A scandal in mayfair, p.25
A Scandal in Mayfair, page 25
Lily nodded. “Many men have done as much.”
“And women?” Jack asked good-humoredly.
That made her smile, though the expression was grim. “And women. God knows my sex holds no monopoly on virtue.” She glanced down at the paper held in her gloved hands. “A captain and the regiment’s doctor. They do not have much, other than their time in France, to link them together, do they?”
Jack shrugged. “The doctor would have seen everyone, no doubt, at one time or another. But if the colonel himself sees no connection between the deaths …” He sighed.
“Well, there is one other thing,” Lily said, once more looking over the note. “Colonel Halliday was kind enough to write down the direction for this Dr. Ivey. And it seems both men—Ivey and Forrest—were living in London when they died.” Lily looked up. “Do you suppose it is worth looking into the matter? Just to be certain?”
Jack tapped his fingers against the window in a slow rhythm, looking thoughtful. “Anything may be worth an inquiry. And if there is a connection, I am confident”—a small smile accompanying his words—“that we are determined enough to find it out.”
CHAPTER 23
They had time enough, before the next post chaise arrived, to dine at the inn, a meal in which they discussed very little of consequence, as they were seated in the public room. Lily had spent the whole day waiting for a feeling of awkwardness to arise when they were together, now that things between them had changed so drastically but uncertainly. But it was a comfortable break from the thoughts of murder and blackmail that had occupied her for the past days.
When the post chaise arrived, it was crowded with passengers. Lily and Anna were able to ride inside, but Jack sighed and joined those riding on the outer seats while the postboys mounted their new lead horses. After the next change, enough passengers disembarked that Jack was able to join them inside, but there were still too many others for them to discuss what they had learned—or to say much of anything at all, as one gentleman in the corner fell asleep and snored so loudly that he drowned out all other conversations.
By the time they returned to London, Lily was exhausted from bouncing around in the post coach for half the day, and Jack had an evening engagement that he could not beg off.
“It is dinner with my old patron, Admiral Folks,” he said with a grimace as they clattered in a hack carriage back to Half Moon Street. “He is still not easy with my decision to leave His Majesty’s Navy, and requires some placating.”
Lily nodded, swallowing back a yawn. Beside her, Anna swayed against the window, her eyes half closed with fatigue, even though it was only seven o’clock in the evening. “Of course you must see him,” Lily said. “And do give him my regards.”
Once home, she asked for hot baths for both herself and Anna, and nearly fell asleep in hers. She had her supper before the fire in her room, drowsing while her hair dried until Anna came to help her prepare for bed. It was not until she was seated at her dressing table and Anna was pulling out the curling rags to set her hair for the night that Lily had a chance to ask whether her maid had learned anything of interest while they were at Highwood.
“The footman who answered the door when Mr. Forrest called said he looked a very well-to-do gentleman,” Anna said as she brushed out Lily’s damp hair. “He told Mr. Forrest he’d just missed the colonel, as his son had taken him on a drive for some fresh air only a few minutes before. But when he heard the colonel had been sick, Mr. Forrest said he’d visit another time.”
“And did they say whether he did anything while he was there?”
Anna wrapped a lock of hair neatly around a strip of muslin and tied it in place, her fingers moving quickly through the familiar motions. “Nothing particular. He only spoke to the footman, who didn’t think too highly of him.”
That caught Lily by surprise. “Did he say why? Colonel Halliday seemed to consider Mr. Forrest a personable sort of gentleman.” But perhaps that indicated that he did, indeed, behave differently around his fellow officers than around those he considered his inferiors.
“Because of the wine. Mr. Forrest had brought some kind of wine the colonel likes, though I can’t remember what it was, as a gift. But apparently it had gone sour or some such, and it made the colonel even sicker when he had some.” Anna shook her head as she brushed out another section of hair. “The footman thought it a terribly poor gift, and I must say I agree. Though I suppose you can’t know what condition a bottle of wine is in before you uncork it.”
