Authors: Imperial Scandal
Teresa Grant (12 page)
“It’s nothing, Adèle,” Mortimer said, turning toward the house. He looked back down at Davenport and Malcolm. “Why on earth—Oh, devil take it.”
Mortimer vanished back into the house. A few moments later he stuck his head out the front door. “Why the hell do you need to find Chase so urgently?”
“We just need to talk to him,” Malcolm said. “Wherever he is, it won’t get him in trouble.”
Mortimer’s gaze shot from Malcolm to Davenport. “Why should Tony be in trouble?”
“He isn’t.” Davenport grabbed the side of the door before Mortimer could pull it closed.
“Oh.” Mortimer tugged at the neck of his dressing gown. “Well, after his morning ride, he often has a glass of beer by the bridge in the Allée Verte. See here, Rannoch, what the devil—”
“Thanks,” Malcolm called over his shoulder, running after Davenport, who was already halfway down the street.
The Allée Verte was the most fashionable promenade in Brussels. Leafy lime and elm trees lined the broad carriage road, with pedestrian walkways on either side. On one side of the road, the blue waters of the canal that led toward Antwerp shimmered peacefully in the afternoon sun. On the other, placid green meadows rolled into the distance. It was late for morning rides and early for afternoon promenades, but Malcolm and Davenport passed a handful of officers out for a stroll or a ride, ladies with sunshades walking or tooling phaetons, nursemaids pushing baby carriages or accompanied by children rolling hoops.
As they neared the end of the mile-long promenade, the wail of an organ and the thud of a tabor cut the air. At the end of the allée, near a bridge that crossed the canal, a German-style beer garden had been set up. Like the allée itself it was not as crowded as it would be later in the day, but soldiers in a variety of uniforms and a few Bruxellois and British expatriates in civilian coats lounged on benches and wooden chairs, sipping wine and beer in the bright sun.
Malcolm and Davenport strolled through the crowd to the far end of the beer garden. Two young Dutch-Belgian officers were sitting to one side, a chessboard between them. A fifty-something Prussian major was turning the pages of a newspaper. And by the edge of the canal, flaxen hair catching the sunlight, was a young officer in the green jacket of the 95th, a glass of lager cradled in his hands.
Davenport strolled up to the bench. “Good afternoon, Chase.”
“Davenport?” Chase blinked up at him against the sunlight. “What—”
Davenport dropped down on the bench beside him. “Sorry to interrupt your tête-à-tête with a glass of beer, but I’m afraid we’re in need of information. I believe you know Malcolm Rannoch.”
“Chase,” Malcolm said, pulling up a chair. “Cricket on the lawn at Carfax Court seems a long time ago now.”
Tony Chase stared at him. His jacket was unbuttoned, his black leather stock loosened, his gaze unfocused. A day’s growth of stubble showed on his face. “Never thought you’d turn into a man of action, Rannoch.”
“Hardly that.” Malcolm dropped into the chair. “I’m a diplomat.”
“And an agent.” Tony took a gulp of beer. “What do you want with me?”
“Wellington’s asked us to look into Julia Ashton’s death,” Malcolm said.
“Julia
.
”
Tony slumped back against his chair. “Why—”
.
”
Tony slumped back against his chair. “Why—”
“You and your brother and sister grew up with Julia and Cordelia Brooke,” Malcolm said. “And with John Ashton.”
Tony ran his hand over his disordered hair, which looked as though it was customarily expertly tousled. “Our families have neighboring estates in Derbyshire. We saw a lot of each other as children. You know that. But it was years ago. Ashton’s in a different regiment—”
“You drew Ashton’s cork at Boodle’s three years ago,” Davenport said.
Tony swung his gaze to Davenport. “How do you know—”
“My wife told me. It sounds sadly like my unfortunate confrontation with your brother.”
“What the devil—”
“Cordelia also told me that John Ashton was almost your brother-in-law. The fact that he didn’t become your brother-in-law led to the assault.”
