A Poisoned Season

14

Before I returned to my investigation of Mr. Berry, I headed back to the offices of the Times, where I placed another message for my disappointed admirer. Ivy thought that it was perhaps not wise to further engage him, but I saw no other way to draw him out of hiding. Maybe, if he thought I was willing to communicate with him, he would eventually reveal himself. This time I did not ask him to meet me; I merely admonished him for sending me dying flowers.

When I had finished placing my notice, I went to Oxford Street to visit a shop that sold rare prints, books, and some historical documents. I hoped the clerks there would be able to help me in my search for Léonard's letters to Marie Antoinette. I like to think that I have reasonable expectations; I knew it would be too much to hope for specific information, but I thought it likely that they would be able to tell me in general terms how best to begin my quest. But even this, it seemed, was too much to expect. Aside from taking note of my interest in the letters, and promising to inform me should they ever come up for sale, there was little they could do. Private correspondence changing hands in private sales could not be readily tracked.

Undaunted, I walked to the park. It was a fine day, the heat not having bothered to return after the rain stopped, and the crisp air inspired clear thinking. I found a bench near the Serpentine, pulled out the notebook in which I was recording details of my investigations, and looked over what I had written down.

"Slumming, Lady Ashton?" Charles Berry leaned over from behind the bench. "This isn't the most fashionable section of the park."

"I was hoping for some solitude."

His eyes narrowed as he looked over my shoulder at the notebook on my lap. "Why are you so interested in David Francis? Is his wife a particular friend of yours?"

How could he possibly know what was written in my notebook? I slammed it shut. "I am most sympathetic to Mrs. Francis's situation."

"That's no reason to be muddling about in her husband's affairs."

I raised an eyebrow. "His affairs?"

"Some things are best left forgotten. You'd be wise to let the dead rest."

"I'm curious to know why you're so concerned with Mr. Francis."

"Some gentlemen might be amused by your insistence on being viewed as a thinking woman. I am not one of them."

"A fact, Mr. Berry, that does not disappoint me in the least."

He put his hands firmly on my shoulders, too near my neck. "Yet I cannot help being drawn to you. I wonder if a king could tame you."

Much though I would have liked to throttle him for this comment, I managed to restrain myself, determined to pry something worthwhile from this otherwise useless man. "For someone who claims not to have known Mr. Francis, you're awfully concerned about him now that he's dead. Why the sudden interest? Does it pertain to the objects you say he wanted to sell you?"

"I don't even know what they were." His hands were still pressing down on my shoulders. I wrenched myself away, stood up, and turned to face him, glad to have the bench between us.

"He didn't mention the letters?" I smiled fetchingly. "What a surprise!"

"What letters?"

"Oh, I shouldn't fret about them. I've read them and they're deadly dull."

"Which letters are these?"

I thought for a moment before answering. "Léonard's, of course."

A cold pallor overtook the ordinary ruddiness of his face, and his features turned unnaturally hard. "Léonard's letters?"

"What letters did you think I meant?"

"He didn't say he had —"

"So, you did talk to him?" I closed my parasol and leveled it towards him. "I'm tired of your lies, Mr. Berry."

"I don't like people interfering in my business. This is none of your concern."

"So you admit to having been involved with Mr. Francis?"

"I knew he possessed things that by right should be legacies of my family. That's not the same as being involved with him."

"Did you discuss the letters with him?" I asked.

"You despise me." His narrow eyes met mine. "And you have no right to. I won't continue this conversation." He stalked away, turning to leer at me after he had gone some distance. If only Cécile was still in London! I longed to rush home to report the fascinating details of this conversation, even if it meant sacrificing the trim on my skirt to Caesar and Brutus. Without having consciously decided to do so, I found myself walking towards Park Lane, and a few minutes later was waiting for Colin in his library.

This was a room that was used, not meant for show. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and tall ladders ensured that none of them was out of reach. Every surface had at least one book on it. One table was covered with atlases and travel books, another held three of Shakespeare's plays, each binding well worn, no crispness left in the pages. In front of an enormous marble mantelpiece stood a table that held a chess set carved from some sort of exotic wood, the pieces representing figures from Arthurian legend. Next to the game board was John Thursby's Seventy-Five Chess Problems, held open with a book weight.

"White's to mate in three moves," Colin said, entering the room. "I'm afraid I haven't got beyond setting up the board." His lips brushed my hand. "How do you like the room? I finally realized that if I'm to have any hope of marrying you, I'd have to show you my library first."

"It's magnificent."

