Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The Burnished Jade
Aldgate Street, London
“Must we suffer these pleasantries much longer?” Lord Rothley whispered to his friend Mr Dalton, seated to his right in The Jade’s splendid music room. “I’d rather scour the ten-year accounts looking for a missing penny.”
Occupying the chair to his left, Sofia gently nudged the marquess. “Miss Crane has spent a week gathering the courage to sing tonight. Be respectful. Pay her the courtesy of listening.”
He inclined his head. “Forgive me. Sentiment brings out the worst in me.”
Miss Crane clasped her shaking hands together and sang Home, Sweet Home as the Countess of Berridge watched with pride. She received an encouraging round of applause and left the floor, grinning from ear to ear.
The song’s lyrics echoed in Sofia’s mind.
Home! Home! Sweet, sweet home!
She didn’t care where she lived. Her home was with Reid. Be it a cramped room above the practice or a grand townhouse in Jermyn Street.
She turned to the marquess, keen to know how long she must suffer her husband’s absence. “Do you have the time, my lord?”
He held her gaze like he sensed her disquiet. “That’s the second time you’ve asked in as many minutes. Gentry is dining with Turner tonight?” Suspicion and a frisson of fear rang in every syllable. “Tell me he’s not on a wild crusade to find the nefarious Mr Fellows.”
“Be assured. He is meeting Mr Turner for supper at seven.”
“I sense a but, madam.”
She hesitated. “Reid wanted to visit his cousin first. Mr Daventry said he should ask to see the scorecard and mention the witnesses. Despite my protests, Reid insisted on going alone. Men rarely talk freely in a woman’s presence, and he wants Algernon to admit he drugged Mrs Ludgrove.”
The marquess relaxed his tight expression. “Algernon breaks ladies’ hearts for sport. He’s a wastrel with a brain the size of a pea, but he’s not a murderer.”
Sofia quickly told him about their encounter with Annie at the Hare and Hounds. The marquess had to keep his opinion to himself for a few minutes while Miss Becker played Handel’s Largo on the pianoforte.
“Many men favour the double tassel,” he said as soon as the applause died. He pulled his watch from his pocket and checked the time. “Good Lord. Is it only six o’clock? I feel like I’ve spent an eternity in this chair.”
Ten minutes later, during a short interval where the ladies were encouraged to speak to the gentlemen present, Reid entered the drawing room.
Sofia’s heart skipped a beat.
He looked breathtaking in his fashionable dark blue coat and trousers, but she noticed the subtle tension in his eyes.
He was at her side in seconds, his hand sliding over hers, his cologne swamping her senses. “I don’t have much time if I’m to make the Clarendon for seven, but I wanted to see you.”
I needed to see you.
She brushed an imagined speck of dust from his sleeve. “I’m so glad you came.” Despite his earlier reassurances, she’d spent the last two hours fraught with worry. “What did Algernon say about the scorecard?”
Before Reid could reply, Lord Rothley joined them. “For pity’s sake, save me from talk of cute pugs and hothouse flowers. Find me someone willing to discuss grave robbing or the ethics of cannibalism when shipwrecked on a desert island.”
Though Reid laughed, a deep sadness lingered in his eyes—a sorrow probably caused by his cousin. “I’m sure Sofia can find a lady who’s interested in the macabre.”
The lord gazed at the women sitting demurely on the blue damask settee. “I suspect these ladies would find a wilting rose disturbing. Surely it’s time to leave. I cannot suffer another mawkish song or ode.”
“The ladies are encouraged to sing to help build their confidence. When we’re here alone, we discuss all manner of morbid topics.” She gestured discreetly to Olivia. “Miss Woolf is fond of the graveyard poets and enjoys discussions on life’s fragility.”
“Miss Woolf?” He observed the woman with hair like flames of fire. “How fitting. I despise sheep. Let’s pray this one bares her teeth.”
“I could introduce you.”
The marquess gave a snort of indifference. “Don’t trouble yourself. The night will be over soon. I’ll have a case of the ague the next time the countess invites me to an event.”
Knowing her husband had to leave soon, Sofia squeezed Reid’s hand. “Did you see your cousin and examine his scorecard?”