Lily nodded slowly, turning that over in her mind. “Did they say anything about the colonel himself?” she asked. “He seemed a genial sort of man, but one never knows.”
“Those in service do,” Anna said firmly, winding Lily’s hair around another curling rag as she spoke. “They had only good things to say about him. Near everyone I talked to said how liberal a gentleman he is, and they were all glad he’s on the mend.”
“What was the nature of his illness?” Lily asked curiously.
“An indisposition of the stomach,” Anna said delicately, tying off the strip of muslin. Lily grimaced at her reflection; sleeping with the curling rags in was never comfortable. “He’d been unwell since Mr. Halliday and the children arrived a month ago. The head housemaid thinks the children carried some infection into the household, as they often do, because the colonel wasn’t the only one who was indisposed. But he was the worst—she told me the night he was most ill, they were sure he was going to die. After that he did begin to mend, though it’s been a slow thing.” She shook her head. “And they said he was always such a hale, vigorous man before.”
“A strange thing, then,” Lily said thoughtfully.
On the surface, Colonel Halliday’s health didn’t seem to have anything to do with her—her business began and ended with Mr. Forrest. But it was curious, and she had learned to pay attention to curious things.
* * *
Simon Page had been reassigned, in the past few years, to the magistrate’s court at Bow Street. But as a senior constable, he was still entitled to his own office, and it was the same tidy, book-filled sort of space as the one where Lily had first stood across from him to insist that he take her seriously.
He had, eventually. And she hadn’t needed to convince him since. When she handed over the name and direction of the doctor from the Twelfth Light Dragoons who had died, he had taken it without question.
“I think you were right to ask that I handle the colonel,” Lily said, seated across the desk from him as she watched him read. “He did not say as much, but I had the impression that he was not enamored of London’s constabulary. But he was terribly eager to soothe what he assumed were the worries of Miss Forrest.”
Simon Page snorted. “I hope you did not lie to him too egregiously.”
Lily smile serenely. “Strictly speaking, I did not lie to him at all.” She grew quiet then, her mind back on the conversation with the colonel and what Anna had learned from his servants.
Mr. Page was silent and thoughtful as well, staring out the window in a distracted manner. But at last he seemed to rouse himself and asked whether it was Forrest or Ivey who was occupying her thoughts.
Lily shook her head. “I am thinking of Colonel Halliday,” she said with some reluctance. “And of Mr. Forrest’s gift to him. It seems …” She shrugged, feeling a little foolish. “The coincidence is too odd for my liking.”
“You think there was something wrong with the brandy,” Mr. Page said quietly. It was not quite a question.
“Could there not have been? My maid said that, according to the servants, he was dreadfully ill after having some.”
“But by all accounts, Mr. Forrest got on well with his commanding officer, and Colonel Halliday spoke glowingly of him to you,” Mr. Page pointed out. “Why would he then try to harm the colonel?”
“I cannot help recalling,” Lily said slowly, “that Colonel Halliday said that he never saw the person who paid him the visit. Which means we have no way of knowing whether it was indeed Mr. Forrest who gave him the brandy. It could have been someone else entirely who wished the colonel harm.”
“You think it was the same person who killed Mr. Forrest himself?”
Lily glanced at him. “I know it sounds farfetched. The colonel had been sick for some time before the brandy arrived. His illness could have been a coincidence that had nothing to do with anything he ate or drank.”
Simon sighed. “Would that there was a way to detect a poison hiding in a bottle or meal. But alas, our scientists have not yet gained such insight.”
“Do you think they could?” Lily asked in disbelief, distracted for a moment from her thoughts about the colonel.
Mr. Page regarded her in equal surprise. “There are doctors on the Continent who are investigating that very possibility. They’ve already begun looking for a means to test for dangerous substances, such as arsenic, within the human body after death. I’d have thought,” he added, “that a woman of your interests would have kept abreast of such developments.”
“I had no idea,” Lily said, shaking her head. “It sounds rather gruesome. I cannot imagine that, whatever method they are devising, it would be pleasant.” When the constable only stared down at the paper in his hand, not replying, she cleared her throat. “Mr. Page?”
