CHAPTER 5 #2
“Allow me to offer my felicitations on your nuptials, Mrs. Sheffield,” continued Garfield, clearly trying to put everyone at ease before moving on to the reason for their meeting. “If I recall what Oliver told me, the happy event was . . . quite recent, was it not?”
“It was yesterday,” replied Cordelia.
Garfield’s eyes widened in surprise. “I, er, I . . .” He quickly gathered his composure. “I would have thought that you and your husband would still be celebrating with friends and family.”
“Alas, circumstances have demanded that we put aside our festivities.”
The three men, observed Charlotte, were now no longer smiling.
“This sounds rather serious,” said Garfield. “I would have thought . . . that is . . . er, did Oliver not accompany you?”
Seeing Cordelia hesitate, Charlotte quickly added, “I’m afraid that we have some very bad news. Mr. Milton’s body was found on the rocks below the bridge at King’s Crossing—”
“Good God,” exclaimed Wayland. “What happened?”
“The circumstances are not at all clear,” replied Cordelia. “But what we do know is . . .” Her voice faltered.
Charlotte interceded, deciding there was no point in shilly-shallying. “The incident was made to look like an accident. However, the local coroner has determined that Mr. Milton was murdered.”
* * *
The dowager shaded her eyes as she looked into the sunlight, watching a breeze waft a scattering of shell-pink petals from the rose garden over the graveled carriageway.
“I can’t say that I’m sorry the pressures and perils of organizing a wedding are over,” she mused to McClellan. “But it was a lovely ceremony.”
“It was indeed,” agreed the maid. “Hawk outdid himself with the flowers, and Harper didn’t filch any of my special honey-glazed ham from the serving platters.”
“Ha, the hound is smart enough to know on which side his bread is buttered,” chortled Alison, but her amusement quickly gave way to a sigh. “My only regret is that the wedding day was shadowed by the death of Cordelia’s childhood friend. She seemed quite affected by the news.”
“Sheffield mentioned that the two of them were quite close,” said McClellan.
She paused as shouts of mirth rose from up ahead, where Raven and Hawk were racing helter-pelter along the grassy verge, tossing a ball back and forth, just out of reach of Harper’s snapping jaws.
“Such tragedies,” she murmured, “are a fierce reminder that the joyous moments in life are precious beyond words.”
Alison regripped her cane, her gaze following the antics of the boys.
“So let us talk of more cheerful things.” McClellan offered her arm for extra support as they resumed walking. “His Lordship mentioned that you will be returning to London with Henning in order to attend Sir Robert’s seventieth birthday celebration.”
“Yes, and it promises to be a splendid occasion,” replied Alison, her expression brightening.
“Horatio has gotten permission from his commanding officer to take a group of us for an afternoon cruise along the River Thames in one of the Royal Navy’s new steamboats before the gala dinner.
” The dowager’s young relative, Horatio Porter, was a midshipman and had played a heroic part in their last investigation, earning the gratitude of the government.
“He has promised me that I will be permitted to steer the ship . . .”
The carriageway turned steeper as it rounded a copse of beech trees. Just as they reached the leafy shadows, the boys came running back up the hill.
“A fancy carriage has passed through the entrance gates and is coming our way!” called Raven.
“We don’t recognize it,” added Hawk.
“Hmmph.” McClellan drew the dowager to a stop. “Neither m’lady nor His Lordship mentioned anything about visitors.”
Raven whistled to Harper, and after taking hold of the hound’s collar he and his brother positioned themselves in front of Alison and the maid.
Their protective measures drew a smile from the dowager. “Don’t worry, I happened to grab my sword cane for today’s stroll.”
‘But m’lady said—” began Hawk, then fell silent at the carriage lumbered around the bend and came to a halt.
The door flung open, and a figure scrambled down the iron rungs and started to run toward them.
“Falcon!” cried the Weasels, their voices punctuated by Harper’s thunderous barking. The three of them flew to meet their comrade-in-mischief and in the next instant were all a blur of tangled limbs and wagging fur.
A second figure dressed in the finely tailored formality of a gentleman descended to the carriageway.
“Why, that’s Peregrine’s guardian,” muttered Alison. “Which begs the question . . .” She raised her cane in greeting. “Welcome to Wrexford Manor, Mr. Belmont.” The wife of Charlotte’s brother was the sister of Belmont’s mother, so their family trees intertwined. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Belmont blanched at the word “pleasant” but quickly assumed a smile.
“Good afternoon, Lady Peake.” He inclined a bow.
“My apologies for appearing without advance notice, but I am hoping that His Lordship or Her Ladyship might agree to meet with me about . . .” He blotted his forehead with the silk handkerchief clutched in his fingers. “About Peregrine.”
“Oh, dear, that sounds rather ominous,” replied the dowager.
“It’s more than ominous, milady. It’s a complete and utter disaster!” Belmont’s shoulders sagged. “He’s been expelled from Eton!”
“For what reason?” asked Alison.
“For setting off a noxious stink bomb in the Upper School during the Sabbath Day address to the students by the headmaster!”
The dowager and McClellan took great pains not to look at each other for fear of bursting into laughter. It was, they knew, not remotely funny if one was a stickler for the rules of such bastions of aristocratic pomp and privilege.
“Oh, dear,” repeated Alison, trying to sound shocked. “Alas, Lord Wrexford is away and won’t be returning until tomorrow at the earliest. And Lady Wrexford is in Cambridge. However, we expect her back by the end of the day.”
Belmont blew out a sigh of relief.
“Come, you must, of course, wait at the manor house. I’m sure you are tired from your journey and in need of some refreshment.” Alison regarded his wan face and added, “I daresay a wee dram of brandy would be welcome.”
“A wee dram would be most welcome,” mumbled Belmont.
“Then let us leave the boys to their mayhem and get you properly settled.”