The Ranleigh Question, page 2
part #2 of Lady Althea Mystery Series
Mr. Smithson pointed to the left. “It is beyond those trees.”
They walked in silence for several moments and then Mr. Smithson said, “So you’ve a desire to see old Sir Neville leg shackled at last? What devilish plots you women hatch.”
“Not devilish, merely practical. Sir Neville has been pining for Jane since her first season, and I mean to see him get his wish, if I can.” She paused and looked at him archly. “Do you have a problem with matrimony, Mr. Smithson?”
“No indeed, not that I am in the petticoat line myself, but I’m sure it does other men no end of good.”
“Then we are agreed.” They came to a group of trees and passed through onto a close-cropped lawn with ornamental plantings. “I see the pond up ahead. Look at how lovely the water shimmers in the light. Come, perhaps we shall be lucky enough to see a frog or two.”
“A frog?” Mr. Smithson’s face contorted in a grimace. “Whatever should we want to see a frog for?”
Althea smiled at his discomposure. “I take it you are not a naturalist?”
Smithson shook with revulsion, “Good heavens, no!”
“Then I promise not to press you into service. Sir Arthur Trent was quite enamored of scientific pursuits, and has infected me with a similar affliction. I’m afraid that once you acquire a desire to study the natural world, you can never quit it, no matter the consequences.”
“What an extraordinary state of affairs, Lady Trent. I had no idea that Sir Neville kept such interesting company.”
Althea wasn’t sure if he meant to offend her or not, but decided to disarm him in any case. “We are of the same mind then. It was just what I thought when I knew you to be one of the party.”
Smithson smiled, acknowledging the hit. “I begin to understand why London took you to its heart. You were made for better things than Somerset.”
Althea smiled innocently. “I cannot imagine why.”
They reached the edge of the pond and Althea paused, cautioning Mr. Smithson not to speak. There was a chirping sound coming from deep inside a stout stand of rushes. Althea bent down and then pried the rushes apart, revealing a small pale green frog.
“See. This one makes a sound that is almost bird-like.”
Smithson moved only slightly closer. “How enterprising. Seems like a sprightly little fellow.”
At that moment, the frog decided to leap off his present perch down into the marshy water below. The sudden movement made Smithson start. “Good heavens!”
Althea laughed. “They are very quick but quite harmless. Do not be afraid, Mr. Smithson.”
“No indeed, I am not afraid, I assure you. Is Dettamoor Park quite filled with frogs?”
Althea stepped back. “There are many by the little brook that runs through the meadow. My husband did a study of toads once, so I was often following him around the countryside making sketches.”
“How delightful that must have been,” Smithson said without conviction. “As much as I am thrilled by these stories of pastoral bliss, perhaps we should return to the rose garden?”
Althea sighed. Mr. Smithson was clearly not fit for scientific investigation, but it was such a lovely pond that she hated to quit it. Then her eye caught sight of something strange in amongst the bull rushes, some twenty feet from where they stood. It looked like a blue piece of fabric, submerged in the water. Althea pointed it out to Smithson. “What is that?”
“Appears to be a piece of fabric, perhaps torn in passing by the bull rushes.”
“But who would be walking that close to the pond?” Althea came closer and Smithson followed, albeit with an air of reluctance.
“It really is of no matter,” he said. “Come, Lady Trent.”
Althea ignored him and approached the spot. As she did so, she had a sinking feeling. There seemed to be a form under the fabric. She pulled away at the vegetation with her hands. Yes, there was no doubt the blue was part of a gentleman’s coat, and it appeared that the gentleman was still attached!
CHAPTER THREE
“Help me, Mr. Smithson! Someone has drowned in the pond!”
Smithson turned a further shade of gray and stepped back. “Oh, my dear lord, what a horror! Come away, Lady Trent, I beg of you!”