He jumped a little, blinking at her. “My apologies. You were saying?”
“Only that I cannot imagine that developing a method for detecting poisons in a human body would be pleasant.”
“It isn’t. And yes, it does sound fantastical. But I’m convinced that one day it will be a reality.” Mr. Page shook his head. “What a remarkable day that will be.”
“Well, until then, you and your fellow constables will continue as you can,” Lily said briskly. “Will we need to pay Dr. Ivey’s family a visit, do you think?” When he didn’t answer right away, she frowned. “Mr. Page?”
He jumped again. “Yes? My apologies, what were you saying?”
“What is occupying your thoughts today, sir?” Lily asked, worried. “You’ve not been your usual self.”
“Nothing at all,” he said a little defensively, drawing himself up, though the effect was spoiled as his elbow knocked into a stack of books with unwonted clumsiness and sent them tumbling to the floor. He sighed as he righted them, then met her eyes. “It’s the children.”
Lily felt a flare of worry in her chest. “Did something happen to them?”
“They’ve both been unwell,” he said, grimacing. “I know children can fall ill suddenly, and they often recover just as quickly. But their parents’ last illness was so sudden, and, well …” It was a surprising admission from the stoic constable, and he looked embarrassed to have told it to her.
But Lily only nodded. “It is hard not to worry,” she said quietly. “No matter how you tell yourself otherwise. For a year after Mr. Adler died, I thought my heart would give out any time someone I knew took ill. I always expected the worst.” She hesitated a moment, then reached out to give his hand a brisk pat.
He looked surprised by the touch but did not draw away. “Thank you, Mrs. Adler. I am sure all will be well. We hope the infection will run its course in a few days. Likely they just had too many sweets and made themselves ill.”
“I hope you will let me know if they need anything,” she said. “And in the meantime, I hope you will allow me to be the one to call on Dr. Ivey’s widow so you can concentrate on your family.”
He shook his head. “There is no need to trouble yourself. I can send Mr. Hurst to the War Office to make inquiries. They should have records of his death there. And if something nefarious is going on, I’ve no wish for you to put yourself in its path accidentally.” The look he gave her was displeased. “Again. I’m already uneasy that you went to Gravesend without telling me. You were supposed to write a letter only.”
“As you like,” Lily said diffidently. She let the silence settle for a moment, then asked offhandedly, “Would you have the desk clerk be good enough to summon a carriage for me? I must call on Lady Carroway this afternoon, and the weather is not fine enough for walking.”
Mr. Page’s gaze had already returned to the window, and he looked a little startled by the request. But he still nodded. “Certainly. I hope you will give my regards to her ladyship?”
“Of course,” Lily said demurely, folding her hands in her lap, grateful, for the moment, for his distraction. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have been more firm in telling her not to visit Mrs. Ivey.
And he would have remembered that Ofelia Carroway was exactly the person she would call on if she wanted to take matters into her own hands.
CHAPTER 24
Dr. Ivey’s address in Hans Town was only a few blocks from Sarah Forrest’s new home. Lily frowned over the coincidence as she climbed down from the Carroways’ comfortable carriage.
Ofelia regarded the black muslin on the door warily. “How long has it been since he …”
Lily shook her head. “I do not know. But perhaps she will be receiving visitors.”
Mrs. Ivey was surprised by her unexpected guests, but when they mentioned conveying the regards of Colonel Halliday, she was impeccably gracious about inviting them in. Lily took some liberty with the message, which she had not been charged with in the first place, expanding on the colonel’s regret that he had been unable to visit in person and his hope that he could assist Mrs. Ivey and her children in whatever way they needed.
“He is too good,” Mrs. Ivey murmured, her voice deep with sorrow, though her eyes remained dry. “And he has been so kind these past months. It is thanks to his generosity that I was able to hire a governess to teach my younger children this spring, rather than sending them away to school.” She sighed. “I could not bear for them to be away from London since …”
“It must have been a terrible shock,” Lily said gently. “Colonel Halliday spoke so highly of your husband.”
