Deadly Murder, page 14
“He may know something of the event that sent Prince Albert to the university just before the Prince of Wales departed,” I added. “And we will be meeting with Lady Walsingham,” I added. “I telephoned the residence yesterday, and she is willing to meet with us.”
“In the matter of the young man who died in that riding accident. It could be important.” He nodded, then kissed me.
“Then I will see ye both here afterward.”
It did seem as if Lily and Brodie might be forming a campaign against me.
Parry, shift, thrust, and point, well made from her lessons when I had instructed her in the sword room at Sussex Square.
She had learned her lessons well, and I agreed that she could accompany me this morning. I then hoped to meet with the former vice chancellor from Trinity College whom Mr. Laughton had agreed to contact.
Sir John and Lady Walsingham, lived near Highgrove, an area of stately homes and estates. According to Aunt Antonia, the townhouse at number 12 Linden Place was their London residence, with their country home in Surrey which Althea Walsingham had inherited through her family.
They had returned to London at the end of September as the heat lessened in the city and the holiday season approached. The forthcoming Christmas holiday was their first since the death of their son.
There was the usual congestion of traffic on The Strand, particularly as the weather had settled somewhat and people took advantage to tend to their usual tasks at banks, shops, and the marketplace.
Mr. Cavendish was finally able to wave down a coach, the driver, Mr. Jarvis, familiar from previous adventures across the city. He tipped his cap.
“Mornin’ ladies, where will it be this fine mornin’?”
It was as I provided him the address at Linden Place that I caught sight of a man who stood head and shoulders above those around him who crowded the sidewalk across The Strand.
It was a fleeting glimpse and then he was gone. Still…
“That be in Highgrove,” Mr. Jarvis commented, drawing me back to the moment.
I nodded. “Yes.” And climbed into the coach.
“What is it?” Lily had climbed in after me and took the seat across.
I shook my head, not at all certain I had seen anything of importance.
“Nothing,” I replied as we settled ourselves for the ride across the city.
Yet I was unable to shake the feeling, more the certainty, that the man I had seen was somehow familiar.
We arrived at the Walsingham residence, and I asked Mr. Jarvis to wait. It was quite possible that the meeting might be very short indeed as I had no way of knowing what to expect when I explained the reason for our visit.
A housemaid answered the door, and I introduced the two of us. She nodded and showed us into the front parlor.
“Her ladyship will be with you presently.”
While we waited, I took in the details of the front parlor—the Queen Anne furnishings, two portraits of an older man and woman, perhaps the parents of either Sir Walsingham or Lady Walsingham.
There was a side table beneath windows that looked out onto a narrow garden that separated the Walsingham residence from the next one over. More photographs sat at the table.
One was in sepia tones, the subject was a small child of perhaps three or four years. Another was a tall youth in a school uniform with a shock of dark hair that spilled over his forehead. The last photograph, in black and white tones, was of the same young man with a long rifle and a pair of dead grouse at his feet.
“Our son, Jack. He was named for my husband.”
I turned. Lady Walsingham stood framed in the doorway to the parlor.
“We have never met,” she said as she came into the room. “But I have heard of your adventures from Lady Antonia. And now you are here, Lady Forsythe. And the matter you spoke of—I might have hoped for a different occasion to meet.”
She had asked the reason I wanted to meet in our brief conversation the day before. I had not gone into detail, only that it was a matter that might be related to her son’s accident. Meeting her now, I felt a twinge of regret that it was under such difficult circumstances.
She was an attractive woman, not a great deal older than myself, I would have guessed, with dark brown hair, blue eyes framed by dark lashes, and a soft smile framed by perhaps more lines than she might have had before the accident.
It was there in her eyes as well, a look that I had seen before, that came from the pain of loss and never went away.
“And you are?” she inquired with a look at Lily who introduced herself.
“Ah, Miss Montgomery. Lady Antonia has spoken of you. Perhaps following in Lady Mikaela’s footsteps?”
Lily nodded but made no comment.
Lady Walsingham then gestured to the chairs that sat before the fire at the hearth. When the maid reappeared, she ordered tea to be served.
“You spoke yesterday of a matter that might be related to my son’s accident.”
I waited until tea had been served and the maid then left.
“We have taken an inquiry case that has been most baffling,” I began and left out the details of the deaths of the two other two young men.
“There is reason to believe that it may be regarding Sir Walsingham’s friendship at university with three young men.” I saw the surprise in that soft blue gaze.
“In what way?”
“We’ve been asked to investigate a recent situation, the attack on a young man at Marlborough House.”
She nodded. “Dreadful situation. We did not attend as we have not yet accepted any social invitations. Yet, we were aware of it through others who were there that night. And my husband is acquainted with Lord Huntingdon.”
“A gentleman called upon us yesterday, without a previous announcement,” she continued. “Sir Avery Stanton of the Special Services. Neither of us were here at the time.”
Bloody hell.
