Death Comes to London (24 page)

“Well, how could it be if Dr. Redmond prescribed the medicine for Oliver?”

“But I don’t think it’s the doctor’s writing either.” She showed Sophia the page she was studying. “Lieutenant Broughton told me that he and Hester made a fresh batch of the rose-hip cough syrup together. So, the writing on the label must belong to either Hester or the lieutenant.” She pointed at one of the other scripts on the page. “See? The label is written in the same hand as this entry.”

“And whose writing is that?” Sophia asked. “And even if we work that out, we still don’t know what’s in the medicine, or if Dr. Redmond added something to it at a later date.”

“That’s true, but it does mean the dowager didn’t create this particular bottle of cough syrup.”

“She still could’ve brewed the poison and someone later added it to the original.”

Lucy turned to another page. “Your logic does you credit, Sophia, but I do wish it weren’t so complicated. I’m beginning to believe that the dowager did not intend to poison anyone.”

“Is Hester still employed by the Broughtons?”

“I believe so. Major Kurland talked to her quite recently.”

“Then I wonder if she would help us further?”

“Major Kurland said that she seemed genuinely fond of the dowager, so perhaps she’d be willing to help us to discover a murderer.”

“We can but ask.” Lucy traced a finger over the dowager’s handwriting. “I don’t think Oliver died in the same way as the dowager. From what Major Kurland said, he was suffering from a high fever and seemed delusional.”

“Then perhaps it is quite simple after all,” Sophia said gently. “Maybe his guilt over poisoning his own brother and grandmother caused his fever and in an act of remorse, he chose to kill himself.”

“But what about Lady Bentley? She drowned while Oliver was in his sickbed.”

“Perhaps that is a separate issue entirely.”

Lucy frowned down at the herbal. “I can’t accept that.” She raised her head to meet Sophia’s sympathetic gaze. “I know in my soul that all these things are connected, I just don’t see
how.
”

Sophia smiled. “Then let us hope Major Kurland and Mr. Stanford are successful in their quest as well.”

Robert stepped out of the hackney cab and, keeping his eyes firmly on Andrew Stanford’s back, followed him into the hallowed ground of Tattersalls. If one wished to buy or sell prime bloodstock or bet on any horse racing, this was the place to do it. The smell of horse sweat and dung made Robert feel quite ill. He moved quickly to one side as a horse was brought through the crowded colonnaded passageways and turned out into the ring. A spirited round of bidding got under way immediately, and within seconds the horse was sold and being led out the other side of the quadrangle.

Another horse was brought in and a crowd of gentlemen of all ages stood around smoking and commenting on the stallion as it was led around by one of the stable hands. The horse constantly fought against the constraints of the halter, his nose flecked with foam, and his back legs attempting to buck and lash out at the railings with each lethal kick of his metal shoes.

“That’s a fine-looking horse,” Andrew commented. “Do you mind if we take a closer look?” He strode off toward the viewing area.

With a silent groan, Robert followed him, aware that he was flinching at every slight noise like a novice drummer boy under cannon fire.

“Do you need anything new for your stables down at Kurland St. Mary, Robert?”

Robert cleared his throat. “I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve been focusing on clearing up the mess left by my last agent and investing in the farming side of the business.”

“Farming, you?” Andrew chuckled. “The dashing hussar?”

“Hardly that anymore.” Robert stared bleakly at the horse.

His friend turned to look at him. “It’s just occurred to me that I haven’t seen you astride a horse at all. Is everything all right?”

Robert focused his attention on the bidding and pretended he hadn’t heard the question. “Shall we proceed inside? It looks like it might rain and it’s the devil on my leg.”

“Of course.” Andrew hesitated. “I wouldn’t give up hope, Robert. After such a terrible injury I’m sure it will take quite a while for you to ride properly again.”

“I am aware of that, but thank you for your concern.”

Robert turned toward the main building and made his way carefully over the treacherous cobblestones. The problem was that he didn’t believe he’d ever have the nerve to get up on a horse and test that theory. But he also understood that his friend was attempting to be kind and didn’t deserve to be snapped at.

