Chapter 22
The Scene
… and for a little while it was only an interchange of perplexity and terror.
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Adam knew what the letter said before he read the words over Rosalind’s shoulder. He knew it from the way her body tensed and the color drained from her cheeks. Knew it from the way her expression became a perfect, blank mask meant to conceal any emotion at all.
“There’s a carriage waiting,” said the scullery maid uncertainly.
“We’ll be downstairs in a few minutes,” Adam told her.
“Yes, sir.” The maid bobbed her curtsy and hurried down the stairs.
Adam met Rosalind’s gaze. She nodded in answer to his wordless question.
She was all right. Of course she was. A world in which Rosalind could not rally herself was almost unimaginable.
Adam touched her shoulder and left to go get dressed in his regular clothes.
The evening attire scattered about Rosalind’s room now would be nothing but a hinderance.
Adam dressed by rote, his mind too full of questions—or rather one specific question—to take full note of what he did.
What the devil happened to Sir Anthony?
When Adam arrived downstairs, he found Leigh waiting for them in the common room. The man looked more alert than one might expect, but then a landlord would be used to being roused at all hours. He’d thought to light a branch of candles, and handed Adam a half pint of porter.
“Carriage is outside, sir.”
“My thanks.” Adam drank off the small beer. He fished some coins from his pocket and handed them to Leigh, along with a note he’d written in his room.
“This needs to be taken at once to the house of Mr. Peter Layng.” Adam gave the direction. Layng was Bath’s coroner. There was no telling if the Kinsdales had thought to alert him to Sir Anthony’s sudden death.
It may have been an accident, after all, or perhaps his heart simply gave out.
But if that was the case, why would Casselmaine send for Rosalind and himself with such urgency?
Rosalind came down the stairs, pulling on her gloves as she did. “I’ve told Laurel she will not be needed.”
Adam helped her into the waiting carriage and gave the driver the direction. The man was sober and awake, and clearly understood this was some extraordinary circumstance. He touched up the horses almost the moment the door was shut.
The dawn was just beginning to show itself.
The streets were crowded with people on their way to their work, and with carts and wagons—not to mention flocks of geese and sheep—on their way to market.
But the driver navigated the erratic traffic with a deft hand and the horses clearly knew their business, so they arrived at the Royal Circus in short order.
At the Kinsdales’ house, the lamps had all been lit, and a young footman—who looked both bleary-eyed and badly shaken—let them in at once.
Casselmaine was already in the opulent foyer waiting for them.
“Rosalind, Harkness. Thank you for coming,” he said. “I’m afraid we’re going to need your … expertise.”
“What’s happened?” asked Rosalind.
Casselmaine glanced reflexively toward the stairs. “Sir Anthony was found in the garden. It looks as if he fell from the window in his room. It might have been an accident, but … well, Mrs. Lynn is gone.”
“Gone?” repeated Adam.
Casselmaine nodded. “No one saw her leave, but Clara said they tried to rouse her after Sir Anthony was found. She didn’t answer the shouts, and the door was locked. When the servants got in, they found the room empty, but there’s signs she packed in a hurry.”
“Where are Clara and her sisters?” asked Rosalind.
“In the amber salon,” Casselmaine told them.
“I’ll go to them. Mr. Harkness …?”
Adam nodded and touched her hand. Rosalind hurried away down the corridor and he turned to Casselmaine.
“Where’s Sir Anthony?”
“Laid out in his bedroom. Clara … she didn’t want him left outside, but we agreed his rooms should not be otherwise disturbed before you’d had a chance to look at them.”
That was unusual, and good luck. The first instinct of the servants, and the family, would be to tidy away any mess. This time, there might still be some useful sign to point them to what had happened.
“We’ve sent for the coroner, Mr. Layng,” Adam told Casselmaine.
“Will you wait here to meet him? The family will be badly distraught as it is.” And might object to such a man being in their house.
The haut ton frequently did. So did those who were responsible for the unexpected deaths the coroner investigated.
Casselmaine nodded. “Of course. And thank you, Harkness. The rooms you want are on the second floor, middle door on the left.
Adam raced up the stairs and down the central hallway. But when he reached his destination, he cursed softly. He could see a flickering light under the door.
Someone was already in Sir Anthony’s rooms.