Tony tugged at his loosened stock. “I don’t see what ancient history between Ashton and my sister has to do with Julia’s death.”
“Perhaps it doesn’t.” Davenport was turned sideways on the bench, arms folded across his chest, regarding Tony with a steady gaze. “But the fact that you were her lover does.”
Malcolm shot a look at Davenport. He’d been thinking the same himself, but he wouldn’t have put it into words. Not yet.
Beer sloshed over the rim of Tony’s glass. “Wh—what makes you think that?”
“You’re drunk. And it’s not yet three o’clock.”
“Christ, Davenport, if you claimed every man who was drunk before three o’clock had been the lover of—”
“Blue shadows under your eyes. You haven’t slept. Red-rimmed eyes, you’ve been crying. You haven’t shaved or combed your hair, and I suspect your valet would be shocked at the state of your linen. Then there’s the mingled guilt and grief in your voice when you say her name. Shall I go on?”
Tony drew a breath. Then he slumped forward and took a long drink of beer. “Oh God, what’s the use?” He put the glass down on the bench with shaking fingers. “I was in love with her. What man wouldn’t have been?”
“A surprising number actually,” Davenport said. “Or this investigation would be quite impossible.”
Tony stared at him. “How can you talk so coolly about it? Julia’s your—”
“Wife’s sister. And rather kinder to me than Cordelia was. Just because I choose not to indulge my grief in front of you doesn’t mean I’m not feeling it.”
“You cold-hearted bastard.”
“But don’t worry, I’ve long since given up any delusions about defending the honor of the Brooke sisters,” Davenport said. “How long had the affair been going on?”
“I don’t see what—”
“The events that led to Lady Julia’s death were more complicated than they at first appeared,” Malcolm said.
“Are you saying someone deliberately killed her?”
“Possibly.”
Tony gripped the edge of the bench. “But who on earth—”
“So we need to know everything possible about her life these past few weeks.” Malcolm put a hand on the glass of beer before Tony’s grip on the bench could send it tumbling to the ground. “Who she saw, what she did—”
“But—” Tony’s horrified gaze fastened on Malcolm’s face. “Good God, Rannoch, you can’t think I killed her.”
“We need—”
“Don’t be stupid, Chase.” Davenport grabbed Tony’s arm, loosening his grip on the bench. “Lovers are always suspects. Like husbands and wives. Tell us why you went from pummeling John Ashton to seducing his wife.”
“I didn’t—It wasn’t like that—” Tony glanced to the side, his gaze clouded with memories. Malcolm felt his throat go tight, his own loss of a few months before fresh in his mind. “Oh, the devil, I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d understand.”
“Try us,” Malcolm said in a soft voice.
Tony stared at the placid waters of the canal. “That business three years ago—it was stupid. But Johnny was as good as promised to Violet. When I got home on leave I could tell how distressed she was. Vi doesn’t show her feelings easily. But she cared about Ashton. Or her pride was hurt. Or maybe both. Dash it, a fellow doesn’t like to see his sister—”
Malcolm and Davenport sat back and let Tony’s voice trail off. Tony snatched his glass from Malcolm and took a sip. “I scarcely even considered Julia in the midst of it all. She was barely out of the schoolroom when I went out to the Peninsula. I still remembered her arranging tea parties with Violet for their dolls.”
Davenport leaned back on the bench. “Doing it much too brown, Chase. You aren’t blind.”
“Of course I knew Julia was lovely, but she was practically my sister. Violet’s very pretty, too. I couldn’t understand Ashton—” He lifted his glass with both hands and took a long swallow. “It was awkward after the fight. My wife is Johnny’s cousin. You probably know that. Johnny and Julia were at our wedding. But I was in the Peninsula, and Johnny was a Hyde Park soldier. We didn’t see much of each other. Then in Brussels there they were. I don’t know how it is, but Julia—”
“Didn’t seem like your sister anymore?” Davenport asked.
“She took my breath away.”
“Odd how that happens.”
