“Poor Sir Neville! But surely Lady Pickney is not so mean as to blame Sir Neville for what happened to Lord Tunwell. Let us go down and see what assistance we can render.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Dettamoor Park ladies arrived to find that the death of Lord Tunwell had not rendered the house party unworthy in Lady Pickney’s eyes. Althea found her in the rose drawing room, seated by the fire, sipping a cup of tea while the house servants dealt with her very substantial luggage.

  “Ah, my dear Lady Trent and Miss Trent, I find that we have not only arrived inconveniently right before dinner, but also to sad tidings. It is too bad. My lord has gone off to render some assistance to Sir Neville, and dinner is to be pushed off an hour, but do come sit down and tell me all about it. We must console our loss with the balm of conversation, as we women are wont to do. Besides, I find the country so free from delicious gossip, that I am quite at a loss to amuse myself. Would you like some tea?”

  Jane declined, but Althea realized that she was suddenly both hungry and thirsty, so she poured herself a cup and sat down across from Lady Pickney. Lady Pickney had once been quite a beauty, but a happy marriage and many offspring had left her plump and plain. She still retained her sharp wit, however, and had acquired a reputation for frankness that was rightly to be feared. Fortunately, she and Althea had an easy understanding, and so Althea had no hesitation in laying the outline of the events of the afternoon before her.

  “It is odd that a man so careful as Lord Tunwell should walk so close to the pond,” Lady Pickney said, after she had heard the whole tale.

  “Was he careful?” Jane said. “I’m afraid we didn’t know him very well at all.”

  “At least when it came to money and dress and friends. And really, there isn’t much else for a man to be extravagant about, is there? Unless you include women, but I never heard one breath of scandal, and I count myself tolerably well informed.” She paused and then shook her head, “No, nothing extravagant for Lord Tunwell, and the dullest set of friends you would ever want to meet. It was a great surprise to me when Sir Neville told me that the baron would make one of the party. I didn’t think that they were very well acquainted. I mean, the Duke of York would never be caught associating with such a man, and we know that Sir Neville is his great friend. Then again, one never knows what a host might be thinking when he sets out to compose a guest list.”

  “Lord Tunwell was a friend of Sir Neville’s uncle, I believe,” Jane said.

  “Ah, that explains that.”

  “Lord Tunwell was a widower of long standing, I am told,” Althea said. “Did you know his late wife?”

  “I met her once or twice, but I can’t remember that she entertained much. She was a Doncaster and very proud like the rest of them, so perhaps my ton wasn’t good enough.” Lady Pickney laughed without malice. “A very noble family, the Doncasters, but entirely without means.”

  “But I understood that Lord Tunwell was a man of some property,“ Jane said.

  “Lord Tunwell inherited a vast sum of money from a cousin, who made his fortune abroad in some sort of business venture. It was all very secret and so not likely to be from reputable sources. In any case, Lord Tunwell had got the money by the time he married Livia Doncaster, so I don’t suppose it mattered that she hadn’t any money. I am told that her family was happy for the fortune, but not for the potential scandal behind it. They say it was a love match, but I have trouble imagining the steady baron falling hopelessly in love. His very caution would preclude it.”

  “Who knows what lies in the hearts of men?” Althea replied.

  Lady Pickney smiled. “I should remember that I am speaking with two ladies who have been, if reports are correct, recently struck by Cupid’s arrows, and should hold my tongue on the subject of love.”

  Althea laughed. “For my part, I disclaim any knowledge of that winged visitor. Jane, you may answer as you please.”

  “I have no particular comment to make,” Jane said, with some asperity.

  Lady Pickney clucked her tongue. “I see I shall have to be devious in my methods if I am the extract the whole story. Suffice it to say that the attentions of the Duke of Norwich and Sir Neville have not gone unnoticed in polite society. I hate to be the bearer of unpleasant tidings, but they are laying bets at the gentlemen’s clubs that two such notable bachelors shall be caught before next season begins.”

