Page 13 of A Lady’s Guide to Murder
CHAPTER 12
An Unlikely Partnership
When James’s sobs subsided, he asked the question Henrietta continuously asked herself. ‘Who would have killed Edmund?’
‘I don’t yet know,’ she replied. ‘I am conducting an investigation and it would be tremendously helpful if you could answer a few questions.’
‘In front of that man ?’ James indicated Hawke.
‘I have faith in his abilities,’ she said, hardly believing that she was defending her enemy. But then, she had a worse enemy now. ‘Recall how he uncovered the Charitable Relief Scandal?’
James looked sceptical. ‘Was that not a reporter from The Times ?’
‘That reporter rewrote Hawke’s article and then received all the credit.’
‘I’m astonished you noticed,’ Hawke said, sounding as if he meant it. ‘Not even my editor credited my role,’ he added quietly.
Henrietta shot him a scowl. ‘If you hadn’t made yourself my enemy, I might have credited your role publicly. And if I hadn’t been unfairly disgraced, the Duchess of Severn’s opinion might’ve actually accounted for something, as well.’ Turning to James, she gathered a breath. ‘Now, James, why did you come to London? Why did you and Edmund argue the day before his death? And why did you return to our house the next afternoon?’
James stared at his hands. ‘I asked Edmund to travel with me to Italy. For an extended time. Something we dreamt of many years ago that never happened.’
‘Why would you make such a request now ?’ she asked, confused. ‘He couldn’t have left while building support for party leadership.’
‘There just was a general election. He had years still to gather support.’
Henrietta frowned. ‘These things take time. The Whigs’ leadership is a disaster, and the King fell out with Earl Grey—’
‘Spare me, Henrietta,’ James said heavily. ‘With Edmund gone, I don’t care if I never hear another word about politics for the rest of my life. And I wish not to be lectured to by you – the person to whom, in the end, he gave his loyalty, as if his years with me had been nothing.’
James’s words startled her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He refused to leave you , even for a few months. After all I’d given him, he could not do that one thing for me. For five-and-twenty years I’ve loved him as no other has—’
‘I loved him as well,’ Henrietta said quietly. ‘You don’t get the monopoly on that.’
‘You do not understand,’ James told her. ‘You are a child, in his life for a mere five years. You did not love him – could not have loved him – as I did.’
Henrietta fought back an urge to cry. ‘You mayn’t say my love wasn’t valid. Maybe I didn’t have his body, but I gave him my heart and he gave me his …’ But the last of her protestations deflated. Her argument was unjust. ‘Oh, forgive me, James,’ she said, putting her hand upon his knee and hoping he believed her sincerity. ‘I should not have spoken as I did. I’m not being fair because I’ve always been jealous. At most, I only ever had a sliver of Edmund’s heart. You had the rest of it. If he cited me as the reason he couldn’t go to Italy, it was for the sake of appearances. It was your name he uttered last. You were his last thought.’
James’s eyes glistened anew with tears, but he shook his head. ‘Even if I was his last thought, I also only ever had a piece of his heart. It was his work he truly loved. His reforms were a thousand times more important than anything else. Though it pains me to say it, even more so now that he’s gone, the truth is both you and I gave more love than we received.’
‘He gave himself first to duty,’ Henrietta said, with an odd mixture of pride and intense sorrow. ‘But, James, did Edmund become so very angry simply because you asked him to travel to Italy?’
‘No. He grew angry because I told him our friendship was over.’
‘Over? After all this time?’
‘All what time? What did he give me of himself in those five-and-twenty years?’
‘Why, everything he could.’
‘Two days here then, months later, perhaps a week, and growing less frequent with every passing year. Henrietta, I hadn’t seen him since November .’
‘With the King’s death, and then the election, and the new Parliament, and with Cato Street, how could it be otherwise?’
‘Naturally, it couldn’t,’ James replied. ‘Not when Edmund put his work and service first, which he has always done. I was tired. Tired of being an afterthought in his life. Tired of feeling jealous of your sharing every day with him.’ His shoulders sagged. ‘But there’s more. I made matters worse. I told him I’d met someone else. Someone who could love me back.’
Henrietta gasped. She hadn’t expected that . ‘Have you?’
James lifted his hands, palms up. ‘There is someone who cares for me. Naturally, my own sentiments could never progress beyond fondness while I was still bound to Edmund, but recently … that person had asked me to … become closer friends, and I … realised how lonely I am, waiting and waiting on snatches of time with Edmund. As I grow older, I yearn for daily companionship. That was the reason I had to ask Edmund to do this one thing – to go with me to Italy, to share a few months. To take the time to decide together what the rest of our lives might look like. I’d never asked anything before and yet he refused.’
