Death at Bishop's Keep (41 page)

Charles spoke with a teasing gravity. “It is not merely the impropriety that has caused such consternation,” he said. “It is rather the example. If the Ardleigh cook can ride in the carriage, why not the Marsden cook? And if the cook, then why not the butler, the parlor maid, the tweeny, the gardener—” He chuckled dryly. “One simply cannot tell where all this frivolous carriage-riding might lead. The commons on wheels, Newgate thrown open, the Crown toppled. It could be the American Revolution all over again!”

Kate handed him a cup. “I do indeed see the difficulty,” she agreed. She was straight-faced, but her eyes danced. “I would be chagrined to think that by acting nonconformably, I might have sown the seeds of the Empire's collapse.”

Charles took the cup, reflecting that a few cooks in carriages might be a good thing for the commonwealth. Perhaps a revolution was in order.

“In my opinion, it won't be carriages everyone will be riding in,” Bradford declared with great seriousness, “but motorcars.
That
is the coming revolution. The motorcar industry will change the world, and those who are trying to hold it back will lose everything.”

Eleanor frowned. “Best not let Papa hear you say that, Bradford. He'll have you horsewhipped.” To Kate, she said in a deprecating tone, “Papa refuses to allow poor Bradford to mention motorcars at home, so he takes his revenge by talking about nothing else while we are out.”

“Papa can go hang,” Bradford said fervently. He scowled at Eleanor's wide-eyed look. “By Jove, I mean it, Ellie! And he will, too—he and all those who insist on marching into the future with their heads screwed on backward! The ones who prosper will be those who boldly drive forward.”

“It seems that Bradford has made a great success in a certain speculation in the motorcar industry,” Eleanor explained. As she took her teacup from Kate, she held out her arm to show off a new bracelet. “His pleasure has made him quite generous. But we can't tell Papa. He really wouldn't approve, even though Bradford is in the way of becoming filthy rich.”

Charles looked at his friend. With Bradford's expected wealth, the burden he had borne for the past several weeks appeared to have lightened considerably. The smile he gave Kate was quite a rakish one, and his gaze was warmly and openly admiring. The thought occurred to Charles that Bradford was flirting with her, and he frowned.

“Ellie is correct,” Bradford said. “The company in which I have invested has acquired not one but two French patents, either of which will make its fortune.” He turned to Charles. “Too bad, old man, that you did not see fit to join me in the venture.”

Charles shrugged. “I am a great admirer of self-propelled transport,” he said, “but my admiration does not extend to speculation. I'm no gambler.”

Bradford hooted. “You've spoken the truth there, my dear Charles. Too careful by half, you are. You could have made a bundle.”

“I have begun to think of acquiring my own self-propelled transport,” Kate said, settling back with her tea. “It is a great nuisance to wait for Pocket to harness the horses when I would much rather go on the instant. Moreover, it is impossible to travel with any degree of privacy when I must always be driven. And it is such a dreadful waste to require a driver to sit idly and wait for me to conclude my errands.” She paused thoughtfully. “Of course, the purchase will require an investment.”

Charles looked at her inquisitively. Really, there was no predicting the woman. What did she have in mind now?

Eleanor's face paled. “Kate, you wouldn't!”

Bradford leaned forward. “Self-propelled transport, that's the ticket!” he exclaimed. His ruddy face was suffused with excitement. “My dear Miss Ardleigh, I am delighted. I too am planning to purchase a motorcar.”

“Oh, dear,” Eleanor said faintly. “What will Papa say? Bradford, he will forbid you to drive it onto the manor! Wherever will you keep it?”

Charles chuckled, thinking of the tantrum Lord Marsden would throw if he saw Bradford driving a motorcar. “You might try hiding it in a haystack,” he suggested.

Bradford scowled at Charles and sat forward on the edge of his chair. “Pay no attention to them, Miss Ardleigh. May I advise you on your purchase? I have made a careful study of the available models, and I am quite prepared to—”

“Thank you,” Kate said, “but I have already made other arrangements. I have consulted with Constable Laken.”

“Edward Laken?” Bradford asked, taken aback. “What on earth does the man know of motorcars?”

