The Marriage Trap (31 page)

The fire crackled and sent sparks flying up the chimney.

“I'm sorry,” said Jack, not knowing what else to say. At last he understood why Ellie kept saying that Cardvale was a changed man. He was grieving, was, in fact, consumed by grief.

He spoke as gently as he could manage. “Your last trip to Paris? Lady Cardvale went with you?”

“Against my wishes. I wanted to make arrangements for Louise to make the journey and see if she was fit to make it.” His voice choked. “She looked so natural, so full of life, it was hard to believe she was ill.”

“Yet no one remembers seeing you with Louise.”

Cardvale shrugged. “I made sure they didn't. I was being careful. The last thing I wanted was for Dorothea to learn about Louise. I was afraid she would have treated Louise no better than she treated Ellie when she and Robbie came to live with us. And Louise, I know, would not have come to England if she thought it would cause trouble between my wife and me.”

He passed a hand over his eyes. After a moment, he straightened his shoulders and looked at Jack. “When I heard that Louise had been murdered, I think I went a little mad. I went to the theater, but it was in darkness and the doors were locked. I went to the police, but they said it wasn't their case and sent me to another precinct. No one seemed to care.” He gave a short laugh. “I didn't know what to do and I had no authority to investigate suspects. But I did have one friend who was highly placed and I turned to him for help. If it were not for Victor, I think the police would have dropped the case.” His voice turned harsh. “To them, actresses are no better than streetwalkers, and not worth the time and effort they would expend if a so-called ‘decent' woman was murdered.”

Jack said slowly, “Who is Victor?”

Cardvale frowned. “Victor Jacquard of the French Ministry of Justice.” He paused reflectively. “We met in Paris during the truce of eighteen two. I thought you were here because of him. He said that someone would probably want to ask me questions if the investigation bogged down. I assumed he had gone through the British ambassador.”

In the interests of keeping things as simple as possible, Jack replied, “He may well have done so, but Sir Charles either chose not to mention it or it was an oversight on his part.”

He was wishing that he had accepted that glass of brandy. He could feel his thoughts jostling one another inside his brain. It was hard to believe that Ellie's inoffensive cousin had shown such gumption. He wasn't a man of action, but in his own quiet way, he was making sure that the hunt for Louise's murderer would not grow cold.

He had never liked Cardvale, but now he was making adjustments to his thinking, and his estimation of the man's character increased considerably.

He breathed out a sigh. “What has Victor told you about the investigation?”

“Very little. Only that there are a number of suspects, but it takes time to gather the evidence to make a charge. He hasn't given me any names if that's what you think. It would be unethical for a man in his position to do such a thing. But I'm not a fool. I know Robbie must be on that list. Not that I believe for one moment that he had anything to do with it. There was no affair. All Louise wanted was to hear about England and his family, that's all.”

Jack said quietly, “Did Victor ask you where you were the night Louise was murdered?”

“Yes. I was playing cards in the hotel salon with a few of the male guests. It's easy to remember that night. It was New Year's Day. The ladies had retired for the night.” He paused, then added bitterly, “I played cards when someone was in the act of murdering Louise.” He shook his head. “I thought I could make her last months happy. There was less time than we knew.”

Jack looked into that ravaged face and felt another pang of conscience. Cardvale had deserved better than the faint contempt that he, Jack, had always felt for him.

“What can you tell me about Louise's dresser?” he finally asked.

“Rosa?” Cardvale looked bewildered. “Rosa adored Louise. I had a letter from her recently.” He got up and walked to a heavy oak desk, opened the top drawer, and found what he wanted. When he returned to his chair, he handed the letter to Jack.

“She's heartbroken. Louise sent her home to Avignon because she had no need of her now that she was coming to England. Rosa was to be married and Louise gave her a handsome dowry before she left.”

“Some things were missing—”

“Gifts to Rosa for her dowry, probably. I was there when she chose them. I can't remember them offhand, but if you were to give me a list, I'd know if something was out of place.”

“I'll see to it.”

Jack read the letter. It seemed genuine enough. Another door had closed.

There were other questions he might have asked Cardvale, but he decided to defer them to another day. He'd got what he'd come for. Cardvale and the dresser were no longer on his list of suspects. He wondered about Dorothea and Paul Derby.

His sense of frustration made him want to lash out and hit something. Cardvale had been his best bet. Where did that leave him now?

It left him, as he knew very well, with Robbie and Milton. He didn't suspect them of the murder, but he suspected they were hiding something. He might be clutching at straws, but what else did he have to go on?

He couldn't question Robbie in his weakened condition, but there was nothing to stop him questioning Milton. He wasn't sure where Milton lodged when he was in town, but he was in and out of the house on Park Street all the time. And if he wasn't in Park Street, maybe Ellie could tell him where to find him.

He was galvanized now by a sense of urgency, surer than ever that Ellie and Robbie were a threat to Louise's murderer. From now on, he wasn't going to let them out of his sight.

When he left the house, wisps of snow were drifting aimlessly in the wind. Jack huddled into his greatcoat and wished himself home with Ellie.