Adam pushed his way in without knocking. The fire had been lit, along with several branches of candles. An old man in shirtsleeves knelt on the floor, sponging carefully at the carpet.
Evidently the decision about not disturbing the rooms hadn’t been communicated to the staff.
The old man looked up as Adam entered, and blinked.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he croaked. “The scorch mark will simply not come out. The whole of it will have to be replaced.”
“It’s all right.” Adam squatted down, bringing his eyes level with the other man. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Thrush, sir,” the old man replied. “Elias Thrush. I am, was, Sir Anthony’s valet.”
“Thrush, I’m Adam Harkness. His grace has asked me to see to things up here.
” Which was both true and entirely ambiguous.
“You can leave the carpet for now. Come and sit down.” Adam extended his hand to help the man up.
He was shaking so badly that Adam kept hold of his arm as he crossed to the chair and lowered himself onto the embroidered cushion.
Fortunately, a decanter of port and two glasses waited on the round table beside the chair. Adam poured out a good measure of the wine and handed it to Thrush. The valet blinked again.
“That is Sir Anthony’s private stock, sir,” he said. “He would not—well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“You need something to steady you. Go on,” said Adam. Thrush didn’t need any more urging. He drank off the dose.
“Thank you, sir.” Thrush’s color improved immediately, and his voice has ceased its shaking.
“I admit, late nights and … and sudden shocks are harder on me than they once were. I meant to retire years ago, but Sir Anthony so disliked change he would not hear of it. …” Thrush stopped, apparently deciding he had said too much.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Adam asked him.
“I wish that I could. My own room is just there—” He indicated one of the two connecting doors.
“I was here when Sir Anthony came up from the evening’s entertainments, of course.
I had already laid out his night things and ordered his dressing table as he liked and was ready to help him to bed, all as usual.
It was that person who brought him up to me,” he added darkly.
Meaning Mrs. Lynn. Adam nodded encouragingly.
“She was laughing, I remember, and saying ‘what fol-der-ol!’ as he complained at her. Really, such behavior! She all but dropped him into my arms. ‘You take good care of him now, Thrush,’ she says. ‘I must get back down before there’s trouble.’ And she breezes away before I can say anything else.”
“What did you do then?”
“I settled Sir Anthony in his chair—this chair.” Thrush caressed the arm sadly.
“I meant to help him out of his things, but he’d spilled some wine on his coat and he was very upset about it.
He insisted that I see to the stain immediately before it set.
So, I took the coat down to the laundry.
” He moistened his lips. “I admit, once I’d hung the coat to dry, I sat down in the servants’ hall.
I only planned to be a moment. I was tired, sir.
” Thrush hung his head. “And I thought that if anything was urgent that Sir Anthony would ring. But … I fell asleep.” He pressed his fingertips against his eyes.
“God help me, I fell asleep in my chair, and when I woke, it was because Cook and the scullery maids had arrived and … and they found him, and were screaming.” Thrush shuddered.
“Did you see him?”
Thrush turned his face away. “He had fallen onto the garden terrace,” he said softly. “I told the footmen to take him upstairs, and lay him on the bed.”
Adam allowed himself and Thrush a moment’s silence. It was a hard thing to know that one might have saved a life, if only things had been a little different.
“Do you recall if the window was open when you came into the room?”
“It was,” said Thrush. “I had assumed that Sir Anthony opened it for the air.”
“Did you notice if he was the worse for drink?” asked Adam.
Thrush looked shocked. “Sir Anthony abhorred drunkenness. He never permitted himself to indulge too deeply. If he was at all careless last night, it was the fault of that person.” Thrush’s professional mask crumpled into an expression of profound distaste.
“I said she’d be his ruin. I said, mark my words, she will finish him off, and the young misses with him!
And I was right,” he added with grim satisfaction. “God help us all, I was right.”
Adam poured out another dose of port in acknowledgment of this prediction. Thrush nodded his thanks and tossed the drink back.
“What of the other servants?” Adam asked. “Did anyone else hear anything during the night?”
“No one’s admitted to it, at least not in my hearing. Normally, there wouldn’t be anyone, as I’m the only one who sleeps in. The expense, you understand …”
Adam nodded.
