Chapter 20 #2
He bent to plant a chivalrous kiss on the back of her gloved hand.
“The skies in London confound me. I can never make out the stars through the smoke. Although the ceaseless clouds and rain have made it difficult for me to use my telescope at Aldridge Castle as well.” He returned her smile. “You look charming as usual, Jane.”
“You may need to purchase a pair of spectacles, Bertie, but thank you for your kind words. And this must be your ward, Miss Donovan. Except”—she tapped the lace-trimmed fan against her chin as she surveyed Kendra—“she’s no longer a miss, is she?
She married that devilishly handsome nephew of yours. ”
“She did,” said the Duke. “Jane, this is Kendra, Marchioness of Sutcliffe. Kendra, may I introduce Jane Stanhope, Countess of Harrington.”
“I can see why Sutcliffe took himself out of the marriage mart when he met you, Lady Sutcliffe. You are quite lovely, my dear. Would you care to walk with me for a moment?”
Kendra had been wondering how she could extract the countess from her group of friends, and was a little surprised when Lady Harrington was the one to arrange it. Lady St. James’s smile drooped a little, undoubtedly disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on their conversation.
Kendra fell into step beside the matron. For a moment, they didn’t speak, instead listening to the music and the underlying sounds: the murmur of conversation, laughter, the whisper of silk, satin, and velvet skirts.
“I actually came here tonight because I wanted to speak with you, my lady,” Kendra said in a low voice, glancing at the aristocrat’s regal profile.
“I know.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “You do?”
“Of course.” Lady Harrington kept her gaze fixed on the crowd, smiling and nodding as they swept by.
“I am one of Her Majesty’s Ladies of the Bedchamber.
I not only serve the Queen, but I care about her a great deal.
I saw how disturbed she was when we learned about Grace’s death.
” She shot Kendra a quick look out of the corner of her eye.
“We are aware that it was ruled an accident, but that won’t stop rumors from suggesting something else. ”
“Suicide.”
“Yes. The idea was extremely vexing to Her Majesty. Grace would never do such a vile thing. I have heard about you . . . and your investigations.” That was said with another glance, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Amelia quite enjoys sharing every tidbit of information she comes across.”
“Amelia?”
“Lady St. James.”
“Oh. Yes, she does.”
“Amelia can be an entertaining companion, but I have little time or use for gossip. When you or your family are the ones whispered about, it can be quite tedious. You’ve no doubt heard about my notorious mother-in-law and sister.
” She pinned Kendra with a shrewd look. “No need to answer that, my dear. I can see that you have. Well, that is neither here nor there. The stories I’ve heard about you are much more interesting. ”
“You were the one who told the Queen about me,” Kendra said.
“Her Majesty had heard rumors before, but yes, I am the one who suggested that your unusual expertise could be utilized to find out the truth about Grace’s death.” She gave a small smile. “I do apologize for ruining your honeymoon.”
“Why didn’t you come to me directly and ask me to look into the matter?”
“I am used to the politics of the royal court—very little is done directly, my dear. Besides, I’m familiar with your husband.” She smiled at Kendra as they turned a corner. “Only a royal decree would have stopped him from whisking his bride off on a honeymoon. A royal request is just as good.”
Kendra said nothing. She didn’t like being manipulated, but at the same time, she had to admire the woman’s strategic skills.
“The evidence indicates Lady Westford was murdered,” she said at last.
Lady Harrington didn’t express shock or horror. Instead, she maintained her pleasant expression, nodding. “I feared it would be so. An accident is simply too bizarre. Have you any thoughts on who could have done such a despicable thing?”
“It’s early days. When was the last time you saw Lady Westford?”
“Friday. We were together with Her Majesty at Buckingham House.”
Buckingham House—before it became Buckingham Palace.
“What time was this?”
“The Queen required our presence at three. We stayed until two the following afternoon.”
That explained the gap in time from when Lady Westford viewed the body at the morgue and when she showed up at Bowden Theater. “How did she seem to you?”
Lady Harrington was quiet, then said, “Grace was a bit of bluestocking. Did you know?”
Kendra frowned at the non sequitur. “I’ve been told that she had an interest in science. Medicine.”
In another era, Lady Westford could have been a doctor or scientist herself, not reduced to the sidelines, she reflected.
“Yes. She was fascinated by both old and new techniques,” Lady Harrington murmured, her gaze moving over the dancers gliding across the floor.
“She was also an avid gardener. I am not speaking of pretty flowers. She was interested in herbs for medicinal purposes. Did you know that her sister died of typhus?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at Kendra, seemingly pleased.
“You have found out a great deal in a short amount of time, Lady Sutcliffe. The tragedy influenced her. She advocated for more aggressive methods to finding cures for diseases. I am telling you this because I want you to understand that Grace was not someone with windmills in her head. She was very intelligent and thoughtful.” Another flickering smile.
“She was not like Amelia. She didn’t gossip. ”
The matron unfurled her fan, using it to combat the stifling heat from the press of bodies around them. “The ball is a success, but it is quite warm in here. Let us step outside, shall we?”
Kendra followed Lady Harrington through the French doors to the veranda.
She welcomed the rush of cold air as they stepped outside.
Several torches had been lit to drive the shadows into corners and crevices.
The evenings’ drizzle had stopped—or paused—but the veranda’s tiles were wet enough to dampen the hem of their skirts.
A handful of couples was already outside, using the terrace as a respite from the overheated ballroom.
And, given the young ladies who were accompanied by gentlemen, a reprieve from the watchful eyes of chaperones.
Lady Harrington stopped near a green topiary, snipped and shaped into a geometric spire, away from the listening ears of the other terrace occupants. “Grace tended to be serious of mind,” she said. “But she’d become more somber than usual.”