He drew closer and bent his head. “Algernon confessed to giving the ladies he wooed a small dose of laudanum. But he swears he didn’t kill them. He claims he never dined with Mrs Ludgrove or took her to the Hare and Hounds. He didn’t kill the groom, either.”
“Then who did?”
Reid looked deflated. “I fear my grandfather might be involved.”
Sofia’s heart sank to her stomach. “Surely not.”
Please, no, she silently begged.
Fate wouldn’t be so cruel.
The only family member Reid cared for wouldn’t betray him, too.
Reid managed a watery smile. “I’ll explain everything when I return to collect you at ten. I can’t let Turner down again. The man has been running the practice these last few weeks.”
“Ten?” the marquess groaned. “I’ll die of boredom long before then.”
“Sofia will find someone to keep you entertained.” Reid gripped his friend’s shoulder. “I trust you to take care of my wife until I return. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Lord Rothley bowed his head. “I’m nothing if not dependable.”
Reid drew Sofia into the hall. He glanced about to ensure they were alone before crushing his mouth to hers and kissing her until they could hardly breathe.
“I’m thinking of asking Turner to become my partner,” he said, holding her close and kissing her again. “He might refuse. Lord knows I’ve given him every reason to seek a new position.”
“That’s a splendid idea.”
“We’ll talk later tonight.” His gaze swept over her face as if committing every detail to memory. “I should go, or I’ll be late.”
She ran her hands over his shoulders and the sculpted muscles filling his coat. Love for him flooded every fibre of her being. “Our troubles will be over soon. Chaos always precedes a time of change. We’ll be better people for knowing the truth.”
“There’s only one truth in this godforsaken mess, and that’s how I feel about you,” he blurted.
She failed to suppress a gasp.
Her pulse raced frantically.
How do you feel? she wanted to say, but the guests burst into the hall, heading for the music room to retake their seats for the recital.
Reid’s friend, Mr Dalton, grinned as he passed. “For a couple who married for convenience, you seem surprisingly smitten. Come, Mrs Gentry, let me show you to your seat before you drown in waves of sentiment.”
“I’ll be back in four hours, maybe three,” Reid said, kissing her hand as Mr Dalton led her away.
She held her husband’s gaze until she entered the music room. A maelstrom of feelings overwhelmed her. Amid the burgeoning bloom of love lived a sudden fear she might lose everything.
“A drink, Mrs Gentry?” The marquess offered her a silver flask engraved with a dragon crest. “It’s brandy. At times like these, one needs something stronger than lemonade.”
She took a sip to stem the confusing rise of panic.
“You loved someone once,” she dared to say.
A muscle in the lord’s cheek twitched. He paused for a few strained seconds. “You make it sound like love is a choice. It’s not. It’s a dratted inconvenience.”
“You speak of unrequited love. I imagine that’s akin to the hopeless torment one might experience in hell.”
Would that be her fate?
Was she doomed to love a man who only lusted after her?
“It’s a struggle one must suffer for an eternity,” he agreed.
“Was my wedding ring meant for her?” Sofia looked at the sparkling gems and thread of gold string she used to secure the ring in place until she found the time to visit Woodcroft’s.
“If it was, it would sit on her finger. Fate decreed otherwise.”
Miss Woolf came to stand before the audience and informed them she was to recite a passage from a lyric poem.
“Not another one.” The marquess shifted his attention to the petite lady with the vibrant red hair. “Give me something other than green meadows and blasted rainbows,” came his muttered plea.
Miss Woolf took a calming breath. “ Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray.” She glanced around the audience, though her gaze came to rest on the marquess. “It explores the adage: ‘Though our journeys in life may differ, our destination is always the same.’”
Lord Rothley straightened. “Sounds promising.”
“ Full many a flower is born to blush unseen ,” Miss Woolf began in a reverent tone, “ and waste its sweetness on the desert air .”
The words reflected a missed opportunity, suggesting time spent anywhere but in the present moment was a waste.
Miss Woolf’s gaze moved to the other men in the audience as she continued reciting from the elegy. “ The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power ,” she said before meeting the marquess’ gaze again. “ And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, awaits alike the inevitable hour …”
“ The paths of glory lead but to the grave ,” the marquess whispered.
Miss Woolf recited two more quatrains from memory and received an applause from everyone in the audience, including the awakened Lord Rothley.