I could only imagine what that might have been like if he had been able to question either of them about their son’s “accident.” Sir Avery had served a career in the military. His manner was blunt and quite brash with little regard for anyone else.
“He left his card with our housekeeper and informed her that he would return. And now you are making inquiries,” she added. “It would seem there is more to the situation than our friends were aware of at the time.” She folded her hands. “Please speak plainly, Lady Forsythe.”
“A man was seen fleeing Marlborough House immediately after young Huntingdon's fall. It is possible that the young man’s death was not an accident.”
“I see. A situation that might usually be handled by the Metropolitan Police,” she commented. “Yet, the Special Services have been called upon, and now questions about Jack’s accident.”
Grieving, yet with a quiet strength that I admired.
“If it is not too painful, I would like to ask some questions about the day of the accident.”
There was a faint, sad smile. “Of course. Although I don’t know what I can tell you. He had taken himself off to the stables. He did so like to ride, at our country estate as well. It was in May, a lovely day.” She seemed to gather herself.
“We were told the park was quite crowded, as was to be expected, with carriages and other riders about.” She paused.
“Sir John, my husband, received word. With so many about in the park, we were told that it appeared his horse had been startled and then bolted. The animal was quite high-strung, although Jack had always handled him well. When others arrived afterward…” She paused once more before continuing. “Jack had been thrown, and there was nothing anyone could do.”
“Were there any witnesses to the accident?”
Lady Althea shook her head. “Apparently it all happened very quickly. The constables who were in the park that day apparently questioned several people, but it appears that no one saw anything that might have caused it, other than one man who was seen with Jack before the constables arrived.”
“Someone who rode with him that day?”
She shook her head. “He rode alone that day.”
“Was the man questioned?”
She shook her head again. “He was gone by the time the constables arrived. It would seem that is not much help for your inquiry case. I apologize that I cannot provide more.”
“I know this may be difficult, but I must ask,” I then said. “Was there any blood on your son’s body, perhaps from a wound during the fall?”
“My husband didn’t mention any wound. You see, Jack’s neck was broken in the fall,” her voice broke softly.
I reached out and laid my hand over hers.
“I am so very sorry.”
“It’s quite all right. Perhaps a wound might have made more sense. He seemed to simply be sleeping when he was brought here afterward.” She was thoughtful,
“His father wanted him to wear a formal set of clothes for mourning, while I felt it was so like him to have been out riding that he should be wearing his riding costume. I suppose it was a foolish thing to have a disagreement over.”
“You have his coat from that day?” She had obviously lost the argument.
She looked up. “As I said, it undoubtedly seems foolish.”
“Not at all,” I replied, then inquired. “Might I see it?”
I fully expected her to refuse.
“Of course.” Lady Althea asked her maid to refresh our tea as she went to retrieve her son’s riding jacket from that day.
“Do ye believe it might provide a clue?” Lily whispered.
I didn’t know what to think. I hated asking it of Lady Walsingham. It was obvious that she had deeply loved her son and to now have inquiries being made about the accident seemed cruel.
Lady Althea returned with several items of clothing over her arm. “I’ve brought the shirt and pants as well. There are the usual stains on his breeches that one might expect, although I don’t know what that might tell you.”
She laid the clothes that included buckskin breeches, a vest, dark wool jacket, and shirt with a dark blue cravat on the settee.
There were green stains on the buckskin breeches, not unexpected considering the fall the young man had taken. There was what appeared to be a mud stain on the elbow of the jacket, but no other stains or marks, nor on the shirt, at first glance.
I ran my fingers over the fine silk of the shirt. There was no stain, however, it did appear that something sharp had snagged the silk fabric and left broken threads across the front.
Possibly from a sharp object?
Was it possible someone—perhaps the man who was seen with her son after the accident, had made that mark and had then left as a crowd gathered?
“What is it?” she asked.
“I know this may be very difficult to answer,” I replied. “Did Sir Walsingham mention any marks that might have been made?”
Lady Althea looked down at her clenched hands. “My husband saw Jack afterward. He spoke of marks on his chest, though there was no blood from a wound.”
“Did he describe what the marks looked like?”
“There were two marks, as I remember what he said at the time. Possibly made by a tree branch during the fall.”
Or made after the fall, I thought.
“Was anything found in your son’s possession? An envelope or note?”
She shook her head. “As I said, his father saw to everything.”
The expression on her face revealed a great deal. Grief that was still raw, but something else. Strength, that slipped past the sadness and grief.
“Why do you ask?”
Again, I chose my words with great care.
“It is possible your son’s death was not an accident and may, in fact, be related to the incident at Marlborough House.”
I watched her for any sign that what I had just shared with her might be overwhelming, as it would be for most anyone.
I laid my hand over hers once more. “I apologize for any pain our visit has caused. Thank you for meeting with us.”
She followed us to the door. “They were known as the Four Horsemen while at University,” she said.