  “Men can be odious creatures, can’t they?” said Althea. “But tell me more of Lord Tunwell. Word has been sent to his nephew and heir. I assume that that gentleman will inherit quite a fortune?”

  “Yes, the baron certainly hasn’t spent what he received. Cruikshank is another matter, I’m afraid. I don’t know that you and Miss Trent will have met him. He spends most of his time pursuing gentlemen’s amusements in locations that ladies of reputation are not likely to frequent.”

  “Like his father, then,” Jane replied.

  Lady Pickney nodded. “I’m sure you remember as well as I do, Miss Trent, the scandal it was when the senior Mr. Cruikshank ran off with Dorothea Doncaster. How such a steady girl could have fallen for the wiles of Mr. Cruikshank, I shall never understand.”

  “Cruikshank was prodigiously handsome, as I remember,” Jane said, “and rumor had it that Lady Doncaster kept her daughter so tied to apron strings that the poor girl was bound to fall for the first rake who offered to break her out of the house.”

  Lady Pickney smiled. “You are exactly right, Miss Trent. I had heard much the same story. It just goes to show that girls must have a taste of freedom before they are brought out. Otherwise, they rate freedom too highly.”

  Althea was about to reply, but then held her tongue. Likely Lady Pickney would not relish Althea’s defense of freedom.

  Lady Pickney continued on. “Girls should be taught to understand marriage as a serious subject and not be swayed by good looks and a dashing manner. Lady Trent and I had a similar conversation the evening of Lady Shirling’s masquerade. Of course, I didn’t know it was Lady Trent at the time. That beetle costume was quite arresting, Lady Trent. I don’t know how you managed to come up with such an original idea. Those of us who stayed with mythological or literary figures were cast in the shade completely.”

  “As you may know, I have a particular interest in the natural world, and I had my husband’s manuscript about Dermestes trentatus quite on my mind at the time.”

  “I am sorry we missed your lecture at the Royal Society. My husband tells me that it made quite an impression in scientific circles and put fools like that Randolph Booth in their places with their esoteric scientific studies. I ask you, who wants to learn about subjects that will never do anyone any good? Practical application of science is what is needed in our modern times. Sir Arthur Trent clearly understood that.”

  Althea felt a twinge of resentment that her work should have to be attributed to her late husband, but quickly quelled it. One day the truth would come out. “Thank you. I am very grateful to the Society for the opportunity to publish my husband’s work posthumously. It was his great wish to see it done.”

  Lady Pickney nodded in approval and appeared as if she would have commented further, but at that moment, the door opened and a liveried servant informed her that her room was ready. Lady Pickney got up. “Now I must leave you to your own amusements, and I promise I shall not make you wait for your dinner more than is strictly necessary.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  An hour later, the party assembled again in the great dining room of Ranleigh. Both the Gregsons and Mr. Smithson made their appearance, and so it was to be assumed that the original arrangements held firm. Sir Neville arranged the guests by rank for the procession into dinner, as was proper, but Althea could see that it cost him some not to take Jane’s arm, for he hovered by her side rather longer than was necessary. Althea and Jane, ranking lower down in the scheme of nobility, ended up with the Gregsons and Mr. Smithson. The Gregsons appeared to be somewhat older than Sir Neville and Jane. They were a well-bred, elegant couple, the kind of people forever invited to the most exclusive parties because they filled in a guest list without ever outshining the hosts. In looks, they were unremarkable as well, except that Mrs. Gregson had come from Scottish nobility and bore the sign of that lineage in her red hair and fair complexion. They were dressed nicely but not in a way to bring attention to themselves, and there was nothing of the dandy in Mr. Gregson’s distinguished good looks.

  After some minor commentary on the excellence of the soup, Althea took the conversational plunge and said to Mr. Gregson, who was seated to her right, “Such a sad state we find ourselves in this evening. Although I was not very well acquainted with Lord Tunwell, his untimely death is most distressing.”