In spite of her grief, that made Mrs. Ivey smile. “I think most people could hardly help speaking well of George. He was a terribly kind man. Always had sweets in his pockets for the children in the neighborhood. And once a mouse as well.” When she saw the curious looks that prompted, her smile grew. “He found a cat menacing it and adopted it. He used to let it sit on his shoulder, and he would feed it corn to make his patients laugh so they wouldn’t be so nervous about whatever brought them to see him.”
“He sounds like a tender-hearted person,” Ofelia put in.
“He was.” Mrs. Ivey’s face fell. “Too tender-hearted, I think, to be a battlefield surgeon. Not that he was not competent. He did whatever he needed to do—even got a commendation,” she added proudly, pointing to a framed letter that hung on the chimney breast. “He wanted to serve his king and his country, but he was never the same after he returned.”
Lily waited until the widow found her handkerchief and wiped her eyes to continue. “In what way was he not the same?”
“He suffered from a complaint of the nerves after he returned from France,” Mrs. Ivey said. “He would get nervous attacks—tremors and sweats mostly, but sometimes he said he felt like he was dying, even though he was sitting in our drawing room, looking perfectly well.” Her voice dropped. “I think some men get like that after a war. The strain is so hard on them. But they don’t like to talk about it.”
“That sounds terribly difficult,” Ofelia said, her voice trembling a little, and Lily could see tears in her eyes. Ofelia, too, was tender-hearted. “For him, of course, but for you as well.”
The look Mrs. Ivey gave her was wide-eyed in its astonishment. “It was,” she said, sounding almost grateful to have the chance to say it. “It was hard for me to see him suffer and know I could do nothing for him. And I was angry too, though I did not want to be. Sometimes I wished he had never—” She broke off, swallowing down her words.
“That he had never gone to war?” Lily asked. “It is only natural to feel so, and to say it, Mrs. Ivey. War may be heroic in broadsheet ballads, but it is hell on those who live through it.”
Mrs. Ivey nodded, blowing her nose inelegantly into her handkerchief. “Well, and we were luckier than most, I suppose. He was a doctor; he had some sense of what was happening. Mr. Blunt—our apothecary, he lives just up the street—would prepare him a tincture every week, according to George’s instructions, to help quiet his nerves when he felt them overpowering him.” She fell silent for a moment. “I suppose it stopped working at last, though.”
“Can you tell us what happened?” Lily asked gently.
Mrs. Ivey blew her nose again. “He had one of his attacks. But instead of getting better, it got worse. He said his heart was pounding, and his chest hurt, and he couldn’t breathe. And he …” She gulped, pressing the handkerchief against her mouth and closing her eyes. Her body shuddered with quiet sobs.
Ofelia stood and, crossing the room, sat next to the woman, pressing her hand gently until her tears had passed.
“Your ladyship is too kind,” Mrs. Ivey said quietly when she opened her eyes at last, taking a deep breath. She seemed to pull back into herself, and Ofelia politely withdrew to the other side of the settee while Mrs. Ivey regained her composure. “He died that evening,” Mrs. Ivey finished quietly. “I miss him dreadfully, as you can see.”
“You have our sympathies, ma’am,” Lily said. “It is a hard thing, to lose those we love so dearly, and with such suffering in their last days.”
Her voice caught a little on the words, and Mrs. Ivey looked up a little sharply. “You know,” she said quietly.
Lily nodded. “I do.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke; Ofelia sat with her eyes cast down to give them a moment of privacy.
“We’ve no wish to impose any longer on you,” Lily said, trying not to sound too brisk, though she was itching to leave. Mrs. Ivey’s grief was too familiar, and she did not want to dredge up the painful emotions that it recalled. And even more than that, Mrs. Ivey was starting to look fatigued. Talking with strangers could be exhausting at the best of times, and these certainly were not the best of times for the new widow. “But if you will permit a final question?”