"My collection of ancient texts is no rival to your own, but you'll find I've a better selection of fiction." As he said this, I considered something that had not before occurred to me. The books to which he referred weren't mine at all; they belonged to the Ashton family. Nothing in my house, save my clothing, personal items, and the handful of antiquities I had purchased since Philip's death, was truly mine. Someday the new viscount would want to take possession of his house. Because the boy was barely four years old, it was unlikely this would happen for some time, but the fact remained that I did not have a home of my own. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not precisely." I forced a smile. "I'll simply have to expand my own fiction holdings."

"Have you already heard from Cécile?"

"Am I not allowed to call on you except in an official capacity?"

"I am, of course, delighted to see you, but I fear for the health of my butler. Poor Hoskins is not accustomed to unescorted young ladies calling."

"I'd be distressed if he were. It would call into question your very character." I sat in a large, extremely comfortable leather chair. "I've just seen Charles Berry. He was so abominable I longed for a friendly face." Colin frowned as I told him about my encounter with the dreadful man in the park.

"He's not foolish enough to hurt you, but I do not like this, Emily."

"Have you any idea of how he was involved with Mr. Francis?"

"I don't, but when I see him tonight, I shall find out what I can."

"Are you going to Lady Elinor's ball?"

"Yes. You?"

"She's the one person aside from Ivy who still considers me worthy of her guest list."

"Will you waltz with me?"

"We could waltz now," I said, meeting his steady gaze.

"Too dangerous. From experience I'm keenly aware of the ruinous effect dancing with you in private has on my self-control."

"Lovely though it is to contemplate you losing your self-control, I shan't tempt you further, though I reserve the right to do so in the future. But I've more to tell you. When we left the British Museum the other day, my friend followed us. He left me a note hidden in some half-dead flowers the next day."

"I was careful to check that no one was tailing us, and I didn't see anyone. He must be very good at this game." He ran his hand through his hair, stood up, and leaned against the mantel, his elbow resting on the marble top. "Do you feel threatened by this man?"

"I don't think he's dangerous," I said, hesitating slightly.

"I'll be perfectly frank with you, my dear. There's nothing I would like better than to lock you up somewhere, preferably at my country house, while I uncover this...person...and determine whether he means you harm. He's a criminal, not an ordinary admirer. We've no idea the lengths to which he would be willing to go to reach you." His eyes met mine, his expression all seriousness. "But I shall not undermine you by trying to rescue you. Know, Emily, that if you truly need me, I am here."

I think had he the presence of mind to propose at that moment, I would have accepted. The combination of hearing him speak in such an enlightened manner and the perfect setting of his library would have been too much to resist.

"Colin, I —"

He knelt in front of me and took my hands in his, squeezing them. "My dear, dear girl. I could not go on if something were to happen to you. I have enough trust in your abilities to know that you'll be able to find out who he is. But promise me that you will not put yourself in danger. Do not take risks. You have a tendency to — "

"That's quite enough." How I wished he would take me in his arms. "I shall be careful."

"I would not love you so well if you were less headstrong. Please do not make me regret it."

"Regret loving me or regret that I am headstrong?"

"I shall never regret loving you, Emily. Not even if, once you've unmasked this admirer of yours, you decide to run off with him and pursue a life of crime."

"You're not the first to suggest such an outcome. Are my morals really so questionable?"

"It's not your morals; it's your attraction to adventure."

"Well, I shall have to work at controlling myself. Perhaps one day I'll be able to match your strength." I placed two fingers on his lips but knew better than to hope he would kiss me. "Though I will confess that I've no desire to have such self-restraint when it comes to you."

"That, my dear, is the luxury of being a lady. You're perfectly safe with me, and you know it. So long as I exercise some control, you've no need to."

"Someday, I'm sure, I'll want to thank you for that. At the moment, however, my views on the subject are rather conflicted."

I was more excited than I had expected to be about Lady Elinor's ball. It had been too long since I had danced, and I felt no small measure of irritation at the thought of holier-than-thou society matrons keeping me from their guest lists and, in turn, from waltzing. The entrance hall to the Routledges' house was filled with enormous masses of flowers, providing a perfect backdrop for the legions of ladies in their stylish gowns and brightening the patches of black where gentlemen congregated in their elegant black jackets and white ties.