The betting book at Tattersalls occupied pride of place in the hallway, and had its usual cluster of eager gentlemen standing around it. With his winning smile and a few deft words, Andrew managed to engineer his way through the crowd to get to the book and Robert followed him. Bringing out the receipt for the gaming bet, Robert flipped back through the closely written pages to the date mentioned on the paper and ran a finger down the long column.

“Broughton,” Andrew murmured in his ear. “No Christian name, so one must assume it means the debt belongs to the first-born son.” He whistled softly. “From the look of things, the debt is accumulating interest. That’s not the first time Pike has pressed him for payment either.”

“Damn,” Robert said, and put the paper back in his pocket. “Do you know Mr. Pike?”

“Oh yes, he’s usually around here somewhere. He fancies himself as something of an expert on the horses. His father is an impoverished Irish peer. Pike gambles well enough to live off his income in style.”

They moved away from the betting book into a slightly quieter area of the room.

“Should we speak to him to make sure?” Robert asked.

“I don’t see why not. He’s a reasonable enough fellow if you pay your debts on time.”

Andrew continued to walk through Tattersalls, greeting acquaintances and asking after Mr. Pike. Robert followed him and gradually forced himself to relax and even pay attention when a comment was directly addressed to him.

“There he is.”

Mr. Pike was chatting to one of the jockeys, who despite their lowly station in life were often lionized by a certain section of the
ton
who considered riding abilities akin to godliness. Pike looked up as Andrew approached him and smiled, displaying a gap between his front teeth. Robert judged him to be Oliver Broughton’s age.

“Mr. Stanford, have you come to place a wager with me?”

He had a soft Irish accent with a decided lilt that reminded Robert of many of the men in his regiment.

“Not this time, Mr. Pike.” Andrew turned to Robert. “Have you met Major Robert Kurland of the Tenth Hussars?”

“A hussar, eh? Obviously a man who recognizes good horseflesh. Are you looking for some stock, Major? I could help you with that. I have an excellent eye.”

“I’m sure you do. Every Irishman in my regiment was something of a magician with the horses. I’m not looking to make any purchases at the moment, thank you.” Robert shook Mr. Pike’s proffered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pike.”

Andrew put his hand on Mr. Pike’s shoulder. “We were wondering if we might have a quiet word with you about a rather delicate matter.”

“Of course, gentlemen. Shall we adjourn to the coffee house on the corner?”

When the butler announced his and Andrew’s return to the Hathaway house, they first had to join the ladies for lunch. Restraining his impatience with great difficulty, Robert took his seat and realized that he was quite hungry. The ordeal of visiting Tattersalls had proved to be bittersweet. He’d managed to conduct himself like a gentleman in the crowds and around the horses, which was a definite improvement.

When he returned to Kurland Manor he might even take his head groom into his confidence and try and find some old nag to ride to regain his lost abilities. He missed riding greatly. It had always been his way to escape the world. Now that it was denied him, he felt he moved on the land like a caught fish choking for breath and out of his element.

“Major Kurland?”

He looked up to see that everyone had finished eating, and that the servants were waiting to clear the table. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up.

“Miss Harrington.”

They returned to the cozy morning room where sunlight streamed through the window and there was a warm fire in the grate. Miss Harrington placed the herbal beside him.

“We discovered that the label on the bottle of Oliver’s medicine must have been written by either Hester or Lieutenant Broughton.” She pointed out the different sets of handwriting and compared them to the one on the bottle. “But we also have to consider the possibility that Dr. Redmond tampered with the contents.”

“Are you certain Broughton was involved in making the elixir? He told me he despised his grandmother’s herbal learning and only had faith in the new science.”

“When I deliberately asked the countess to help me find a remedy for Anna’s cough, she referred me to the lieutenant. He told me himself that he and Hester had made up a new batch of the rose-hip cough syrup.”

“Why did he become involved in dosing the household?”

“Because, apparently, the dowager’s concoctions had become unreliable. Lieutenant Broughton actually checked the bottle himself before he would allow me to take it for Anna.”

“That was good of him,” Robert said.

Miss Harrington didn’t look convinced. “Sophia and I also considered whether Hester, the dowager’s maid, was involved in this. You spoke to her, didn’t you, Major?”

“I did. Despite her loyalty to the Broughton family she appeared to be as afraid of her mistress as everyone else.”