Outside Robbie's window, the snow had turned into a mad dervish. Ellie looked at the clock on the mantel and wondered what was keeping Jack. She knew he had gone to see Cardvale, and that he wouldn't come home until he'd found him. But she couldn't help worrying. If Jack were right and Cardvale was the murderer, anything might have happened.

She put a brake on her runaway thoughts. She knew Cardvale better than that. Jack was wrong about her cousin.

Robbie laughed, a strained sound, but a laugh for all that, and that got her attention. Milton was there, sitting close to the bed, talking in an undertone, words not fit for a lady's ears, she supposed, but she forgave him. Now that Robbie was fully awake, he was proving to be a fractious patient. If Milton could get Robbie's mind off his pain for a little while, so much the better.

That put a thought in her mind, and on impulse she said, “Milton, you'll stay for dinner?”

When Milton hesitated, Robbie answered for him. “He can have a tray here with me. Keep me company.”

“Now that I can't say ‘no' to,” responded Milton.

“There you are, Ellie. Milton will look after me. You've been cooped up here all day like a mother hen. It will do you good to have a little time to yourself.”

“Thank you, Robbie,” she said dryly, “but I promised the doctor I'd keep an eye on that dressing. And in case you've forgotten, you are only allowed gruel and milk. We'll have two trays sent up, one for Milton and one for me.”

She made to rise, but Milton got there before her. He pulled the bellrope and a moment or so later, Jack's valet appeared at the door.

“Coates!” she said surprised. “You were up most of the night. I thought you would be catching up on your sleep.”

“I'm an old soldier, ma'am,” he replied. “I slept for an hour or two. That's all I need. We can't all sleep the day away.”

Ellie understood. The servants should all have gone to bed after her party, but after the shooting, they had to stay at their posts while the constables questioned the guests. They must be working in shifts, and Coates must be relieving the butler.

She said, “Mr. Milton and I are having supper here with my brother. Would you be kind enough to tell Cook? Two trays only, Coates.”

“Certainly, ma'am. Ah, may I, sir?”

The question was addressed to Milton, who had taken off his coat and thrown it over a chair shortly after he arrived. Coates picked up the greatcoat and waited for instructions.

“By all means,” said Milton.

“Thank you, sir. I shall endeavor to have it warm and dry when you leave.”

Seeing Coates with Milton's coat jogged Ellie's memory. “I've been meaning to ask you something, Coates.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“I seem to have misplaced a key.”

When she got up, Milton got up, too.

Robbie said crossly, “For heaven's sake! Sit down, Milton. No need to remember your manners here. It's only Ellie.”

“I've always been taught to respect—”

“Your elders?” joked Robbie, then groaned when his laughter made his wound ache.

“Ladies,” retorted Milton.

Ellie flashed Milton a smile. “On this occasion, my brother is right,” she said. “No need to stand on ceremony here.”

“Thank you,” said Milton, and he took his chair again.

Ellie crossed to Coates, went into the corridor, and closed the door. She breathed out a sigh. Sometimes Milton's punctilious manners got on her nerves. And sometimes her brother's rudeness made her want to shake him.

Coates was waiting for her to speak. “As I was saying, I seem to have misplaced a key,” she said, “and wondered if you had found it?”

“When was this, my lady?”

“The night of the riot in the Palais Royal,” and she went on to explain, in sketchy terms, how her key came to be in Jack's pocket.

He nodded. “Ah yes. I remember very well. I beg your pardon, I had forgotten all about it until you mentioned it just now.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“In the key cemetery—just my little joke! In a box in the laundry room where I brush and press his lordship's garments. There's quite a collection. The master seems to collect keys the way some gentlemen collect snuffboxes. Shall I bring the box to you?”

She looked at the door to Robbie's room. It was obvious that her company wasn't wanted. Two young gentlemen couldn't be natural when there was an older sister present.

She debated with herself and decided she was being too careful. Robbie was in his own house, surrounded by people who would protect him. And Milton was with him. Besides, she wouldn't be gone long.

“No. I'll come with you,” she said.

The laundry room was in the nether regions of the house, as far from the kitchens as one could go. In the corridor right next to it, there was a door leading to a drying green where clothes could be dried in the summer or left open if the steam from the laundry and smells from the kitchen became too intense.

The laundry room was as orderly as her mother's herbarium. There was a lamp in the middle of a small deal table. Coates used the candle he'd brought with him to light the lamp, then spread Milton's coat on a chair, which he pushed close to the boiler. That was one thing she really appreciated about Jack's house. There was always plenty of hot water.

The box was on a shelf beside the flatirons. It was a plain box, and contained a disorderly collection of keys, some small, obviously for desk drawers or cupboards, others much more substantial, the keys to unlock solid front doors.

She looked up when Coates cleared his throat. “What is it, Coates?”

“It will only take me a moment to tell the kitchen staff to prepare two trays for Master Robert's room. With your permission?”

“Oh yes. Don't let me interrupt your work.” She added, as the thought occurred to her, “I know you must be working in shifts, but it seems excessively quiet down here. It's usually a hive of activity. Where is everybody?”