Her heart ached, for she understood his feelings. ‘Edmund did love you dearly,’ she said, hoping the words might help.
‘You are young yet. Your years still stretch ahead of you, but when more have passed than are yet to come, you may find yourself assessing your life. Thinking about your hopes and dreams. And those that mean something to you, you will want to chase wholeheartedly, for there is no time to waste. I want something more than what Edmund was willing – or able – to give. I want to fall into the rhythms of daily life with someone I love. I faced a choice: be first in the heart of someone with whom I can share every day, or second or third in Edmund’s heart, seeing him but a few times a year. What could I do but let him go, so I might give my new friend a chance?’
‘But then why did you return to Severn House the next day – the day Edmund died?’ Henrietta asked. ‘Did you change your mind?’
‘No. I knew everything was irrefutably and forever over between Edmund and me, but I couldn’t end matters as we’d left them the day before, with vicious and cruel words. I returned to apologise and thank God I did, because I don’t think I could have lived with the grief if that dreadful argument had been our last words ever.’
‘Did he forgive you?’
James knotted his forehead. ‘Perhaps it is too much to say he forgave me, but our conversation was amicable. He was as ashamed of his vehemence the day before as I was ashamed of my harsh accusations. He said soon after I’d left, he’d begun to feel grateful that I’d been so decisive, because he’d been caught between two personal loyalties – his friendship with me and his marriage to you – and that it hadn’t been fair to either you or me. My decision, he said, would allow him to be a true husband to you.’
‘A true husband?’ Henrietta asked, confused.
‘The timing was fortuitous, he claimed. Something to do with Perceval.’
As realisation struck like a bolt of lightning, Henrietta jumped to her feet. ‘ Now everything begins to make sense, at last …’
Theo had been absorbed in the conversation, watching it as intently as a play in the theatre. Yet when the duchess exclaimed that everything began to make sense, he felt he must’ve missed a key point. What had she concluded? Did she know the killer?
Her gaze met his before returning to Beaucastle. ‘James, forgive tonight’s intrusion and thank you for your assistance. I must take my leave.’
Beaucastle’s brows drew together, concerned. ‘Henrietta, it’s the middle of the night. Stay until morning—’
‘I cannot. I am in hiding because the magistrate thinks I killed Edmund.’
‘You? But why in heavens?’ Beaucastle looked aghast. Theo took it as further evidence in support of the duchess, if her husband’s lover believed her innocent.
‘It’s a long story,’ she replied. ‘Keep my visit secret and I shall bring our dear Edmund’s killer to justice, if it’s the last thing I do.’ With that declaration, she fled from the room, leaving Theo to bid Beaucastle an awkward good night before he followed.
By the time Theo reached the window, she was nearly down the wisteria. He used the makeshift rope to lower himself to a safe distance and then jumped.
She was crossing the lawn with determined strides when he caught up. ‘I hope now you understand what you witnessed five years ago, you beastly man,’ she said, tossing the words over her shoulder.
Theo suspected he did, but best to hear it from her. ‘Why don’t you explain it to me?’
Her shoulders softened though her pace didn’t slacken. ‘Well, when Edmund proposed, he explained he’d never fully be a husband to me, but he needed heirs. He asked me to find suitable fathers and conduct discreet affairs. He promised to love my children as if they were of his body.’
‘Why would you agree to such terms?’ Theo asked, appalled.
She stopped walking and stood bathed in moonlight, gazing into the distance, as if seeing ghosts of the past rather than the silver-washed parkland. ‘I would have agreed to anything,’ she said, so quietly. ‘I loved him. As my father’s friend, he’d always been a presence in my life, a frequent visitor to Deancombe for my mother’s house parties, and when I was but a tiny child, I made him my romantic ideal. He was as handsome and kind and courtly as a storybook prince. Perfection, in my eyes.’
‘If you felt that way about him, it must have been challenging to take other lovers.’
‘Yes, but I was too hopelessly na?ve to realise that.’
‘ He was not na?ve,’ Theo replied. ‘Therefore, he shouldn’t have asked it of you.’