  “Yes, I’m sure we all feel it immensely. Sir Neville informed us that you and Mr. Smithson found him.” Gregson shook his head. “I do not envy you. Such a sight must surely produce the most gruesome nightmares.”

  “We shall see, of course. I haven’t had to put my dreams to the test yet. Did you know the baron well?”

  “Not more than one does meeting frequently in society, you know. And we saw him last summer at Ranleigh, of course, but he only stayed a short while. I suppose he had other pressing engagements. Mrs. Gregson was related to the late baroness, but Tunwell was not one to discuss family matters, so I do not think we ever actually spoke on the subject.”

  “London is such a large place that I can see how one might spend one’s whole life attending parties and so forth and never actually speak of anything important to another person.”

  Mr. Gregson did not seem to appreciate Althea’s attempt at wit. He turned a rather dour face to her. “I understand from our good host that you spend most of your time in Somerset and were in London for only part of last season.”

  “Yes. The untimely death of our cousin put a stop to all of our London revels. After his demise, it did not seem fair to burden the Marquess of Levanwood and his good lady with our presence any longer. We therefore accepted the invitation and stayed some weeks with our friend, Lady Bertlesmon, at Norwich House. We returned to Dettamoor Park before the season was out.”

  “I am sorry for the loss of your cousin. His tragic death at the hands of those marauders shook all of us to the core. No one is safe upon the streets of London!”

  Althea, who used to play on her widow bereavement in order to discourage unwanted suitors, assumed a pious expression suitable for a bereaved cousin and said, “Thank you, sir. We feel his loss tremendously. This is why I can so empathize with the late baron’s family. Mr. Cruikshank has my deepest sympathies.”

  “And mine too, I am sure. Not that a fellow of Cruikshank’s reputation is likely to feel as he ought at his uncle’s passing.”

  “I have heard that he is quite wild.”

  “Unpardonably wild. It is a wonder Lord Tunwell continued to support him as he did.”

  “Family is family, after all.”

  “True, but supporting a wastrel only allows him to continue in vice,” Mr. Gregson said sternly.

  Althea had the sense that Mr. Gregson was one of those skinflint persons unlikely to support anyone, however virtuous, and said, “I hear that Mr. Cruikshank will soon be with us. I will admit that I am a little curious to meet such depravity in person. I have lived such a sheltered life up to now that I have never actually met a wastrel. My neighbors in Somerset are all very respectable, and if I can be so bold, somewhat dull in their habits.”

  Mr. Gregson responded as if humoring a child. “To be sure. I see that the general opinion is quite correct in attributing to your ladyship a wry wit.”

  Althea bit back a retort that was considerably sharper than the term wry would imply, but then thought better of antagonizing a gentleman who was obviously much stricter in his opinions on propriety than Althea. She returned a rather thin smile. “Indeed, my opinions are often not my own.”

  After supper, the ladies retired for tea and coffee and insipid conversation. Jane had the good fortune to strike up a conversation with Lady Pickney, and so Althea was left with Mrs. Gregson, who seemed very much the average London matron with little in her head but fashion and gossip. Mrs. Gregson, curious about Althea’s sudden social prominence, peppered her with pointed questions. She clearly desired to elicit any information that could adequately explain how a country nobody could have become the much talked of Lady Trent. And, assuming this prominence was due entirely to the Duke of Norwich, what a man of his stamp could have seen in a drab widow from Somerset.

  Althea wondered whether any of this was adequately explained by the time the men joined the party, but was too happy to escape the conversation to wait for the answer. She entered very willingly in a game of whist with Sir Neville, Lord Pickney, and Jane, and spent the rest of the evening quite pleasantly.

  She went up the stairs to bed, but instead of getting under the covers, plead sleeplessness and sent Miss Dorkins to her bed between the rooms. Fortunately for Althea’s plans, Miss Dorkins was hard to rouse under any circumstances, and so certainly wouldn’t wake at the cat-like steps of Althea. Althea desired to sneak downstairs unobserved in order to return the fob to the body before Mr. Cruikshank or anyone else noticed that it had gone missing. Plus, she wanted another look at the corpse.