Isabelle was less miserable than I would have guessed. She stood next to her fiancé on the stairway that led to the ballroom, a charming smile on her face, but there was no brightness in her eyes as she welcomed her guests. Although Mr. Berry deliberately took as little notice of me as possible, I could feel his eyes linger unpleasantly on me after I had passed him, and I shuddered at the thought of his attention. I hurried away from him, eager to find a friendly face at the party; instead, my mother headed me off the instant I entered the room.

"You must behave yourself," she whispered with such force that it was clear she had every intention of being overheard. "Otherwise there's no chance that you will be able to reclaim your place in decent society."

It was unfair of her to accost me in public, where she knew I could not respond to her as I wished. "There's no need to worry, Mother. I'm always perfectly appropriate."

"You are not to speak to Bainbridge tonight unless you plan to marry him. I won't let you ruin yourself with flirting."

"I'll thank you to stop telling me what to do."

She looked at me with such satisfaction that it was obvious this performance was for her own benefit. She wanted to make sure that society knew that she was doing all she could to control me, so that, should I be ruined, she would have their sympathy rather than their censure.

"I'll not stand by and watch you drag the reputation of our family through the gutter, Emily." She may have objected to watching that, but she certainly did not object to watching me, closely, for the entire evening. The only time I was able to escape her was when I danced. Happily, although the ladies of society seemed bent on cutting me, the gentlemen did not share their scruples, and I had no shortage of partners. But other than my mother, Lady Elinor, Isabelle, and dear Ivy were the only ladies who spoke to me.

I did, at last, get to waltz with Colin. Feeling his arm at my waist was more intoxicating than our hostess's champagne, and he guided me across the floor with expert grace.

"Holding you like this makes me realize how wise I was to avoid dancing with you in private," he said. "It could have led to nothing good. You're lovelier than ever tonight." I had spent a small fortune on my gown, cut from silk of the palest shade of rose, embroidered with silver thread and crystal beads. The neckline was daringly low, and the sleeves puffed subtly at the shoulder, tapering to fit tightly at the elbow. Mr. Worth himself had beamed with pleasure when he saw me in it at my final fitting.

When the music ended, Colin handed me off to my next partner, Jeremy, whom I had accepted as much to irritate my mother as I had because I wanted to dance with him. He and Colin nodded sharply at one another but said very little. It did not occur to me at the time that one might be jealous of the other. Almost before the dance had ended, my mother was stalking us on the edge of the crowd.

"Your Grace, it is a pleasure, as always, to see you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Bromley."

"I do hope Emily is being kind to you."

Jeremy flashed a smile but did not reply. My father, who had early in the evening abandoned my mother to talk politics with a group of his friends, returned to collect her, and not a moment too soon. Given more time, she would have brokered a marriage contract between the two of us right there on the dance floor. I was about to seek out a glass of champagne when Lord Fortescue appeared in front of me.

"I think we ought to dance, Lady Ashton."

"If you insist, Lord Fortescue," I said, hating the feel of his arm on mine. He was not a bad partner; that much I will give him. But his manner was in every other way deplorable.

"You'd do well with Bainbridge," he said, leading me across the floor. "You're both in dire need of settling down. I know you've had your eye on Hargreaves, but he's not a good match for you."

"I'm sure it's none of your concern," I said, doing my best to keep a smile on my face.

"It's very much my concern, as it is the concern of anyone with a sense of loyalty to the empire."

"Really? I'm all astonishment."

"Do not play ignorant with me. Hargreaves's work for the Crown is invaluable. You've proven to be nothing but a distraction to him."

"His work has suffered on my account? Not only do I find that unbelievable, but it's also insulting to Mr. Hargreaves. He would never allow personal concerns to interfere with his work. How dare you suggest such a thing?"

"I know your type, Lady Ashton. Always wanting to be involved, meddling where you should not. If you care for him, leave him alone. He does not deserve the trouble you are certain to heap upon him."

Clearly, my only options were to ignore my partner entirely or to engage him in a discussion of the weather. I chose the former. When the music stopped, we stood next to Robert and a woman whom I did not recognize. Her age fell somewhere between mine and that of my mother, and she was dressed in an extremely expensive, though ostentatious, gown.

"Have you met Mrs. Reynold-Plympton?" Robert asked. I shook my head, and the introduction was made. I was about to ask her how long she'd been in London when the music began again, and she turned to my friend's husband.

"Shall we dance again? I can't remember when I've had such a pleasant partner." Robert mumbled something unintelligible and led her back to the floor, leaving me stranded with Lord Fortescue.

"Will you excuse me?" I asked before he had the chance to claim another dance. As I made my way across the room, a servant approached me.

