. Francis, you might have an idea of who would have wanted to harm him.”
“Mr. Francis was a complicated man.”
“Did he have enemies?”
“I wouldn’t know, Lady Ashton. As you may have guessed, the part of his life that he shared with me was very limited.”
“Did you see him often?”
“He came to me every Sunday. He felt it was important that he see the boy at regular intervals.”
“His son?”
“Yes. He visited more often before Edward was born. Things change after a child comes.”
“But surely he wanted to see Edward?”
“He wanted a child, and until he was certain I had provided one, it was necessary for him to spend a great deal of time with me.”
“And you did not object to this?”
“Why should I?” She did not appear to have the energy to object to anything.
“Has he provided for the two of you?”
“As you can see, we are comfortably settled.”
I bit my lip. “Forgive me—I do not mean to insult you or to criticize the choices you have made. But why would you agree to such an arrangement?”
“I was brought up well, but my father lost his fortune in a bad business deal. When he died, some years after my mother, he had nothing left. I had no skills and therefore no way to earn an income. My only brother is in the navy, and I’ve no other relatives. I had nowhere to go.”
I couldn’t imagine the woman sitting before me turning to prostitution. She was so shy she could hardly bring herself to look at me. Could she have been that desperate, with no other options?
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, and I had to lean forward in my seat to hear her. “But you’re wrong. I was so naïve, I don’t think it would have occurred to me. My father’s creditors forced me to leave the house, not allowing me to take anything save my clothes, which I sold for enough money to rent a room for some weeks. I tried in vain to find employment and found myself thrown out of my lodgings when I could no longer pay the landlady. I wandered around the
city, not knowing where to turn. Eventually, I wound up on a bench in Hyde Park.”
“You slept there?”
“No. Mr. Francis found me. He assumed, as had several others before him, that I was a park girl. Of course, I had no idea such people even existed and didn’t know that simply by being in the park so late at night, I had, in effect, identified myself as one of them.”
“So Mr. Francis…hired…you?”
“No. He admonished me to abandon my evil ways, which shocked me greatly. I told him of my circumstances, and he insisted that I allow him to help me.”
“You had no other options,” I said.
“Quite true. He set me up in this house, paid for two servants, and saw to it that I never wanted for anything.”
“And now?”
“Now…I don’t know what shall happen to us.” Tears streamed down her face, but she did not bother to wipe them away. “He didn’t intend to make me his mistress.”
This confused me. “But he kept this house for you?”
“He wanted to prevent me from turning to prostitution, Lady Ashton, not to seduce me into a more comfortable version of it. It was two years before—” She stopped.
“Before you fell in love with him?”
“I fell in love with him almost at once. How could I not have? He saved me from the worst sort of fate. But he never showed any romantic interest in me, and eventually I discovered that he was married and gave up hope.”
“So what changed?”
“His wife. Mr. Francis wanted a child, but eventually it became clear that his wife couldn’t give him one, so he turned to me. How could I deny him after all he’d done for me?” She sighed. “And I didn’t want to deny him. I wanted him to love me.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“No, it was only for the child. I know that all too well. Forgive me, Lady Ashton, I don’t think I’ve been of any use to you, and I must beg that you leave me now. This has all been a great strain, and I don’t think I can stand much more.”
“Of course. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“I hope his wife is coping.”
“She will manage,” I said.
“Please do all you can to figure out who killed him,” she said. “Whatever he did, he didn’t deserve to die.” I was about to ask what she thought he might have done, but she left the room before I could open my mouth. I wouldn’t have guessed that she could move so quickly.
I
f you were married and had a mistress, would you be able to keep your wife from suspecting anything was amiss?” I was once again in Colin’s fine library.
He raised his eyebrows. “If I were married, it would be to you, and my fidelity would make you the envy of all of London.”
“Really, Colin, I’m not talking about us. Theoretically, do you think a spouse could conceal such a thing?”
“In many marriages, yes, I don’t think it would be difficult at all. How many of your friends married because they felt true affection? Even when they’re not arranged, marriages are usually entered into because of the status or the financial advantages the match will bring.”
“I had no idea you were so cynical.”
“I’m not cynical in the least, just realistic. Why do you think I’ve remained a bachelor for so long?”
“Well, I’d like to believe it was because you hadn’t met me,” I said, smiling.
“You’ve no more interest in a society marriage than I do. They’re business arrangements, really, and I’ve no desire to share my house with a business partner.”
“Put aside the notion of a society match. Imagine a marriage in which there is genuine affection. Could an affair be concealed in that?”
“Perhaps if there is only genuine affection. Not if there is passionate love.”
“Surely if there is passionate love, there would be no need for an affair,” I said and swallowed, suddenly finding my breath difficult to control.
“No, there wouldn’t be,” he said. We both sat very still, neither of us able to tear our eyes away from the other’s. The tense pleasure was almost unbearable, and just when I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, Colin leapt to his feet. “Some port?” he asked, heading for a tray on which stood two decanters.
“Please,” I replied. He handed me a glass that I accepted with a trembling hand. He poured for himself from the other decanter. “Whiskey?” I asked, noting the color of the beverage.
“Yes.”
“You prefer it to port?”
“Sometimes.”
“May we return to our marriage discussion? The question of the affair.”
“Right. I’ll be candid. People can be discreet, very discreet. But I don’t believe that it is possible to hide entirely from one’s spouse the transfer of affections to another person. Unless, of course, the spouse doesn’t care.”
“I can’t imagine not caring.”
“Nor can I.”
T
he walk home passed quickly, and back at Berkeley Square Davis opened the door before I had reached it. “There’s been another delivery, madam,” he said, ushering me inside to the drawing room. “The smell is rather overpowering, so I thought you’d prefer not to have them in the library. I didn’t separate them, as I thought you’d want to see the full effect.”
The room was crowded with flowers, vases stuffed with lilies, roses, freesia, covering every table. Sitting on the center of the mantel was an envelope, which I opened at once. Davis was right; the scent of the flowers, though lovely, was overwhelming, and I went back into the hall to read the note, which I knew came in response to my notice that had appeared in the
Times
the previous day.
…if ever thou dost cast a clouded glance on me, I gaze on winter, and if thou lookest joyously, sweet spring bursts into bloom.
Beneath the Greek was a simple statement:
You’ll never again receive any but the freshest flowers from me.
I
T WAS WITH A CERTAIN DEGREE OF TREPIDATION THAT
I
CALLED ON
Beatrice the following day. I wanted to learn more about her marriage without making her suspect that her husband had a mistress. Assuming, of course, that she did not already know. She was in the garden when I arrived, filling a basket with cut flowers, their bright colors a perfect contrast to her dull black dress.
“This heat is dreadful,” she said when she saw me. “I quite envy you your dress.” She looked longingly at my gown, which was fashioned from a pale pink lawn.
“It may look cooler than yours, but I can assure you that it doesn’t feel it.”
“Black’s so oppressive, don’t you think? Particularly in the summer.” Sweat trickled down the side of her face. “But there’s something cleansing about being in mourning. A sort of justice. It wouldn’t be right for one to go on as if nothing had happened.”