  Althea’s father, Dr. William Claire, being a renowned physician, had seen death in many forms. Althea, frequently taken along to act as his nurse and helper, was also privileged to acquire a profound understanding of the myriad ways human life could be ended. It was an unfortunate thing that dissection was so difficult to practice outside of certain learned schools of medicine, because Althea knew how much could be discovered about a disease state through a careful examination of a body, inside and out. However, barring that, even a superficial examination could yield otherwise hidden answers.

  After a suitable wait for the rest of the house to retire, Althea pulled her wrapper tight. Carpe noctem, she thought, and carefully opened the door. She covered the candle flame with her hand, protecting it from the droughts of the hallway, and preventing too much light from seeping under the doors of her fellow house guests. She made her way to the old wing without mishap and, once in that part of the house, held the candle high as she traversed a back hallway that no guest had been required to use because Sir Neville, the Gregsons, and the Pickneys had rooms closer to the newer end of the house.

  She found the body much as Miss Dorkins had described it, laid out on an old table set in the middle of the room with a sheet drawn over the corpse. Althea removed the sheet from the top half of the body. The body had not shown signs of rigor mortis when pulled from the pond and so was able to be placed face up flat upon the table’s surface, with the arms crossed over the chest as if in repose. Enough time had passed, however, that the limbs were stiff in place. Several blankets had been placed under the corpse and those were damp, while the clothes were relatively dry.

  Someone had taken the trouble to clean Lord Tunwell’s face and close his eyes, but the clothing was still muddy and pieces of plant matter clung to it. There was a distinct odor of pond mud and plants layered over with the smell of early putrefaction. While others might have recoiled, the smells reminded Althea of her father, and a wave of nostalgia washed over her. How often she wished he were still alive. But, never mind the useless daydreaming, she must get to work before someone found her.

  Althea carefully slipped the fob back into the pocket where the watch now reposed and then set about to examine the body for any anomalies that might argue against death as a result of a slip and fall into the pond. The head appeared to be intact, and as she traced her fingers along the skull, she could feel no indentations or other indicators of a blow to the head, unless the blow had been aimed at the base of the skull where she could not reach.

  The mouth was partially open and so she held her candle aloft and peered in between the jaws. There was mud and bracken in the teeth, which might indicate an intake of breath while in the water. There also appeared to be some blood. Althea held the candle closer, careful not to drip wax on the corpse. The tongue was the likely culprit for the blood, as the surface appeared to be lacerated. The baron must have bit down upon it as he went into the water.

  As she moved down the body, she could discern nothing else that would argue against a slip and fall. As she had noted by the pond, the sleeves of Lord Tunwell’s jacket were ripped and his hands scratched, as if he had struggled against the reeds to pull himself out. The fingernails were jagged. Althea looked more closely. Lord Tunwell’s nails exhibited horizontal stripes of white. She changed the angle of the candle, thinking that perhaps the stripes were ridges instead. No, the nails were definitely striped. That certainly didn’t fit with everything she had heard so far.

  After examining the top half of the body, Althea replaced the sheet and then focused on the legs and feet. The baron was dressed in the buckskin breeches and boots common in the country, but his boots were clearly of no recent date. In fact, the heels of both feet were quite worn. Such a pair of boots could explain a slip on a muddy bank. The worn leather would not have provided any traction.

  Taken together, the examination had produced nothing that would argue against an accidental death, so Althea placed the sheet as she had found it and retraced her steps back to her room. She peeked into the antechamber and heard the sonorous breathing of Miss Dorkins. She closed the door and then climbed into bed. She fell asleep still puzzling over it all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next morning dawned bright, and Althea got up early for a walk around the rose garden before she breakfasted. The roses seemed even lovelier in the morning light with the dew still on their silken petals. She was just watching the lazy flight of a fat bumble bee when she heard a rustle behind her. She turned and met the sheepish stare of a young gardener, basket in hand.

 

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