"Lady Ashton, a gentleman asked that I give this to you." He handed me a large ivory envelope.

"Lord Fortescue?"

"I don't believe it was he, madam."

I looked around the room, searching for Colin, but did not see him. Ivy was not far from me, and I pulled her into the garden, wanting someone with me when I opened the parcel. She was appropriately horrified when I told her what had been going on.

"Oh dear," she said. "Perhaps I should get Robert."

"We can open an envelope without him, Ivy." I pulled a pin out of my hair, which was piled high on my head in a simple pompadour, and carefully slit the paper.

"Who left it for you? Is he still here?" She looked around, then relaxed as much as her corset would allow, apparently satisfied that there was no one stalking us in the garden.

"Highly unlikely." Within the envelope was a note wrapped around another letter. I can help more than you know, Kallista darling was scrawled in now-familiar handwriting. Inside this was a letter, folded, with the remains of a wax seal on the back. Excitement filled me; the letter was addressed to Marie Antoinette. Careful not to harm the fragile paper, I unfolded the page, eager to see who had written the letter. "It's from Léonard." He gave a terse description of his daily activities, referred briefly to some of the queen's acquaintances, and closed with an account of an altercation he'd had with a merchant in a butcher's shop. He wished the queen well, said he was praying for her soul, and promised to write again soon.

I handed it to Ivy. "How tragic," she said after she had read it. "To think, the poor woman was waiting to be executed, and this is the sort of correspondence from which she was to take consolation."

"I'm sure everything was read by her jailors. Hardly circumstances in which someone would be willing to divulge personal details. But you're right. It is sad." I touched the fading ink on the page. "I had hoped for something else, something that would reveal the significance of the queen's letters."

"Could he have more of Léonard's letters?"

"That, Ivy, is an excellent question. He must have been following me when I went off in search of the letters. How else would he know I was looking for them?"

"I wonder..." she began, but was interrupted by Robert.

"What are you two discussing? I thought Hargreaves was with you."

"No, darling, Emily and I were talking about another of her admirers," Ivy said, standing and giving her husband her arm.

"Hmmm. Dangerous topic these days, eh, Emily?" Robert was quite handsome when he smiled.

"It wouldn't be a dangerous topic if people would limit themselves to the discourse of facts."

"Until reality becomes as interesting as fiction, I'm afraid that's unlikely," he said.

"That reminds me," I began. "How are you enjoying the book I lent you, Ivy?"

"Oh, it's...well...I thought — "

"What book is this?" Robert asked.

"Mount Royal," I said. "Are you familiar with it?"

"It's not the sort of thing that Robert—"

"Not more trash by that Braddon woman, I hope," Robert said. "A dreadful waste of time."

"I prefer to think of it as an entertaining escape," I said. "Have you any concept of the amount of effort it takes to run a large household well? Ivy's overdue for some relaxation."

Robert looked at me, then at Ivy, then at his shoes, then back at me. "There are plenty of methods of relaxation that are not so utterly without merit." His smile softened the remark, but not enough.

"I didn't mean —" I said, but Ivy interrupted me.

"Oh, it's perfectly all right, both of you. Robert has arranged for me to assist the Duchess of Petherwick with her charity work, so I've no time at all for reading."

"What are you doing for her?"

"Sewing baby clothes for orphans."

"Sewing? And this is meant to be relaxing?" I looked at Robert.

"Ivy enjoys handwork." I could see there was no use arguing. With effort, I managed a smile. Robert pulled a heavy gold watch from his pocket. "It's getting late. You should go home, darling. I'm to meet Fortescue and some others at my club." Even Ivy's curls seemed to droop, and though Robert didn't look closely enough to notice, she could hardly keep her eyes from filling with tears. "I'll get the carriage for you."

"No, Robert," I said. "Let Ivy come home with me." I stopped myself almost at once, disgusted to find that I was talking about my friend as if she were not there. "Would you come with me, Ivy? It's so lonely at my house without Cécile."

"I wouldn't want to leave you alone, Emily, but Robert — "

I hoped he would protest. "Of course you shall go with Emily. I'll be dreadfully late — you may as well stay the night." He looked more pleased than he ought to with this arrangement. "I can't imagine you'll have finished analyzing the events of the evening before morning."

And I couldn't imagine that, if he knew what sort of events we would be analyzing, he would approve of his wife spending the night with me. But as I gave the matter more thought, I decided that Ivy and I would not sit up until all hours discussing my investigations. Instead, we would read out loud to each other favorite passages from Mary Elizabeth Braddon's books.