A Poisoned Season

33

The inspector brought me home, where Davis, tired but clearly pleased, met me at the door.

"Madam!" he exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," I said. "Exhausted, but fine. Any word from Mr. Brandon?"

"Not from him, but from Mrs. Brandon herself, madam." He handed me a note that contained only one sentence: All is well. A bit more detail would have been welcome, but this would suffice for the moment. I collapsed into my bed, where, despite my weariness, I found I could not sleep. Pleased though I was to have solved the crime, I took no joy in knowing that I was sending someone I'd known for most of my life to prison, and possibly to her death. I ached at the thought of Isabelle learning the truth about her mother and worried that her own life would now be ruined, too.

Added to this angst was Colin's absence. His actions during the past months had surprised me at every turn. He had not tried to keep me from pursuing my investigations and had offered assistance without taking charge on his own. And now, in the aftermath of it all, I wanted nothing more than to sit with him, in quiet triumph, discussing what had transpired.

I loved to flirt with him, to tease him, to discuss Greek with him. But I had not expected to find that, as a partner, he could offer more than that. He challenged me, stimulated my thinking, and offered both comfort and support when I succumbed to frustration. Was it possible that, as his wife, I might grow more than if I remained alone? The idea was an appealing one, and I could not recall him having done anything that suggested he would keep me from pursuing my interests and ideals. I wondered when he would propose again. If he would propose again. Surely he would? I let my mind wander, remembering the last time he'd kissed me, the feeling of his arms around me, and then, at last, I was able to fall asleep.

The next morning, Ivy stormed into my breakfast room at an indecent hour, embraced me, and began apologizing.

"I was very foolish, Emily. I wanted to help you. I thought the plan you'd mentioned was a good one, and that my own reputation was such that I would never be suspected of being an accomplice in this sort of thing. So I went to Lady Elinor bent on telling her this long, convoluted story about how I'd been barraged with rumors of people's infidelities and that I was shocked to see how low the moral fiber of the empire was sinking."

"You told her about Mr. Francis's child?"

"I meant to, Emily, truly I did, but I found that I could not bring myself to do it."

"So what happened? Why were you at her house for so long?"

"While we were taking tea, a letter came for her. It was urgent, so she read it at once. She said that there was a matter of business to which she needed to attend and excused herself, promising that she would return shortly, and she did. When she came back, we drank more tea, and I was overcome with the most dreadful fatigue."

"She must have drugged your tea," I said.

"I believe so. She called for a servant and had me put into a bedroom, where I fell asleep immediately. The next thing I knew, Robert had come for me."

"Did he encounter any difficulties in reaching you?"

"No, none at all. He was quite upset, though, worried that I had put myself in harm's way. Carried me out of the house, Emily, can you imagine? It was magnificent."

The glow on her face made it perfectly clear that it would no longer be necessary for Lord Fortescue to have that conversation with his protégé. Robert would not make the mistake of being an overly considerate husband any time in the immediate future.

"And you, Emily? What happened with you?" I told her the entire story, and she was duly horrified. "You could have been killed."

"No, I was perfectly safe. Inspector Manning was never far away."

"It's all so dreadful. Poor Isabelle. To know that her own mother is capable of such terrible things."

"And all in the name of protecting her daughter," I said. "It's ghastly."

"I do wish there was something we could do for her."

"I've sent her a note this morning, but I don't expect she'll reply." Poor Isabelle was in a precarious situation, but I understood completely that she would not want my help. All the papers would be full of the story of her mother's downfall, and there could be little doubt what the outcome of her trial would be. I only hoped that, as she was a woman, Lady Elinor would be spared from execution. "I wonder if anyone's sent for her brother?"

Inspector Manning called soon after Ivy left, and found me still at breakfast. He knew better this time than to resist my offers of food. He filled a plate and sat across from me.

"She's made a full confession," he said. "She believed your letter was indeed from Mrs. White. Gave Mrs. Brandon laudanum in an attempt to distract you, because she'd started to worry that you were onto the scheme. I don't think there was ever any intention of harming her."

"So Stilleman's death was an accident?" I asked.

"Yes. Lady Elinor only intended to kill Mr. Francis. Stilleman was allowed to take what he wanted from the toiletries in the dressing room, and made the bad choice of selecting the shaving lotion. Jane Stilleman was released from prison this morning. Would you like to go to Richmond and bring Mrs. Francis the news?"

"I would," I said, and for a second time, left the inspector breakfasting at my table.

Beatrice wept when I told her the story. "I had no idea. No idea at all who he was."