Tony stared at the tea garden across the canal. The house at the center of the garden was surrounded by a moat, a relic of an older age, but Tony seemed to be looking into his own past. “I went into the card room at Lady Charlotte Greville’s. Julia was playing piquet with Freemantle and Sarah Lennox and some Belgian fellow. Vedrin his name is. I was drinking port with Kincaid, but the game caught my eye. Well, Julia caught my eye. Her eyes were bright and her color high, but it was obvious she was distressed. She—” He cast a sideways glance at Malcolm. “Did—”
“Rannoch knows Julia had a weakness for cards,” Davenport said. “So did her father. How badly was she losing?”
“Badly.” Tony stared down at the water lapping against the canal wall. “She flung down her cards and ran from the room. I followed.” He looked up at Malcolm and Davenport. “We’ve been friends from childhood, even if I hadn’t seen her so much of late. I wanted to see if I could be of service.”
“Naturally you were concerned,” Malcolm said, in a tone calculated to elicit confidences.
Tony dug his fingers into his hair. “I found her in tears in an antechamber. I gave her my handkerchief, poured her a glass of brandy.” He curved his fingers round his own glass of beer. “I think she was desperate for someone to talk to. She told me the whole. She’d been playing deep since they’d come to Brussels. The Comte de Vedrin had her vowels.”
“How much?” Davenport asked.
Tony’s gaze slid to the side.
“It’s a bit late to be protecting Julia’s memory.”
“A bit over five thousand pounds. Apparently she’d got badly in debt just after her marriage. Ashton had settled things for her, but he wasn’t happy about it. She was terrified of telling him again.” Tony turned the glass between his hands. “She was in an impossible situation. So I did the only thing I could. I settled the debt for her.”
“All of it?” Malcolm asked.
Tony nodded. “She protested of course. But I said we could consider it a loan, and she could pay me back whenever it suited her, but that there was no hurry now. Or ever.”
Davenport regarded Tony as though he had transformed into a particularly repellant type of reptile. “You paid Julia’s gambling debts.”
“Yes, I just told you—”
“And then she became your mistress.”
“Yes. No. That is, one didn’t lead to the other.” Tony met Davenport’s hard stare. “Good God, you can’t think—”
“You rescued Julia from an impossible situation,” Davenport said, his tone like a succession of level, precise pistol shots. “She was indebted to you financially, and you were possessed of information that could have ruined her marriage. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that none of that came into play when she went to your bed.”
“Damn you—” Tony half-rose, then dropped back onto the bench with a thud. “What’s the use? I doubt you even know the meaning of love.”
Davenport kept his gaze steady on Tony’s face. “One can understand a thing without experiencing it oneself.”
“Nothing happened the day I told her I’d paid off the debts. I didn’t even kiss her hand.”
“You said she took your breath away,” Davenport said. “Do you expect us to believe you didn’t want to—”
“Of course I wanted to.” Tony drew a breath. “But I didn’t. There are rules about that sort of thing.”
“Rules often more honored in the breach than the observance,” Malcolm said.
“I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, but I still consider myself a gentleman. Later we found ourselves standing next to each other in line at the buffet at the ball at the Hôtel de Ville. We started talking just to fill the silence—about the waltz that was playing, the crowd, the quality of the champagne. It wasn’t what we said, it was the way her eyes lit up—” He shook his head. “I’ve been in love before of course. This was different.” He gave a lopsided grin that women probably found endearing. At least they would if he weren’t three sheets to the wind, with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes. “God, I’d say that in any case, wouldn’t I? But it was. Not just the thrill of the chase, the lure of the moment, but—”
“I’d say it takes about a decade to test whether or not that’s true,” Davenport said.
Tony fixed him with a hard gaze. His red-rimmed eyes were suddenly focused. “I was going to marry her.”