“I have no idea,” Kate replied, offering him another tea cake. “But he certainly knows about bicycles. He is teaching me to ride, and has offered advice as to which one I should buy.”

Charles chuckled again, louder. No predicting, and no taming. This was one Kate who would never be conformable.

Bradford frowned. Eleanor gasped. “A bicycle! Dear, dear Kate! Consider your position in society!”

“Not a motorcar?” Bradford asked, clearly disappointed.

“No,” Kate said gently. “At least, not just now. When the invention has been perfected, I may be interested.”

“If you insist on going about unaccompanied,” Eleanor said primly, “you might ride. I am sure that Papa would be delighted to make a horse available to you.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. “But I believe a bicycle to be better suited to my temperament. Moreover, a horse requires feed and care, while a bicycle needs only a little oil and doesn't sulk when it is not attended to. It shall render me marvelously mobile. I shall ride to Marsden Manor, Eleanor, to have tea with you, and to Dedham to visit the vicar.”

Charles looked at her. “I rather believe you are serious,” he said, feeling ridiculously pleased.

“I am most serious,” Kate assured him. “I plan to invest not only in the machine, but in a new sort of costume, for I have already found how difficult it is to ride in a heavy skirt. I discovered a picture of a French cycling dress yesterday, a variation on a very sensible fashion introduced in America some years back by Mrs. Amelia Bloomer.”

“Bloomers!” Eleanor made a face of mock despair. “Kate, dear Kate, whatever shall I do with you? I came to invite you once again to travel to London with me, now that you have more time, and give advice on my trousseau. But perhaps I should think better of it.” She shuddered. “Bicycles and bloomers, indeed!”

“What my sister and I actually came to do, Miss Ardleigh,” Bradford remarked, “is to compliment you upon your identification of your aunts' killer. To be frank, the whole family was amazed. Papa and I were astonished that a woman should have the perspicacity to discover such a clever murderer, while Eleanor, Patsy, and Mama were amazed that a woman should have the courage to confront her.”

“And all of us,” Eleanor put in, “were absolutely
scandalized
that a woman could bring herself to commit three murders and attempt a fourth!” She shook her head in wonder and disbelief. “The story has been told to me several times, but I confess that I still find it hard to credit Mrs. Farns-worth—whose newspaper picture shows her to be a slight, delicate woman—with such a voracious thirst for blood! I must congratulate you for apprehending her, Kate.”

Bradford frowned. “Allow me to make a slight correction, Ellie. It was not Miss Ardleigh who apprehended Mrs. Farns-worth-that would have been beyond a woman's capacity, I fear.” Charles glanced at Kate, who had opened her mouth as if to object. But Bradford was continuing. “It was actually her servant Mudd who captured the woman. And as I understand it, Charles and two policemen arrived at the scene and effected her arrest.” He glanced at Charles. “Is that not the case, Charles?”

Charles was glad for the opportunity to talk about his part in the affair. At the moment of his arrival, Kate—Miss Ardleigh—had been too excited to understand clearly how he had come to be at the scene. “I had been on the trail of Monsieur Monet's killer for some days,” he said, “assisting Inspector Wainwright with the tedious business of tracing clues.” He smiled slightly. “To be truthful, I did not suspect Mrs. Farnsworth, but I must at least take credit for bringing the police to the doorstep and rescuing our fair detective from the clutches of—”

“Rescuing me!” Kate exclaimed heatedly. Her hazel-green eyes flashed. “I was in no need of rescue, sir! The situation was perfectly in hand.”

Charles frowned. “If you mean that your butler managed to subdue the violent woman after she dangerously fired at you—”

Kate pulled herself up. “She did not fire at me,” she said in a tone of annoyance. “The gun accidentally discharged when Mudd attempted to pin her arms. I was never in a moment's danger. Your appearance, Sir Charles, saved me only from the trouble of summoning the police.”

“Bravo!” Bradford said, applauding. “What spirit! My dear Miss Ardleigh, you have quite got the better of our intrepid Sir Charles.”

Charles glared at Bradford.

“You did not know, Sir Charles,” Eleanor asked, “that the woman had also killed Kate's aunts?”

“I confess I did not,” Charles replied reluctantly. “I failed to recognize Mrs. Farnsworth's features in the face of the gypsy boy.” With an excess of politeness, he added, “For that recognition, we must all be grateful to Miss Ardleigh.”