Althea went into the water without a second thought, but found that it was far deeper than she had anticipated. Her foot slipped on the muddy bottom and she grabbed a fistful of reeds to steady herself. “No point in saying that now. If you won’t help me, then go find someone who will. Hurry!”
Smithson paused a moment, seeming to debate the wisdom of proving his manhood through assistance or running away, but his manhood must have held second place to the fear that the sight of a dead body might prove overwhelming to his delicate sensibilities. “I shall be right back, Lady Trent. I beg you would come away until others may help you.”
Althea ignored him and began frantically pulling at the reeds and tugging at the body to disengage it enough to push it onto the grass of the bank. Unfortunately, he was a large man and Althea couldn’t manage to pull him free enough to get a good look at his face. She didn’t recognize the blue coat, but the fabric was a fine woven wool, indicating that the man was most likely a gentleman. But who? She felt down along the back of the victim and over to the side submerged in water where a coat pocket would be. She pulled out a watch, now covered with mud and bracken, on a fine gold chain. Nothing to give her a clue as to the identity of the body except a fob in the shape of a cylinder. It was inscribed in some fashion, but Althea could not tell with the mud. She tried to wipe the mud away, but the fob broke off the chain instead. She tucked it inside her chemise at the bust line of her dress, as otherwise, there seemed no way to prevent its being lost in all the rest of the watery mud.
Then she heard Jane’s voice behind her. “My word, Althea, what are you up to now?”
Althea turned and saw Sir Neville and Jane running, as best either could, towards her, several large footmen and one very bedraggled Mr. Smithson in tow. Althea hastily stuffed the watch back in the pocket. “Nothing you wouldn’t have done, dear Jane. But now that reinforcements are arrived, I shall surrender the field. Some poor soul has drowned and I was trying to get him out.”
Althea waded back out of the pond, aware for the first time how much of a sodden muddy mess she must appear to all. She could feel Jane’s disapproval without even having to look. Instead, of worrying about propriety, however, she focused on directing the footmen.
When they had pulled the body free and laid it on its back on the bank, Althea squatted down beside it. It was apparent that the drowning was a recent occurrence because the face was not bloated or misshapen and rigor mortis had not set in. However, the lips were pulled back from the teeth and the eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the sky.
Sir Neville came up behind her. “Why, it is Lord Tunwell!” he cried, “Whatever could have happened?”
“Perhaps he slipped on the bank and fell in,” Jane said.
“Perhaps,” Althea replied. She scanned the body. No blood was mixed in with the mud at his chest, thus eliminating the possibility of a stabbing or gunshot wound. The face appeared to have been scratched and the hands also, but those could have been made trying to break free of the reeds. Althea stood up and walked over to where they had pulled him out. Like many ornamental structures, the pond showed evidence of having been gouged out of the earth all at once. Instead of the sloping depths of more natural formations, the pond was waste deep as soon as one stepped off the bank. The reeds were thick just where the baron had gone in, so it might have been difficult to climb back out. However, in Althea’s experience, one didn’t usually fall face first into the water with one’s eyes open unless one had been pushed. It was all very puzzling, especially since the baron was still young enough to have made an effort to save himself.
“My dear Lady Trent, do come back into the house. You are soaked through and will certainly catch your death of cold,” Sir Neville said, snapping Althea out of her reverie.
“Yes,” Jane added. “Come Althea, we must get you changed immediately. I’m sure the gentlemen can take care of poor Lord Tunwell.”
Althea took one last look at the body, committing as many details to memory as possible, and then turned back with Jane. When they were out of earshot, Althea said, “’l will have no lectures on the propriety of going into ponds to retrieve dead bodies, Jane. One must do what one must in the moment.”
Miss Dorkins was as aghast as Jane might have been had Althea allowed her to express her sentiments. However, in Miss Dorkins case, it wasn’t so much Althea’s person as the blue muslin that warranted her deepest sighs. “And such a lovely shade of blue it was, too! Lady Trent, I am most disheartened, for the yellow or the figured muslin dresses are not nearly so fine and the blue just set off your ladyship’s complexion.”