13
S
uzanne studied Jane Chase across the gleaming tea service. A typical British officer’s wife in her flounced muslin and strand of pearls. Young, fresh, quite pretty, if not an obvious diamond of the first water like Violet Chase or Julia Ashton. But Jane’s bright eyes were tinged with a hint of worldly wisdom, and her full-lipped mouth curved with irony. She held her chin high and her gaze steady as the other three women took in the bombshell she had exploded over the tea table.
uzanne studied Jane Chase across the gleaming tea service. A typical British officer’s wife in her flounced muslin and strand of pearls. Young, fresh, quite pretty, if not an obvious diamond of the first water like Violet Chase or Julia Ashton. But Jane’s bright eyes were tinged with a hint of worldly wisdom, and her full-lipped mouth curved with irony. She held her chin high and her gaze steady as the other three women took in the bombshell she had exploded over the tea table.
It was Violet Chase who broke the stunned silence. She gripped her sister-in-law’s arm. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jane. Tony adores you—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Violet.” Jane Chase detached her sister-in-law’s hand from her arm. “Do you really think this is the first time it’s happened?”
Violet’s carefully plucked brows drew together.
“Dearest.” Jane squeezed Violet’s hand. “Your faith in your brother is touching.”
“But he—”
“He’s a man.” Jane turned her gaze to Suzanne and Cordelia. “My apologies for the domestic drama. My husband is expert at persuading women he’s in love with them. And at persuading himself he loves them, to be fair. I imagined you knew that, Cordelia.”
“Tony was always tumbling in and out of love.”
Jane Chase smoothed her finger over a crease in her skirt. “I think he actually believed he loved me. He was remarkably ardent and oddly sincere.” She reached for her tea and took a careful sip.
“But—” Violet plucked at the Valenciennes lace on her sleeve. “You seemed so—”
“Happy?” Jane gave a dry smile. “The first liaison hurt, of course, because I’d fancied myself quite desperately in love with Tony. I had mad thoughts of leaving him or doing other quite unspeakable things. The second was easier to bear. With each one I grew a bit more numb. Now—” She shrugged. “We’ve learned to rub along, as most couples do. I suppose you could say we’re happy, after a fashion. At least I don’t expect we’re any more miserable than the average couple you’d have found at the ball last night.”
Violet stared at her sister-in-law as though she’d transformed into a creature from another world. “You can’t expect me to believe—”
Jane twitched her skirt smooth, gaze fastened on a scalloped flounce. “I knew the first time I saw him pointedly ignore Julia at Catalani’s concert. There’s only one reason he’d ignore such a beautiful woman.”
Violet shook her head, her chestnut ringlets whipping about her face. “This doesn’t make any sense, Jane. You can’t be so sanguine—”
“Life isn’t a fairy tale, Vi.”
Cordelia was watching Jane Chase, eyes dark with unexpected concern. “My apologies, Jane.”
“There’s no need for you to—”
“On my sister’s account.”
Jane reached for the teapot and refilled the cups. “Johnny may blame Julia. I don’t. If it wasn’t Julia someone else would have caught Tony’s eye.”
Violet’s lips tightened. “Julia had no right—”
Cordelia turned her gaze to her childhood friend. “She took Johnny from you and then she took your brother from his wife. You had every reason to be angry at her.”
Violet grabbed her teacup and took a swallow as though she wished it were something stronger. “Spare me the false sympathy, Cordy.”
“Violet.” Cordelia leaned forward. “I always felt badly about Julia taking Johnny from you. I never understood what was in my sister’s mind, but that wasn’t her finest moment.”
Violet turned her head to the side and gave what sounded suspiciously like a snort.
“And I’m dreadfully sorry for what Jane’s had to go through.”
“Why?” Violet spun her gaze to Cordelia. “Why should you be remotely sorry for any of it? After what you did with George—”
“I see.” Cordelia straightened up. Her color was high, but her gaze remained steady.
Violet clunked her cup down in its saucer. “You think you’re excused everything because you and George were madly in love and somehow destined for each other.”
“Violet,” Jane said.
“Don’t you?” Violet’s gaze was trained on Cordelia.