‘He’s blameless,’ she said softly. ‘He always wanted me to find love – he encouraged me to take lovers not only for procreation, but to enjoy companionship like he had with James. Prior to our marriage, he’d had no idea that I’d created a narrative that he loved me back. Based merely on his kindness to me, at fifteen years of age, I told myself he’d remained a bachelor because he was waiting for me to grow up. I had an active, romantic imagination as a child – I truly believed the tale I spun. That is the reason I refused to participate in London Seasons once I was of marriageable age, much to my mother’s chagrin, and why I rejected every offer my father received for my hand, much to his annoyance. No one but Edmund would do.’
‘Ah, that’s why I never saw you before your wedding day,’ Theo said. ‘So how did you get your proposal in the end?’
‘When Edmund visited my father’s estate the summer before I turned three-and-twenty – when I’d been out for five seasons – he and I spent a great deal of time riding and sailing together. My mother invented opportunities for us to do so, for she was as eager for the marriage as I was – and he seemed … different. Kinder than ever. Almost fascinated by me, I suppose. One day, he asked why I had rejected all offers of marriage I had received, for by then, I’d had a bit of a reputation for it. I realised later that he was wondering if I was … if I was like him, but in the way a woman can be like him …’
‘A sapphist?’
She nodded. ‘But at the time, I didn’t know of such matters. I thought … well, I thought he was flirting with me, so I replied that I hadn’t yet received an offer I couldn’t refuse. He asked, “Because you have not yet fallen in love?” Again, I thought he was flirting, so I said that since my father insisted I must marry for title and fortune rather than love, I was determined to outrank him through my marriage, and no duke had yet proposed. Edmund found that amusing and I suppose that’s when the germ of the idea began to sprout in his head. He took me at my word, you see – that I had no illusions to a great love.’
‘So he proposed?’
‘Not yet. The autumn following that summer, my father said he couldn’t continue refusing the offers of respectable and honourable men – the sons of his friends – without reason, and that I was becoming known as a flirt and a tease …’ Her face turned fierce. ‘That was a wholly unfair reputation, for I never encouraged anyone but Edmund. Oh, of course, I accepted dances here and there, but that’s simply what one does to be polite. I meant nothing by it. Sometimes gentlemen talked to me of love, but it’s not my fault a man who wants to hear his own voice won’t be hushed. Some of the more daring ones would try and kiss me, and when I didn’t allow it, they called it “teasing”.’
Theo believed her. ‘Flirt and tease are the types of words weak men employ when they are unwilling to accept that a woman simply doesn’t want them.’
Her eyes gleamed fiercely. ‘Just so! But my father didn’t see it that way. He said soon no respectable man would ask, so I must take a husband within the year or he’d choose for me. I was furious, but no one within my family would support me against him. After all, none of my brothers wanted the expense of a spinster sister falling to their lot one day. So when Edmund joined us for my mother’s Christmas house party, I decided to tell him of my father’s ultimatum, if for no other reason than it made me feel better to speak with him about distressing matters. He was wise and kind, and might offer advice on how to approach my father about removing the ultimatum.’
‘But he had a different suggestion?’
‘Not immediately,’ she said. ‘In fact, his immediate response puzzled me exceedingly. He was quiet as he listened, said very little, and to my dismay, he abruptly left the house party afterwards.’ Her gaze travelled back to Beaucastle’s house. ‘I found out later he’d travelled here , to explain matters to James and ask his permission. I suspect that visit was terribly hard on James.’
‘Yes, it would be.’
‘But I knew none of that until later,’ she continued. ‘And though I was dejected by his departure, he returned within days, arriving unexpectedly at my father’s house after all the other guests had left, and asking my parents for an audience with me before he’d even changed his travelling clothes, which naturally threw the house aflutter. Everyone understood the significance of such a request and as I tied on my bonnet – for he took me on a walk – I knew I must return engaged.’
‘For your sake or your family’s?’ Theo asked, still appalled.
‘Why, for both,’ she replied. ‘I knew my duty as the only daughter of the Marquess of Lockington. I knew it from childhood, which is why I’d set my mind on the most eligible match within my father’s circles. Though the Matlock fortune suffered in the last generation, mine is a noble line, Mr Hawke. Far be it from me to disregard that. Don’t imagine that even when I fell in love with Edmund as a child, I didn’t realise fully that my marriage to the Duke of Severn would elevate my entire family, as well as create a formidable political alliance for my father and brothers.’
Theo pressed his lips together to avoid saying what he wanted to, namely that her tale didn’t convince him she knew anything about romantic love. But then again, what did he know of it? What she described sounded as dry as day-old bread, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t valid for her. It simply further illuminated the gulf – nay, the ocean – between her life experiences and his.