“Thank you,” Kate said, with a somewhat more charitable smile. “Perhaps I would have been quicker to recognize her had I seen her play Rosalind—as you did, I understand.”

Charles felt himself coloring. Blast the woman! Why couldn't she be a little more like other women? He wasn't asking her to be as accommodating as Eleanor or Patsy—just a little less like a hedgehog. In his own defense, he added, rather more loudly than he intended, “My identification of Mrs. Farnsworth as Monsieur Monet's killer has been confirmed. The fingerprint I obtained from the whip handle of the hired chaise matches the print of the index finger of Mrs. Farnsworth's right hand. In addition, an ivory lozenge I discovered at the murder scene was broken from the handle of the dagger she used to kill Monsieur Monet—a dagger that was subsequently found, with a broken point, in her possession. And the print that I thought at first to be that of a walking stick I now believe to be that of the heel of her shoe. Its diameter is exactly the same.”

Bradford put down his cup. “And are the newspapers correct in saying that the Frenchman was a spy?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Charles replied. “The man was an expert cryptographer. He had been engaged by MacGregor Mathers to examine the cipher document on which the Order of the Golden Dawn was based and openly declare it fraudulent. Mrs. Farnsworth killed him to keep him from revealing the truth. She also planned to kill Mathers—”

“That scheme was aborted, I trust,” Kate broke in. “I told Inspector Wainwright about Mrs. Farnsworth's claim to have sent a box of poisoned sweets to Mathers. I hope he conveyed the information to the Paris police.”

“I believe that the candy has been intercepted,” Charles said. He looked at Kate. While they were at it, he might as well clear up the one unanswered question that remained. “The day you visited Marsden Manor, Miss Ardleigh, you suggested that I interview Mrs. Farnsworth in connection with the dead man at the dig. On what basis did you perceive a relationship between them?”

“It was not Mrs. Farnsworth herself that I believed connected to your corpse,” Kate said. “I merely suspected that the murder involved a member of her organization. It was chiefly the scarab which caught my eye. Both my aunt and Mrs. Farnsworth wore scarab pendants. And, of course, there was the peacock feather, which many members wear as an emblem of the Order.”

“It is all terribly confusing,” Eleanor said to Kate, “but now that the mystery has been resolved, you can turn your mind to other things—to a small ball, which will be held at the manor next Friday evening. Nothing very elaborate, for it will be just the local gentry and some of the village folk, and you are still in mourning. But I think you would enjoy meeting everyone. Will you come, Kate? You need not dance, of course.”

“I would be glad to come,” Kate said soberly. “I will remember Aunt Sabrina with love and affection for the rest of my life, but I am certain that she would wish me to put the events of the past weeks behind me.” Her smile was demure. “She would even wish me to dance.”

Almost without thinking, Charles spoke up. “I wonder if—”

At the same moment, Bradford said, “I thought perhaps—” Charles looked at Bradford, his eyes narrowing slightly. Were the two of them going to be at loggerheads over a woman? But it was beneath his dignity to contend with his friend. “Pardon me,” he murmured, and subsided, forgetting his irritation at Kate. It was Bradford who provoked him now.

Bradford took the advantage Charles gave him, clearing his throat and giving Kate a confident smile. “Well, then,” he said smartly, “I trust you will do me the honor of reserving the first dance for me.”

Kate regarded him for a moment. “Thank you,” she said. “I shall be pleased to do so.” There was a pause, and then she turned, unexpectedly, to Charles. Her eyes were clear and slightly amused. “If you would not think it too forward of me, Sir Charles, I would like to make a proposal to you, and to ask for your help.”

There was a longer pause, as Charles gathered his wits. “Of course,” he said at last. “How can I be of service?”

“It is the bats, you see,” she said.

“The
bats?”
Eleanor exclaimed.

“Yes,” Kate said. “I have recently fallen into the habit of walking among the ruins just at sunset, and I have noticed that there are a great many bats—and, if I am not mistaken in my observations, bats of more than one species. They are very curious creatures, quite interesting. I wonder, Sir Charles, if you would object to walking with me one evening and identifying them for me.”