The lord took a sip of his brandy. “Who did you say that was?”
“Miss Woolf. She’s been a member here for two months.”
“Why is she here?”
“To find friendship amongst like-minded people.”
“She gallivants about town alone, I presume.”
“No. Her maid is taking tea with the other servants downstairs.”
“Her choice of poetry is refreshing.”
“The countess encourages freedom of thought and speech.”
“Indeed.” He offered Sofia the flask. “Have you told Gentry you’re in love with him?” When she didn’t reply directly, he said, “There’s a notable change in the air when you’re together.”
“He’s a remarkable man.”
“Which makes me wonder why anyone would want to hurt him.”
Sofia struggled to understand how Reid found himself in this position, too. “Algernon seeks their grandfather’s approval and wants Bretton Hall. Though he professes innocence, all the evidence leads to his door. We just need Mrs Ludgrove to identify him as the elusive Mr Fellows.”
They fell silent as another lady took centre stage to recite Portia’s speech from The Merchant of Venice . It was a plea for mercy and compassion, though Sofia would never forgive the man who wished to hurt Reid.
“What if Algernon is telling the truth and he didn’t murder O’Connor?” the marquess said, like he’d been waiting to play the devil’s advocate for the last five minutes.
Sofia scoured her mind. “I don’t see who else it could be.”
“Not Doyle or that poacher fellow,” he agreed. “Whoever killed O’Connor killed the patients and planned to implicate Gentry.”
“Or Algernon accidentally killed the patients and needed to blame someone.”
The marquess sighed. “Yes, it’s possible.”
Mr Dalton leant towards them, his heavy brow shielding dark, intense eyes. “The motive is always greed or jealousy. Algernon is the obvious villain. What if the real culprit used Algernon as the scapegoat?”
She thought for a moment. “I suppose the question should be: Who knows the identity of Reid’s patients? That would be Mr Hickman, Mr Turner and Algernon. He bribed Mr Hickman for a list of ladies in their fifties.”
Lord Rothley nodded. “Gentry’s grandfather is a resourceful man.”
She pushed that suggestion aside. “Mr Hickman hasn’t the stomach for murder. And it’s not Mr Turner.” The men were close and had been for years. “Mrs Ludgrove knows him. He’s treated her on at least three occasions. I checked the records to allay any doubts. And he invited me to supper on the night of Mr O’Connor’s murder. Why would he do that if he had business elsewhere?”
The marquess checked his watch. “It’s still early. What say we take my carriage, visit Mrs Ludgrove and ask a few pertinent questions?”
The lord was desperate to escape The Jade.
“Yes, if you promise to dance with Miss Woolf upon our return.” They would have a wasted journey. Mrs Ludgrove had described Mr Fellows as having an athletic physique. Mr Turner was of average height and build.
With a quick glance Miss Woolf’s way, the marquess agreed.
After hearing Mrs Reagan’s dramatic parable on the value of being forthright, they left and journeyed to Mrs Ludgrove’s home in Chandos Street. With each passing mile, fear formed a cold knot in her chest.
When Pinkerton finally answered the door, he was determined not to grant them entrance. “I’ll let no one but Mr Gentry cross the threshold. Not until the ten days of quarantine have passed.”
“You do remember me?” Sofia said. “I’m Mr Gentry’s herbalist. And this is the Marquess of Rothley and Mr Dalton.” The marquess offered his calling card. “We must speak to Mrs Ludgrove urgently.”
“I gave Mr Gentry my word. He trusts?—”
“Step aside!” Mr Dalton pushed past Pinkerton and marched into the hall. “My patience is a coiled spring ready to snap.”
Despite the butler’s protests, they followed him inside.
Mrs Ludgrove was lounging on the sofa, her hair hidden in a purple turban, the cat curled in her lap. “What’s the meaning of this? Who the devil are you?”
The cat hissed.
Sofia introduced herself. “Do you remember me? I’m Mr Gentry’s herbalist.”
Mrs Ludgrove looked terrified. “Did he send you?” She clutched her robe in her fist. “I’ve told him I don’t want his rotten medicine. The game is up. There’s no point keeping secrets anymore.”