“I am sure I shall survive the loss with equanimity,” Althea replied, “but if you would be so kind as to have hot water brought up, I should very much like a bath.”
“Oh yes, why of course I shall see to it personally, never fear.” And with that she scurried off to secure a tub and some pails of hot water.
Jane was harder to fob off. “Now that Dorkins is gone, you can tell me what made you dive into the pond like a lunatic.”
“I am such a trial for you, aren’t I, Jane? And I had even drawn Mr. Smithson away for the sole purpose of giving you a moment with Sir Neville, too! It was unpardonable of me to cause such a scene and take you from your romantic idyll.”
“Fiddle. Sir Neville was merely showing me some roses. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why couldn’t you have waited for help like a sensible person? The poor baron was not going to run away from you.”
“Because I am not a sensible person. Do you think he actually fell into the pond? For my part, I can’t believe it to be true.”
“Be that as it may, that is the story we are going to stick to until another comes along.”
“I suppose you are right, and yet it seems very odd.”
“Althea, please.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Two hours later, Althea had finally sent Miss Dorkins on her way with a promise to lie down for an hour in order to calm her nerves. Said nerves were entirely in Miss Dorkins’ imagination because Althea felt remarkably well after a bath. It was amazing how a little hot water and a fragrant bar of fine French soap could entirely change one’s outlook on the day. Althea sat by the fire in a silk dressing gown, her long hair loose around her shoulders, and pulled out a letter that had just arrived from the Duke of Norwich.
That gentleman had been exceedingly regular in his correspondence, and Althea had to admit that she looked forward to receipt of such letters. It was apparent, however, that despite the notable rumors regarding his previous entanglements, he had not spent much time composing those delicate missives Althea imagined other women might require. It was fortunate, therefore, that Althea had no experience with such florid language. She was quite content to receive word of his daily activities and his thoughts on politics, society, and any other topic that seemed to occupy his mind.
Every now and then, however, he would throw in a blunt phrase that made a blush work its way up her cheek. She had to admit that, even though she was a rational creature, she rather enjoyed the duke’s admiration. It was certainly a novel experience as Sir Arthur had never been one for fulsome compliments.
The letter that Althea now opened followed the previous ones in that it began with an amusing description of his present sojourn in Bath, accompanied by a reminder that Althea had promised to come to the point within six months.
And, by my calculations, more than two months has now passed, shortening my torment by fully one third. I will confess, my dear Althea, that I find that time has not eased the burden. Trust me when I say that I have never felt such trepidation as I feel when I think that you may perhaps have changed your mind and now mean to send me away. Although it is likely a result of my sojourn with the aged and infirm set of friends my mother keeps in Bath, I have need of your reassurance that you will be firm and tell me straight away should you not feel that you can bring yourself to marry me. I have not explained matters to my mother for fear to break her heart as well as mine should you decide against me, but she is certainly aware that I have been much in your company.
In keeping with the family theme, I was happy to receive your description of your brief visit to Dettamoor Park and the much-desired reunion with your son. How is his progress? If he is anything like his parents, I am sure he will be one of the most brilliant men of his generation. I hesitate to ask, because I assume one does not like to discuss one’s intimate thoughts with one’s children, but have you perhaps mentioned my existence to him? I will admit that if you have, it will give me some reason to hope.
I am sorry that this letter is such a tangle of wondering thoughts, but such is the state of mind my attachment to you has wrought. In short, Bath is a lesson to me. Time is not our friend, Althea, and if we are to be happy, we should not delay. Write to me as soon as you are able.
Yours,
N.
Althea folded the letter, unsure of exactly how to reassure Norwich without completely capitulating to his demands for an immediate answer. It was hard to decide what was best. She had indeed mentioned the duke to her son, but only as much as young Arthur needed to know in order to prepare for his visit. As she stared absently around the room, her eyes caught sight of the cylinder fob, perched on the edge of her desk. She got up and retrieved it. Once she had dressed, she must find a way to return it to the pocket of the corpse.