She continued. ‘On our walk, Edmund explained everything . Told me I was the first person he’d ever trusted to know the truth. Told me I was the first lady he’d ever dared to ask for help in such a way. I was heartbroken at first, but then his words went to my head and I fabricated a new meaning for them. He told me he loved James, he told me he’d never consummate our marriage, he explained what he wanted me to do – and I heard only that he cared for me differently than he’d ever cared for any woman, and so I told myself my dreams had come true. I would be his wife and surely he’d learn to desire me.’
She looked down at her hands. ‘So you see, I entered our marriage with secret hopes, despite what he had told me, which was very, very wrong of me. On my wedding night, I approached him attired in a nightdress my mother had chosen, put his hands on my body and asked him for a kiss. A romantic kiss, I mean. And it wasn’t a … proper nightdress.’
Theo cringed, guessing how the story would end, and genuinely feeling for both her and Severn.
‘Edmund was kind,’ she said. ‘But stern. He explained it was utterly impossible to set aside his love and commitment to James, and bed another person, even for the sake of the dukedom. He said he thought he’d made that perfectly clear when he proposed.’ She shuddered. ‘He was so terribly disappointed in me for breaking his trust. His expression showed that he thought our marriage a dreadful mistake. I apologised profusely, changed into sensible nightclothes, and I never asked again. I loved him far too well, I would never have been the cause of his discomfort.’ She gathered a breath. ‘But I’d rashly promised him an heir before we were married and so I knew what I must do. I would take a lover to prove I’d dismissed my childish fantasies. The sooner, the better.’
‘But why Marlow , of all men?’ Theo asked. ‘Not only is he a despicable human, but his sole purpose in Parliament has always seemed to be to thwart your husband. Why choose a rat when any man would want to bed you?’
As soon as he said the words, he realised what they revealed about himself. Her gaze pierced him and Theo swallowed a nervous knot in his throat. ‘Or so I would assume,’ he added awkwardly.
‘It is not my experience that it is so easy to find lovers,’ she said in reply. ‘But I agree, Marlow was a mistake. I was not thinking beyond his willingness and his appearance. He is my husband’s second cousin on the maternal side and has something of Edmund’s build and colouring. The height, the blonde hair. Shape and colour of their eyes. Do you not agree?’
He nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose there’s a resemblance. Similar to how a rat’s fur might be the same shade as a horse.’
She looked at him for a moment and then a bubble of laughter escaped her lips, and Theo gave her a half-smile in return. ‘I think the resemblance is a little closer than that.’ She grew serious again, looking down at her hands and twisting them together. ‘And I thought … well, I wanted a child whose appearance resembled Edmund, so no one would suspect.’
‘But Marlow would have known?’ Theo said. ‘And no doubt used it against you?’
The duchess lifted her shoulders. ‘If a husband accepts a child his wife bears, then he is the legal father. Certainly, any lovers I took might have guessed there was a possibility they’d fathered my child, but naturally they would’ve assumed Edmund was also bedding me. And, anyway, in the end it came to nothing with Marlow. He wasn’t considerate during our single, ill-fated tryst; I realised I’d made a bad beginning and that’s why I finished things before they’d even begun.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Which you can attest to, Mr Hawke, since you were there, watching us all the while.’
A twinge of embarrassment hit Theo. ‘No doubt you found someone more suitable the next time. I’m very sorry that no baby came of it, if that is what you wished.’
She didn’t respond, but turned and continued her progress across the parkland. By the time they reached her horse, she seemed so set on silence, Theo changed the subject.
‘At the end of your conversation with Beaucastle, you said something made “sense”. What did you mean?’
She eased the bit into her horse’s mouth. ‘The night before he died, Edmund slept in my bed. Chastely, of course. That by itself wasn’t unusual, but he also kissed me, and his manner was … different. More intimate than ever before, but also odd, as if he were trying to come to terms with something.’
Theo considered. ‘You think he intended to consummate your marriage?’
She stroked her horse’s neck. ‘I’ve always hated that term, as if that act alone makes a marriage valid. But, yes, I now think he was considering it, although he didn’t act on it that night.’ She drew her lips into a line, paused, and then gathered up her reins. ‘Perceval and the Babcocks dined with us the night before Edmund died. As best as I can construe, Edmund must have rewritten his will soon after his argument with James – he was in his library for the remainder of that afternoon, according to the servants. I was busy with household tasks and took some afternoon calls – Edmund’s solicitor arrived and left while I was otherwise occupied, and others might have done so as well. At seven, Edmund came upstairs with me and changed for dinner, and we were together for the rest of the evening and throughout the night, except for when the gentlemen remained in the dining room after I withdrew with the ladies. That night, they stayed behind for an hour and a half – an extraordinary amount of time. Edmund might have discussed anything with the bishop and Perceval then. Perhaps he revealed something of his intentions towards me. His intentions to father a child.’