“There's not much to prepare today. There never is after a party. Nobody wants to eat. Those who do, don't want much and are quite happy with a cold collation.”

One of the little bells on a board high up on the wall rang, its musical jingle setting Ellie's nerves on edge.

“I'd better find a footman to answer that,” he said. “After last night, well, we're shorthanded.”

She smiled to show that she sympathized. “Yes, shorthanded and short of sleep. Tell the servants not to worry. I'll make allowances. We can manage.”

He smiled, bowed, and left her.

Ellie turned her attention to the keys. She discarded the smaller ones and set the others out in a row. There were five of them. Any one of them might have been the hotel key. It was hard to say which one. They were all big and heavy, with sets of ugly, uneven teeth at their ends. A guard dog would have envied those teeth.

One of the keys glowed in the lamplight. She judged that it wasn't as old or as heavy as the others. There was a small decoration on its ring, the letter “L.” She thought for a moment, trying to visualize the key from the hotel. It, too, had a letter on its ring, the letter “B” for Breteuil. Not one of the keys had a “B” on it.

What was Jack doing with so many keys to unknown doors? She didn't like the answer that came to mind, that these keys had belonged to former lovers, and he'd simply forgotten to return them when the affair was over.

Having exhaled a sharp, exasperated breath, she examined the keys again. As far as she could tell, the key she'd slipped into Jack's pocket wasn't here. The only key with a clue to its owner was the key with the letter “L.” She brought it closer to the lamp and turned it over in her hand. Something was engraved on its stem:
Louise Daudet, Théatre Français, 1808.

Jack and Louise Daudet? She entertained the thought for one moment, then discarded it. Jack would have told her if he'd known the actress. Louise Daudet was too closely connected to them for Jack not to mention it. All the same, finding the key unsettled her.

She looked at it from all sides, then she recognized what it was. No sensible person had their name engraved on a key to their door. If the key was lost and thieves found it, they could use it to enter one's house. This was a commemorative key.

She'd seen keys like this before, keys given by a father to a son when the son had reached his majority or accomplished some worthy ambition. Her own father had had a key like this. His uncle, another vicar, had presented it to him when he had completed a brilliant first year at Oxford. As far as she remembered, it was decorative, like a medal. It didn't open any doors.

How did Louise's key come to be here? She slipped it into her pocket with the intention of asking Jack about it.

This didn't help her find the key to the Hotel Breteuil.

She cast her mind back to the night she had last used it to leave the hotel. Milton was waiting for her on the other side of the door. With his usual punctiliousness, he'd taken the key from her, locked the door, and handed it back to her. Then she had dropped the key into her pochette. It was there when she returned to the hotel, only she'd never had a chance to use it.

Could one of these keys be the one in her pochette when she returned to the hotel? She supposed it could have come from Milton . . . if he had exchanged his key for hers. Why would he do such a thing?

Her mind was racing now. He'd left her in the Palais Royal while, he said, he would give Robbie's creditors the slip. The Hotel Breteuil was only five minutes away. He wouldn't have had to break in, not if he had her key. Within half an hour, twenty minutes, he could have stolen Dorothea's diamonds and returned for her. And if things had gone to plan, when he escorted her back to the hotel, he would have exchanged keys again, with no one the wiser.

The riot at the Palais Royal had foiled his perfect plan. He would not have been able to find her. What must he have thought?

She stood there transfixed as thoughts buzzed inside her head, then she gave a shaken laugh. She must be out of her mind! This was Milton, Robbie's best friend. All he cared about was his books. What would he do with diamonds?

Her hand went automatically to the key in her pocket. She withdrew it and studied it carefully for several moments. It seemed uncanny to her that Louise Daudet's key had turned up when she was looking for the key to the Hotel Breteuil.

Her hand was trembling. She curled her fingers around the key, not only to stop her trembling, but to get a grip on herself. All she had to do was talk to Jack and the mystery would be cleared up.

She slipped the commemorative key into her pocket again, put the others back in their box, and, after lighting a candle, doused the flame in the lamp. Flickering shadows seemed to leap at her from the walls. Her eyes flew wildly to garments that were hanging from a pulley. She was behaving irrationally, she told herself. She was in her own home. Cook and her helpers were not far away. All she had to do was call out and they would come running.

Only, she couldn't hear any sounds in that cavernous basement. Where was everybody?

With halting steps, holding the candle high, she left the laundry room and walked the length of the corridor. Her steps slowed to a halt. Try as she might, she couldn't get her feet to move. There was a faint light coming from one of the kitchens, but that hardly encouraged her. The kitchens were at the end of that long, long corridor, and there were many doors between.

She jumped when a light appeared halfway down the corridor. Someone had just come out of the stillroom. It had to be Cook or one of the maids. Eyes straining, she tried to make out who is was.

“Mrs. Rice?” she called out, her voice weak and quivering like a string on a poorly tuned violin.

The light came closer. Not Mrs. Rice, but a man.

Milton.