I had not expected that she would know about that—the follies of young men—gambling, women for the night, a brotherhood sworn to secrecy.
“Yes, Lady Montgomery spoke of it,” she added.
“A dreadful title of their club that included Lord Salisbery and Sir Huntingdon.”
I thanked her again for meeting with us.
“You must let me know what you learn,” she said in parting.
I promised that I would. It was the least we could do.
“There was something about that young man’s riding costume,” Lily said as we returned across London. “I saw it on your face.”
“There were broken threads on the front of his shirt.” And the rest of it?
I thought how best to describe something I wasn’t even certain of.
“That mark could have been made by a branch from a nearby tree as the young man fell,” she replied.
“Perhaps.”
Seventeen
I had thought of taking Lily back to Sussex Square after the meeting with Lady Walsingham.
However, there was only enough time to purchase a sandwich from a vendor, then continue to the meeting Sir Laughton had arranged with the former vice chancellor of Trinity College Cambridge at the time of that incident at the university.
Sir Lowery lived in Belgravia, an area of white stucco residences and townhouses to the east of Kensington. Afternoon street traffic was considerably less as we passed through Knightsbridge and arrived in a timely manner.
From what Sir Laughton had said, Sir Lowery lived in Belgravia with his wife, lecturing at the different colleges, and consulting as a Professor of Law Emeritus.
The housekeeper showed us into the library after we arrived.
Sir Lowery, with a warm brown gaze and a full beard, rose from his desk to greet us.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries, along with my introduction of Lily.
“I must say, Lady Forsythe, that I am an admirer of Emma Fortescue. Quite a remarkable woman. Reminds me of my dear wife, never a dull moment, keeps me on my toes to be certain. She introduced me to your first book.
“Now,” he said. “What manner might a college professor be of assistance? A question about law in your inquiry cases perhaps?”
His housekeeper appeared, followed by a small, robust woman with silvered hair. Lady Letitia Lowery, with an apron over her gown and smudges across one cheek.
“Forgive my appearance. I am transplanting day lilies, I don’t trust them to anyone else,” she said. “Yet, I wanted very much to meet you when Sir Lowery mentioned you would be calling today.
“That young woman—Emma, such a wonderful character. Brave, and much her own woman, that whole episode on the Greek Island, so exciting, and that mysterious man at the end!”
“My dear, Lady Forsythe is not here to discuss Greek adventures or her writing endeavors.”
She made a gesture with a smudged hand, as if to wave off the criticism. She was not the least intimidated or content to be “put in her place” as some women might have been.
“I do suppose that it is too early in the day for a dram,” Lady Lowery commented with that reference to my protagonist, Emma Fortescue.
“Coffee will be fine, Letitia.”
“Of course,” she beamed and sent their housekeeper off to bring it to the library.
“I must get back to my garden, it has become quite overgrown. I am thinking of adding narcissus and possibly crocus for next spring. The colors will be quite lovely.” She paused at the entrance to the library.
“I do hope there will be new adventures for Emma Fortescue, and perhaps more about that mysterious man.” She smiled and left without waiting for my response so that we might continue our conversation.
“You must forgive her boldness.” Sir Lowery started to apologize.
“Not at all,” I assured him. “She is quite wonderful.”
He smiled. “Narcissus and crocus. We shall see. Now, how may I assist you in this matter that Sir Laughton spoke of?”
I didn’t know how much detail to provide and so decided to begin with that notorious title four young university students had adopted thirty years before while at Trinity College.
“Tell me about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”
“An intriguing request on a subject not many know of.” Sir Lowery reached across his desk and picked up his pipe.
“Do you mind, Lady Forsythe?” he inquired.
“Not at all.”
Brodie smoked a pipe from time to time, most usually when he was deep in thought over a case, and I enjoyed the fragrance of it.
And very much the same, there was a thoughtful expression on Sir Lowery’s face as he scooped tobacco from a humidor on the desk into the bowl of the pipe, tamped it down, then struck a match and lit it.
He squinted slightly, eyeing me thoughtfully through a swirling cloud of fragrant smoke as he puffed away, then put out the match in the small ash pan on the desk.
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Revelations, in the New Testament as I remember from my early lessons as a boy,” he commented as he continued to study me through that haze of smoke. “Not the usual reading material one expects of an enlightened young woman.”
“Nor perhaps that of four young university students,” I replied.
He continued to puff away as he watched me.
“Sir Laughton did say that you were most inquisitive,” he eventually replied, then seemed to arrive at a decision regarding my visit.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Over thirty years,” I acknowledged. “When certain things might be forgotten. Yet, it seems that someone has not. What can you tell me about an incident that caused the Prince of Wales to suddenly withdraw from the university thirty-two years ago?”
I was prepared for the usual response—young college men caught in the usual pranks one hears. I hoped for more and waited.
Sir Lowery set his pipe in the ash pan then sat back in his chair.