“Would it be possible for me to speak to her?” Miss Harrington inquired. “She is still at the Broughtons’, isn’t she?”

“As far as I am aware, she is.” Robert hesitated. “I’m leaving the house today. I’ll try and speak to her before I go, and ask if she will see you.”

“Thank you.” Miss Harrington closed the herbal. “Now, what did you and Mr. Stanford discover at Tattersalls?”

Robert withdrew the folded note and spread it out on his knee. “The debt isn’t Oliver’s. It’s Broughton’s, and that isn’t the worst of it.” He sighed. “We spoke to the holder of this note, a Mr. Pike. He said that Broughton owes him in excess of ten thousand guineas.”

“Ten
thousand?
That’s a fortune.”

“Which might explain why the dowager had to die,” Robert said grimly. “Perhaps with his father away in India, Broughton thought to access the family finances and repay his debts from the dowager’s coffers.”

“Oh my goodness.” Miss Harrington sat back. “He
must
be in league with Dr. Redmond.”

“I wish I could think of another explanation, but I can’t.” Robert stared into the fire. “There are still too many things that I don’t understand. Why was it necessary for Dr. Redmond to poison Broughton?”

“We don’t even know if Dr. Redmond was at Almack’s that night, Major.”

“Then we need to find out.” Robert started walking up and down the room. “And why kill Lady Bentley and Oliver?”

“Well, one might hazard a guess that Oliver makes an excellent scapegoat. For all intents and purposes, all Broughton has to do now is quietly allow it to be known that his poor brother Oliver killed himself out of guilt for poisoning his grandmother and the matter will soon be forgotten. No one considers Lady Bentley’s death as anything more than a separate tragedy.” Miss Harrington shook her head. “I should imagine Broughton thought he could take control of the dowager’s finances, pay off his debts, and have everything straightened out before his father returned from India.”

“I suspect you might be correct, Miss Harrington,” Andrew agreed. “Is it possible that Lady Bentley’s drowning was an accident?”

“No.” For once Robert and Miss Harrington spoke in unison.

Robert carried on speaking. “Broughton’s boat was involved in that crash. I suspect that when the hotheaded Mr. Bentley came after him, Broughton decided to play the victim and took revenge on poor Lady Bentley when they were both under the water.”

“All he would need to do is hold on to her skirts and stop her reaching the surface.” Mrs. Giffin shuddered.

“And Anna told me that Lieutenant Broughton seemed unable to avoid the other boat coming too close to him. She thought he was merely overtired and shouldn’t have been out on the lake in the first place.”

“I’m trying to recall his conversation with Mr. Bentley,” Robert muttered. “It
has
to have something to do with those damn rubies.”

“Maybe Lieutenant Broughton knew what really happened to them and didn’t want the Bentleys creating a public nuisance of themselves.” Miss Harrington looked up at Robert. “With his current financial difficulties, is it possible that he had already sold them and encouraged the dowager to imagine they had been stolen?”

“I suspect she would’ve leapt to that conclusion all by herself,” Robert murmured.

“I wonder if we can find out if Broughton did sell or pawn them?”

“Unless you have a bill of sale, or a ticket from a money lender, that might prove difficult.” Robert paused. “Wait a minute. Mr. Bentley said he had evidence that the jewelry belonged to his family estate. Broughton wasn’t expecting to hear that, I remember how angry he was.”

“Then we need to speak to Mr. Bentley. Either he has the original bill of sale or . . . Lady Bentley didn’t want her son to speak to Broughton, did she?”

“So you said at the time.”

“Why not?” Miss Harrington asked.

“Have you considered that you are complicating things unnecessarily, Miss Harrington?”

She raised her chin at him. “I’ll speak to Mr. Bentley first and find out if I am
complicating
things or not.”

Andrew chuckled and Robert turned to find him and Sophia Giffin smiling at them.

“This is almost entertaining, Robert. You and Miss Harrington would make an excellent pair of dueling lawyers in a courtroom.” His expression sobered. “But as a man of law, I have to tell you that everything we
think
we have discovered is pure speculation until we can prove it. And even then, getting a prosecution might be difficult. The Broughton family is very influential in certain circles.”