A little mystified, Sofia said, “You’ve spoken to Mr Gentry?”
“No, Mr Fellows. He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.”
Pinkerton stepped forward. “The gentleman has been bombarding my mistress with notes. I told the penny boy he’ll get a thick ear if he tries to deliver one here again.”
A cold prickle made her shudder. “May I ask what Mr Fellows wants?” Did he hope to kill all the witnesses like he had Mr O’Connor? Would he lure Mrs Ludgrove to a secluded wood out of town and do away with her, too?
“To meet privately, to return my brooch and earrings. He claims I asked him to take the jewels for safekeeping. What poppycock. He could have robbed me while I was half-dazed. No. I’ll let him stew a little longer.”
“I trust you told the constable what happened,” Sofia said.
Mrs Ludgrove’s pinched expression said not. “And have my business bandied about in the broadsheets? Pinkerton told the constable I had an infection and to call next week.”
“But it’s imperative we find Mr Fellows.” Sofia paused, unsure how hard to press the widow. Lives were at stake. “He could hurt someone else.”
Mrs Ludgrove dismissed the plea. “I’ve told you all I know.”
The widow shooed them away and fell back on the bolster cushion like a weary Cleopatra.
Sofia turned to her companions. “Wait in the hall. I wish to speak to Mrs Ludgrove alone.” She refused to leave the house without clearing her colleagues’ names. Indeed, Mrs Ludgrove held the key to solving the entire case.
Lord Rothley and Mr Dalton obliged.
Sofia moved closer to the sofa.
It was pointless being kind, and so she chose a different tactic. “I find your failure to take this seriously quite disgraceful. Who are you trying to protect? Surely not Mr Fellows. The man put laudanum in your wine.”
Mrs Ludgrove’s head jerked in Sofia’s direction. “What? Who told you that? It’s simply not true.”
“A witness at the Hare and Hounds. Mr Fellows killed a groom to hide his secret. He won’t rest until he’s ruined Mr Gentry’s reputation.”
“Mr Fellows is a gentleman.”
“No, I fear you have been duped.”
The widow screwed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I just want it all to go away. I wish I’d never had that conversation in the bookshop. I wish I’d never accepted his offer to dine at Antoine’s.”
“You did, and the truth will prevail. The question is: What would you like written about you in the broadsheets? Do you want to be the person who helped catch a killer or the one who aided his crimes?”
The woman paled. “Mr Fellows is not a killer. It’s all a dreadful misunderstanding. Yes, I’m angry he took my brooch and earrings. If he’d needed money, I would have given it to him. It’s the lies and deception. That’s what I cannot abide. The sneaking about and making up stories.”
Sofia feared she’d had a wasted journey and made one final attempt to get answers. “You’re not the only lady he’s courting. I saw Mr Hickman dining with an older woman at Antoine’s.”
“Who?” Her reply and bland expression confirmed their secretary was not Mr Fellows. “What has that got to do with me? Are you even listening, gal?”
A sick feeling swirled in Sofia’s gut.
Her head whirled as pieces of the puzzle started slotting into place.
The note Mrs Ludgrove sent to the practice asking for Mr Gentry never arrived. They had called by chance that day. The penny boy had not lost the letter. Someone at the practice had destroyed the note.
“Why do you persist in keeping Mr Fellow’s identity a secret? What are you hiding? I can only assume you think Mr Gentry knows him.”
Please, no!
Could the villain be Mr Turner?
Surely not.
“It’s no one’s business.” Mrs Ludgrove sounded quite angry now. “I gave you a false name because he said no one would understand. And he was right.”
Sofia firmed her stance. She would get a confession even if she had to strangle Mrs Ludgrove with her garish turban. “I know it’s not Mr Turner,” she lied, “because he’s betrothed and will soon marry.”
The tale had the desired effect.
Mrs Ludgrove’s chin hit her lap. Her eyes bulged in their sockets. She began shaking. “Betrothed? But he can’t be.”
Merciful Lord!
Mr Turner was the insidious Mr Fellows!
The blood in Sofia’s veins froze. Reid was with the deceitful devil now.
There was no time to press for answers.
No time to wonder about a motive.
Sofia ignored Mrs Ludgrove’s sudden tears and darted from the room.
Saving her husband was all that mattered.