Through the wonderful penchant of Miss Dorkins for servant gossip, and her willingness to interrupt Althea’s quiet contemplation of the bath in order to relay the story, Althea knew that they had taken the body to a makeshift table in one of the little-used sitting rooms in the old wing of the house. A messenger had also been sent to London express to the home of Lord Tunwell’s nephew and heir, Mr. Cruikshank.
Althea noted on closer examination that the fob was of an unusual design; worked all over with a pattern of ivy. It seemed solid, but there appeared to be a join that might indicate a hollow core. If I were to hide something, this would be the perfect place, she thought. Her curiosity now fully captured, she ran her fingernail along the seam, but it didn’t come open. Perhaps on one of the circular ends. She probed with her fingers, pushing and pulling until she twisted one end and finally the cylinder popped open and fell with a clatter to the floor, revealing a tight white roll of paper inside. The fob was so cunningly wrought that, despite its owner’s watery death, the paper was completely dry.
She picked the cap up and then pried the roll out of the tube with a pen knife. She carefully unrolled that paper and held it up to the fire in order to make out the very small handwriting. It looked to be the lines of a map of some sort and the word Al Andalus at the top. How very strange, she said to herself. What could it mean? She knew from her own study of history that Al Andalus was the Moorish name for Spain, but beyond that, the name conveyed no other information.
After staring at the paper for some time, she put it aside and set herself to the task of answering Norwich. She went over to the writing desk and, after starting several letters meant to convey to him that her sojourn had been uneventful, she pulled a piece of paper towards her and started anew.
My dear Sir,
Thank you for your last letter. I was highly entertained by your observations on the present society at Bath. I hope your mother improves in health and spirits. Something of a most alarming nature has occurred here at Ranleigh. Rest assured that I am well, but one of our guests is not. Lord Tunwell was discovered this afternoon drowned in the pond under circumstances that I cannot but think are suspicious. I dare not say more until I have investigated further. I will write again with more particulars as soon as I am able.
Yours most cordially,
Althea
She sealed the letter and addressed it to Norwich’s lodgings in Bath. She then rang the bell and asked the maid who arrived to please make sure that it was franked for inclusion with the other letters leaving Ranleigh for the rest of England. She tucked the scrap of paper and Norwich’s letter into the packet of his other letters, tied the whole with a ribbon and placed it in the armoire amongst her linen chemises. Then she put the fob back together and slipped it into her reticule.
When Miss Dorkins arrived to dress her for dinner, Althea selected a pale yellow satin dress that Madame Longet had made up for her right before that unfortunate incident with Cousin Charles. She had worn it one evening at Norwich House and the duke had paid her a most extravagant compliment. Or at least, extravagant for him.
“That color favors you, Althea; like the bloom of a primrose,” he’d said.
It was, in the grand scheme of things, quite an honor. And Althea felt its full effect, but her blush of pleasure was tinged with just that edge of panic at the thought of belonging so completely once again to a man. Widowhood had given her an intoxicating taste of freedom that she was loathe to part with, however tempting the alternative. Compliments via the distance of a letter were so much more agreeable.
Jane entered the room just as Miss Dorkins fastened the last button up the back of the dress. “So, you are feeling better?”
“I am quite recovered. It is amazing what hot water can do for the soul. My father, as you know, was a great proponent of a hot bath as often as could be managed.”
Jane nodded. “It is a good thing you are so recovered, for I fear it is not so with the other occupants of the house. The Pickney’s carriage just pulled into the drive and Sir Neville is terrified of what Lady Pickney will say when she finds out about the baron’s untimely end. The Gregsons are already hinting that it would be best to leave, and Mr. Smithson retired to his room complaining of a severe headache and hasn’t been seen since. This must be the worst start of any house party I have ever heard of.”