“You noticed this on Friday?”
She shook her head. “Her mood changed before that. A month, at least. Maybe more. She was blue-devilled. I approached her about what might be ailing her, but . . .” She lifted one shoulder in a dainty half-shrug.
“Grace was one to keep her own counsel. I discovered her alone in one of the palace’s antechambers, weeping. ”
“When was this?”
“A few weeks ago. I can’t give you an exact date.”
“Did you ask her why she was upset?”
“Of course. She dismissed my concern initially. I pressed, and she finally confessed that she was having difficulties with the men in her life.”
“Men, plural? Not man?”
“Definitely men. I assume she meant her husband and Mr. Goldsten.” Lady Harrington’s eyes glinted with humor.
“I may be called ‘The Saint,’ but that doesn’t make me deaf and blind to reality, my dear.
I am fortunate to be blessed in my marriage.
However, I know, more than most, that not everyone is. ”
“Did she tell you what kind of trouble she was having with these men?”
“Not in so many words, but I know Henry—Lord Westford. He would not have been pleased that his wife had a friendship with a Jew. He’s a pompous prig. Like many, he forgets that the Jewish people are as English as any of us.”
“I heard that he wasn’t happy about their relationship,” Kendra acknowledge. “Do you think he could have had her killed because of it?”
Lady Harrington narrowed her eyes. “Very clever of you to suggest that Henry wouldn’t have done the deed himself.
As I said, he’s a pompous prig, and pompous prigs excel at being quarrelsome, but shy away from physical confrontations.
Henry wouldn’t have laid his hands on Grace in a violent manner. ”
Kendra wondered if that was true, recalling the old bruises on Lady Westford’s arms. Someone had laid their hands on her before her death. If not Lord Westford, was it Goldsten? Or someone else?
“My instinct is to say no, Henry would never have arranged for Grace’s murder,” Lady Harrington continued. “I trust my instincts, but I have to ask myself if I truly believe it, or if I believe it because I can’t imagine a person that I know could be capable of such evil?”
Lady Harrington shook her head and sighed heavily.
“I have spent many years behind palace walls, Lady Sutcliffe. In that time, I’ve learned that most people wear many faces.
They cloak their true nature to further their cause.
Society may criticize and condemn my mother-in-law and sister, but neither one of them pretended to be something they were not.
“So . . . I don’t know,” she added, her gaze somber. “I don’t know if Henry hired someone to kill Grace.”
Kendra nodded. “What about Mr. Goldsten?”
Lady Harrington moved to the stone balustrade.
Bracing her hands on the railing, she stared out into the gardens.
The clouds had thinned into gossamer strands, allowing moonlight to wash the trees and shrubbery, still dripping from rain, in quicksilver.
Hauntingly beautiful, but Kendra doubted Lady Harrington was seeing it at all.
“I remember when Grace first met Mr. Goldsten,” the matron said softly.
“It’s been many moons since we were fresh-faced innocents, but I could see something in her then.
A lightness of spirit that I hadn’t seen before.
She was happy. Until . . . she was no longer.
” Lady Harrington tilted her head to meet Kendra’s eyes.
“There is nothing so disheartening as a love affair turned to dust.”
“Their affair was over?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Did she say?”
“Not when I found her weeping. But several days later, I quizzed her again, and she admitted there was another woman. Younger, prettier—of course.”
Kendra straightened up. “What was her name?”
“I don’t know. I’m not certain Grace knew.”
“How’d she know that the other woman was younger and prettier?”
“She saw them together. Grace called upon Mr. Goldsten at his clinic and saw him leaving with the creature.”
“That seems pretty innocuous. Why did she assume he was being unfaithful?”
“I asked her that as well. But from what she said, it wasn’t one thing, but many.
He’d grown distant, preoccupied. Then, when she asked him about the woman, he acted oddly and lied.
He said she was the wife of one of his apprentices, that he was walking with her because the streets around his surgery are unsafe.
Mr. Goldsten’s apprentices are all young men; Grace was quite certain none had a wife.
She told me Mr. Goldsten became quite upset when she pressed him for answers.
He said that if she trusted him, she would never mention the subject again.
“Suspicious,” Kendra agreed. “Did Lady Westford ever mention a woman named Clarice?”
Lady Harrington gave her a sharp look. “No. Do you think she may be the other woman?”
“I’m not sure. What was Lady Westford’s mood like when you saw her on Friday?”
A sudden gust of wind stirred the trees and shrubbery, scattering rain drops to the ground. The flames from the surrounding torches flickered madly, plunging Lady Harrington into shadow, making it impossible for Kendra to read her expression.
“She was late in arriving at Buckingham House,” the matron replied. “Grace was well-named: her manners pretty, her comportment always graceful. But on Friday, she seemed to have butter on her fingers. She dropped the sewing kit twice, and accidently knocked over her teacup while serving tea.
“She was in a brown study. Her Majesty spoke to her several times, but it was as though she never heard her. I knew something dreadful must have happened. I managed to get her alone, but she dismissed my concerns. Except . . . she said the strangest thing.”
Kendra waited.
Lady Harrington took a breath. “Exitus acta probat.”
“The outcome justifies the means,” Kendra translated.
Lady Harrington lifted her eyebrows. “You know Latin?”
“A bit. Did you ask her what she meant by that?”
“I was about to, not only because it was so peculiar, but because of how she looked when she said it.”
“How was that?”
“She looked afraid, Lady Sutcliffe. I was summoned by the Queen and never had the chance to ask her about that comment, or the fear that I saw in her eyes,” she said in a voice aching with sadness. “Now, I never will.”