‘Ah,’ Theo said. ‘So you suspect Perceval ended his cousin’s life, rather than take the chance of losing his place as heir?’
‘It’s possible,’ she said. ‘And if it’s true, my life is in grave danger.’
‘How so?’ Theo asked. He knew the answer, though. She referred to the terms of the duke’s will, which allowed her a year to deliver a possible heir. But the duchess didn’t know he knew that Perceval had shared that information, so he tested her, to see if she would reveal her plans. ‘How can your life pose any threat to him now? Perceval is already the Duke of Severn.’
Her eyes cut to his. She hesitated, lips parted. Then she shook her head, looking annoyed. ‘Never mind, Mr Hawke. I’m not even certain why I’m sharing any of this with you. I despise you for what you did to me years ago.’
Ah, so she wasn’t revealing her intentions, whatever they were. Well, if she was keeping secrets, he would too. He wouldn’t tell her he knew the terms of the will.
‘I already apologised for my failings that night,’ he said instead. ‘Yes, I erred, but I was doing my job.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Your job is despicable.’
‘It serves its purpose. And believe it or not, Your Grace, most people in this land must make our livings however we can.’
His rebuke subdued her manner only a very little. ‘But why not make a living as a respectable journalist, writing thoughtful and informative articles?’
‘Because respectable newspapers don’t hire someone like me.’
‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘You’re not unintelligent.’
Theo laughed. ‘I’m extremely clever. And had I been born, say, a tradesman’s legitimate son, I might’ve had a chance at a respectable life. But I am an unclaimed bastard, born on a filthy pallet in Newgate Prison to a condemned woman who was hanged after my birth, at which point my life became rather worse yet. It may be challenging for the daughter of a marquess to understand, but, with such a past, I’m damned grateful to be where I am, even if I’m unlikely ever to have an opportunity to work for a respectable journal.’
Her face was an unreadable mask as he revealed the circumstances of his birth, so that Theo didn’t know if it had made any impression at all. ‘But perhaps you would be taken seriously if you were the first journalist to expose the killer of the Duke of Severn,’ she said slowly, after a moment’s pause. ‘If you partner with me to solve this murder, you may print the whole story – except what you just learnt about Edmund and James.’
Theo raised his eyebrows, taken aback. ‘A partnership between us ? Am I not your sworn enemy, Your Grace?’
She lowered her gaze, appearing so lovely in the moonlight, with her long blonde tresses framing her face, that Theo felt something akin to tenderness. ‘I am scared, Mr Hawke.’ And for the first time, she sounded it. ‘I need help. The sort of help you can give. The sneaking about and finding things out. You’re an expert at that.’
Though her appeal seemed sincere, she also needed him for another reason. One she’d revealed earlier. ‘That and you don’t have money, so you require a travelling companion who does, eh?’
She glared. ‘I shall reimburse you the expenses, so the monetary outlay will be but a temporary inconvenience, far outweighed by the long-term advantages. Are we in agreement or not?’
He shrugged, pretending an indifference he didn’t feel, for he was eager to start the hunt. ‘Might as well.’
‘Excellent.’ She glanced towards the horizon. The moon had dipped behind the trees. ‘Once the moon sets, further travel tonight will be impossible. Come, let us find your horse and a place to sleep.’ Together, they began to walk to the other end of the woodland, where Theo had tied his horse. ‘Oh, and Mr Hawke?’
‘Your Grace?’
‘I’m terribly sorry about your mother.’
Ah, so she had been listening. ‘Thank you,’ he replied, and he meant it, for he’d missed the mother he’d never known every day of his life.
Her soft footfalls fell into rhythm with his. ‘If I am to travel in disguise,’ she said after a time, ‘you mustn’t call me Your Grace. You know my Christian name and I give you leave to address me by it.’
He concealed his surprise, reminding himself she had suggested the intimacy for a practical reason rather than a personal one. ‘Then I’m Theo, Your Gr … Henrietta.’
She laughed softly. It was a sweet, musical sound. ‘I like it when you call me Henrietta. You always managed to sound sarcastic when you said, “Your Grace”.’
They walked onwards in companionable silence, but, oddly, after years of animosity with the duchess, Theo was beginning to think ‘Your Grace’ epitomised Henrietta Percy surprisingly well indeed.