"I wish I could offer you some comfort."

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I don't know. To protect you, I suppose."

"Foolish man!" Her handkerchief already soaked, I gave her mine, which she used to wipe the tears from her face.

"There is something else you must know," I said. "Something that will be difficult to hear." Beatrice took the news of her husband's illegitimate son better than I would have expected. She cried, but softly, no gasping sobs.

"Is there any point to being angry with him now?" she asked. "That child is all that is left of him. Can I regret what he did? He so desperately wanted a son."

I left her but, instead of going home, went to Mr. Barber's studio to ask him to go to Richmond at once. He would be more capable than anyone of offering comfort to Beatrice.

Within a few days, Monsieur Garnier's coup had been abandoned. Word that Charles Berry was a fraud scandalized his supporters, and Garnier was too savvy a politician to ally himself with such a man. Cécile was disappointed never to have had the chance to lure Garnier away from his plans but remained convinced that she, like Boulanger's mistress before, would have been more attractive to a man than the idea of ruling a nation.

As for Mr. Berry, he disappeared from Paris as soon as the news broke that David Francis was the true heir of the dauphin. Although we were not able to keep from the press the news that Francis had a son, we did manage to persuade them not to identify the boy. It was rumored that Berry had returned to America, and I hoped that to be true, preferring to have the vile man as far from me as possible. I'd written Colin to inquire about the list of stolen objects I'd found in the Savoy; he believed that Berry kept it because he planned to ask that everything belonging to the queen be given to him once he was named king of France.

Once the case was fully settled, I began to make plans to travel to Santorini. I was eager to see Mrs. White and relieved that I would not have to tell her that Lady Elinor had burnt down her house. Meg's absence meant that I had to rely on another maid to pack for me, and she required more direction than I was used to having to give. I had just sent her back upstairs after her third trip to the library to inquire about the specifics of what I would need when my mother burst through the door, Davis close on her heels.

"Lady Bromley to see you, madam," he called out over my mother's shoulder.

"Again you have embroiled yourself in controversy," she said. "I am most displeased. The newspapers are full of the role you had in bringing down Lady Elinor. It is disgraceful, unladylike, outrageous."

"Mother — "

"It is of no consequence, however. I am here on the queen's business. She asked that I inquire whether you had yet made a decision about the matter we discussed with her at Windsor."

"A decision?" I asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, child. You know perfectly well that Her Majesty expects you to marry. Who is the lucky gentleman to be?"

"Colin isn't even in England."

"Then Bainbridge. Excellent. I do like the idea of your being a duchess. And I heard all about the falling-out he and your American friend had." Margaret had expertly staged the event. She cried, he stormed off, and somehow everyone felt sorry for her before the end of the evening. Even the lord mayor of London himself consoled her. Her parents felt particularly bad and were convinced she had been ill used and was heartily disappointed. So convinced, in fact, that they agreed to let her take up residence in Oxford a full three weeks before they'd intended. Her only disappointment, she insisted to me, was that she hadn't been there to confront Lady Elinor with me. That, she said, would have made her Season complete.

"Jeremy hasn't proposed to me, Mother." I shook my head. "Haven't we already had this conversation?"

"Let me assure you, Emily, that it is a conversation that will be repeated at regular intervals until you have an answer for the queen."

"Perhaps when I return from Greece — "

"Greece? Good heavens, you can't intend to go back there! What will you do? Mr. Hargreaves isn't there, is he? It wouldn't be proper without a chaperone, although if you were engaged..."

I let her prattle on and gave her very little trouble. I felt I owed it to her after all she'd done to save my reputation. I listened to her well enough only to know when to give the right meaningless answers and wondered what she would do with herself if ever I did remarry. Hound me for an heir, I suppose. I shuddered at the thought.

With Lady Elinor in prison, I'd been able to persuade Colin that my house no longer needed to be guarded. I insisted that Sebastian, should he ever come back, would not harm me. On my last night in London, I awoke to find that, once again, an intruder had come into my bedroom. This occasion, however, brought me no fear. Sebastian had been perfectly quiet, disturbed no one in the house, and had not had to cut through my window; I'd left it open, an invitation of sorts, I suppose, though not one I had consciously made. On the pillow next to me, I found a bundle of letters, a rose, and a small box. An oddly familiar scene.

I opened the letters first. One was from him; the other two were those that Lizzie had stolen from my library. His note was, as always, short:

I could read the Greek with little difficulty: Lo, the lovers' rose sheds tears to see her away, and not on my bosom. It came as no surprise to find that the box contained Cécile's Marie Antoinette earrings.