Cordelia’s fingers curled inward, nails pressing into her palms. “If George and I were destined for each other, something has obviously gone sadly wrong.”
Violet was still staring at Cordelia. “You think you and George should be forgiven anything—”
“Thought, perhaps.” Cordelia uncurled her fingers with deliberation and reached for her teacup.
“And after all that, you didn’t even stay loyal to him. Any more than Julia stayed loyal to Johnny.”
“Violet—” Cordelia drew a sharp breath. “For what it’s worth, I don’t always like myself very much.”
“And then after George there were God knows how many others,” Violet said, gaze still fixed on Cordelia.
“For heaven’s sake, Violet,” Jane said.
“It’s no more than the truth, Jane.” Cordelia took a sip of tea. “But that’s between me and Harry.” She returned the cup to its saucer. “Why did you arrange to meet Julia, Violet?”
“I don’t see—”
“Vi, please. I just want to learn what happened to my sister.”
“Violet.” Jane touched her sister-in-law’s arm. “I think the truth can only help now. If Mr. Rannoch and Colonel Davenport are looking into Julia’s death there are bound to be questions. Better to answer them now.” Better, her gaze implied, to speak before Suzanne rather than her husband.
Violet sprang to her feet and paced to the window. She stood for a moment looking out at the leafy oak tree in the garden behind the house. “I came into the drawing room one day last week. Tony was writing—which was odd in and of itself, Tony has never been much of a writer. He pushed whatever he was writing between the pages of a book when I came into the room.”
“Naturally you were curious,” Cordelia said.
“Don’t be spiteful, Cordy.”
“I’m not. I’d have been curious myself.”
Violet curled her fingers round the window frame. “Tony received a summons from his commanding officer and had to leave the house at once, so of course he couldn’t retrieve the paper. As soon as he was gone, I looked at it.” She cast a defiant glance over her shoulder. Neither Cordelia nor Jane rose to the challenge.
“It was a love letter to Julia.” Violet paced to the fireplace, gripping her elbows. “Julia, of all people. She’d done enough damage to our family. Tony should have known—It was a dreadful insult to Jane.”
“And an insult to you,” Jane said in a quiet voice.
Violet fingered a card of invitation to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, tucked into the gilt frame of the mirror that hung over the mantel. “I was going to confront Tony. I had all sorts of terribly satisfying things worked out to say to him. But the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced Julia had done something to make him stray—”
Jane gave a dry laugh.
“—and men can be so foolishly stubborn. So it was no good talking to Tony, I needed to talk to Julia. I sent her a note. That note, the one Cordy found.” She made a gesture toward the square of paper on the sofa table.
“What were you going to say to her?” Suzanne asked.
Violet spun round, eyes wide with justified outrage. “What damage she was doing. That it had to stop.”
“And you thought she’d stop just like that?” Jane asked.
“I thought she’d listen to reason. Not that Julia was ever that reasonable. But we used to be friends. I thought—” Violet shrugged, fluttering the knots of seafoam ribbon on her bodice. “I just needed to talk to her.”
“Did she meet you?” Suzanne asked.
“Two days ago. She was on time, I’ll give her that.” Violet rubbed her arms. “She didn’t seem to have the least suspicion what it was about. She thought I wanted to talk about Johnny. Which I did, in a roundabout way. I said that having taken him she might at least have had the decency to appreciate him. Even then she didn’t seem to know what I was talking about until I told her I’d found Tony’s letter to her. Then she said—” Violet’s gaze slid to the side.
“It’s all right, Vi,” Jane said. Her eyes held concern for her sister-in-law, but beneath it Suzanne thought she detected a lingering trace of bitterness. “I think I’m quite past Julia’s ability to hurt me.”
“She said when I was married myself I’d understand these things.” Violet’s mouth twisted. “As though she was a font of wisdom, and I was—I told her I didn’t need to be married to understand perfectly well that she was betraying her husband and interfering in my brother’s marriage. Julia said—” Violet bit her lip and fixed her gaze on the moss roses in the hearth rug. “She said Jane wouldn’t be hurt by what she didn’t know about, and if I were sensible I’d keep quiet about the whole thing. The affair would end as these things always do, and Jane would be none the wiser.”