“Last night, though, there was more staff in the house than usual, because of the party, and it all had to be cleared away before the morning, but most of those who were meant to do the work were off well before dawn.” Thrush’s face wrinkled, as if he’d caught a bad smell.
This told Adam what he thought of this recently hired staff.
“Cook and the scullions, they were away as soon as they could be to get a bit of kip before the next day’s work.
So, no, I don’t think anyone would have heard anything. ”
“Has anyone said they saw Mrs. Lynn leave?”
“Not to me. You might ask Keegan. He’s in charge of the footmen. One of them might have seen it. But, as I’ve indicated, sir, they aren’t a particularly diligent crew.”
“Well, we’ll have to try,” said Adam. “Now, this scorch mark you were cleaning when I came in, I assume that was new?”
Mr. Thrush drew himself up. “I am not one of these hirelings. I would never have left such a mark unattended.”
“My apologies.” Adam gave a small bow. “I didn’t mean to suggest you’d neglected your duties. I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t there when you took Sir Anthony’s coat away.”
“It most certainly was not,” said Thrush. “Imagine the outcry!”
Even having known Sir Anthony for such a short time, Adam found he could well imagine it. “Can you say what made it?”
Thrush opened his mouth, and closed it again. “I would guess that it came from a fallen candle. Perhaps that one.” He nodded to the unlit candle in a silver holder that stood on the spindly-legged table beside the window.
Adam nodded. “Was anything else disturbed when you came in?”
Thrush’s gaze darted about the room. “No, sir, I can’t say that it was, nor is it now.”
“And did you empty the pockets of Sir Anthony’s coat when you took it away?”
“Yes, sir. His things are just there.” Thrush gestured to the dressing table. There was a watch and a chain with an abundance of fobs and seals, and Sir Anthony’s quizzing glass. There was also a purse and a pocketbook. Both of those proved to be entirely empty.
“What … what will happen now, sir?” asked Thrush.
“The family will decide things, of course” said Adam. “But for now, I hope you’ll do me the favor of going down and telling the staff there will be some questions for them.”
“Yes, sir. Not that any one of them’s worth their salt, but I will tell them.” Thrush stood. He moved stiffly, but more steadily than he had when Adam had first come in. “But the carpet—” The man stopped, and gave a hoarse, mirthless laugh. “I suppose that doesn’t matter now either, does it?”
“No,” agreed Adam. “I’ll do what’s necessary here. You go downstairs. Get yourself something to eat, if there’s anything on the fire. I’ll let you know if you’re needed again.”
“Thank you, sir.” Thrush hesitated. “Sir … will there, that is, will I …?”
“I’m sure no one will blame you for this,” said Adam. “You only did what you were told.”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Relief was plain on Thrush’s lined face. The valet took his leave and Adam turned his attention toward the room itself.
Sir Anthony favored jewel-toned velvets and silk brocades in his personal decorating.
The furniture was the gilt and marble confectionary that had been in style during the previous generation.
And, as Thrush had said, everything seemed to be where it belonged.
When Adam had poured out Thrush’s drink, he’d noted that the glasses were clean and dry, and the decanter full.
Adam went to the windows. There were two, and they ran from floor to ceiling, more like French doors than ordinary windows.
He opened the first, noting that it pulled open rather than pushed.
This was necessary, because outside, a wrought iron railing had been bolted to the side of the house.
This was clearly an attempt to prevent the exact tragedy that seemed to have overcome Sir Anthony.
Adam looked down. By now, there was more than enough daylight to see the flagstone pied-à-terre below, and the dark stain there that no one had yet cleaned up.
Adam frowned at it. He latched the window once again and turned back to the room.
He squatted down beside the scorch mark, measuring the distance between the burn and the window.
He touched the elaborately patterned carpet, feeling the dampness.
The damp had spread well beyond that burned patch.
Perhaps Thrush had cleaned up some soot and wax from the dropped candle before Adam got there.
Or was something else cleaned up?
Adam straightened. He crossed the room and opened the connecting door that Thrush said led to his room.
It was a single bare, windowless chamber. There was a narrow bed, a clothes press, a dressing table, and a single chair. The press contained two spare sets of clothes, and that was all. The table had one drawer, and in it was a shaving kit and a battered Bible.
Adam pushed the drawer shut. He left the sad little chamber, and then, steeling himself, he stepped into Sir Anthony’s bedroom.