“Tony’s charms appear to have worked less well than usual,” Jane murmured.
“I rather lost my temper then. She was so hideously self-assured, and she didn’t have the decency to be properly in love with Tony, any more than she had been with Johnny. That was the only possible excuse for what she’d done with Johnny. I’d even half-convinced myself I couldn’t stand in the way of their grand passion, and I’d done something noble by stepping aside. But if she was going to toss him aside like last season’s gowns—I called her all sorts of names. Julia didn’t even—”
“Have the decency to lose her temper back?” Cordelia said.
“No.”
Cordelia nodded. “She was like that from childhood. One of the nursery maids would come in to find me yelling, and Julia looking at me with those wide blue eyes, and I’d inevitably be punished for losing my temper with my sweet little sister.” Cordelia bit her lip, perhaps at the memory that her sweet little sister was gone.
“I galloped off in a temper,” Violet said. “It wasn’t until I got home and I’d flung my riding hat and gloves across the room that I realized somehow I’d ended up feeling I was the one in the wrong.” She cast a glance at her sister-in-law. “I’m sorry, Jane. I’m sorry Tony put you through this. I thought he was more decent than George. Even after I knew about Julia, I thought it was just the one lapse.”
Jane got to her feet and went to Violet’s side. “Tony isn’t your responsibility, Vi.” She squeezed Violet’s shoulders.
“Did you see Lady Julia at the ball last night, Miss Chase?” Suzanne asked.
Violet dashed a hand across her eyes. “Across the room briefly early in the evening. We didn’t speak. I didn’t speak to her again after that morning in the Allée Verte.” She took a step toward Cordelia. “I’m sorry she’s dead, Cordy. Truly. However angry I was, I’d never have wished that on her.”
Cordelia met Violet’s gaze. For a moment, Suzanne would have sworn that what passed between these two women who were both masters of artifice was bone-deep and genuine. “Thank you, Vi.”
The organ and the tabor sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden stillness. A splash cut the air. Across the canal, two young boys who had escaped their mothers in the tea garden were tossing pebbles into the water.
Davenport shifted his injured arm and ran his gaze over the man who had just claimed it was his intention to marry the very-married Julia Ashton. “Forgive me for dwelling on petty details, but I was under the impression that you and Julia were both already married.”
Tony flushed. “Of course. We knew it wouldn’t be easy—”
“You were taking a leaf from Lord Uxbridge and Lady Charlotte Wellesley’s book?”
Lord Uxbridge’s elopement with Wellington’s sister-in-law and their subsequent divorces from both their spouses had been the scandal of the beau monde seven years ago. The events had been talked of again recently when Uxbridge was appointed to command the cavalry under Wellington. Wellington had merely said he’d take good care Uxbridge didn’t run off with him. He didn’t care about anyone else.
“We—” Tony swallowed. “Julia and I were going to go away together. Naturally there would have been unpleasantness—”
“Two divorces.”
“—but eventually we would have married.”
Davenport folded his arms across his chest, cradling the elbow of his bad arm. “Were you planning to run off and consider the world well lost for love before or after war breaks out?”
A muscle tensed in Tony’s jaw. “I’m not a coward.”
“And?”
“Of course we wouldn’t have left before Bonaparte attacked. After the battle we were going to go to Italy.”
“Comforting that you’re confident of such a quick victory.”
Malcolm leaned forward. “Lady Julia had agreed to go away with you?”
“Of course. I told you, we were in love. There was no other alternative really, given how we felt about each other. Difficult, as I said, a lot of loose ends—”
“Children,” Davenport said.
Tony took a sip of beer, though he seemed to find it bitter. “That was the hardest for Julia, her son. But in the end she decided it wasn’t fair for him to grow up with a mother who was miserable.”
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