The Westminster Intrigue, page 10
"So you've talked to Edmund?" Her lip curled. "Can't imagine what he told you about me."
"He seemed concerned," Roth said.
"Yes, I suppose he would be." Her fingers slid along the stem of her glass. "Edmund has a core of decency that Jamie quite lacked, I'll give him that."
"He told us Captain Blayney had once been close to Sophia Langdon. Lady Prescott," Malcolm said.
Mrs. Blayney gave a grim smile. "You could put it that way. Being a gentleman, I suppose you would. She was mad for Jamie. More fool her."
"And Captain Blayney?" Malcolm asked.
Mrs. Blayney's brows drew together. "Jamie had a knack for making a woman feel she was the love of his life. I'm sure he did that with Lady Prescott. And I think he'd more than half make himself believe it. Maybe Lady Prescott meant more to him than some. The affair was over before I met him, but she still meant something to him. But truly, I think it's more that he was obsessed with the whole family. With what they had that he didn't. He took me to see their grand house in Shropshire once, when we were first married. The family were all away and a housekeeper showed us about. Jamie showed me the rooms where he played as a child. The stair rail he slid down. Sometimes I'm not sure anything would satisfy him but having that house for himself. Which of course he was never going to."
"What makes you think he might have had a diary or memoirs belonging to one of the Langdon sisters?" Malcolm asked.
"Just that everything to do with that family seemed to fascinate him. Though if he wanted something for papers written by one of them, I'd think he'd want it from the family."
"The lady who wrote these papers lived or at least had lived on the Continent. Which I don't think is true of any of the Langdon sisters," Malcolm said. And the tone of that excerpt implied a woman less of a decorous wife than any of the sisters appeared on the surface.
Mrs. Blayney frowned, her gaze more focused. "Jamie hasn't been to the Continent since Waterloo." She took another drink of sherry. "At least, not that I know of. Sometimes he's gone long enough he could have been to Timbuktu for all I know. When did he get these papers?"
"We don't know," Roth said. "We were hoping you could tell us more."
"Me? Surely if it wasn't clear to you at the outset it's clear now that Jamie and I weren't on close terms. Which is putting it mildly. He hadn't spent a night here in months." She froze for a moment, perhaps at the realization that that night was the last night she'd ever spend with her husband.
"It must still be a great challenge to be without him." Malcolm leaned forwards, gaze steady on her own. "I would like to give you a sum to see to your family's protection."
Her eyes, blue with a violet undertone, widened and then narrowed. "Why in God's name would you want to?"
"You've clearly been left in a bad way. You seem a capable woman, but you have limited options for earning money. I don't like to see children and their mother at risk."
"Oh." She drew a breath. "Well, in that case, I suppose—" She got to her feet, walked to the cabinet, and refilled her sherry glass. Action as prevarication. Malcolm admired the tactic. He hadn't been embroidering when he said she was a capable woman.
She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, but the action was more thoughtful and less desperate than before. "We haven't had much for a long time. But sums would come in from time to time. Jamie would appear and leave something, or send money or gifts. He wasn't good with money, as I said, but he had some success. I didn't ask questions." She turned from the drinks cabinet. "Best not to talk about money, I always thought. Are you married, Mr. Rannoch?"
"Yes."
"Do you discuss finances with your wife?"
"There isn't a great deal I don't discuss with my wife."
She surveyed him for a moment, her gaze unexpectedly clear and sharp. "I don't know whether to envy or pity you. What about you, Mr. Roth?"
"I don't discuss anything at all with my wife. We haven't lived under the same roof for years."
"For which you are perhaps to be congratulated." Mrs. Blayney returned to her chair. "Jamie and I were a watering place romance. Bath. We met at an assembly at the Pump Room and were married a fortnight later. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. I was there with my great-aunt, who needed me to fetch her a glass and carry her shopping parcels and read aloud to her. I didn't care, it was the first time I'd been further than my village in Hertfordshire. Jamie was in his regimentals. I had a new frock and a pearl necklace, thanks to Aunt Mathilda. We each thought the other had more than we really did. We learned the truth before we'd been married a month. It didn't make for an easy first year. It didn't make for an easy much of anything." She swallowed half her second glass of sherry, then set the glass on the table beside her chair and gripped her elbows. "But I confess I—I'm sorry he's gone. I think I'll be sorrier when it properly sinks in. God." She pushed loose strands of hair out of her eyes. "As for any payments he may have received—I can't answer for a certainty. But there is one thing—"
"Yes?"
She drew a breath. One could see the pretty, prattling girl who had captivated Captain Blayney at Bath, overlaid by the more wary woman she'd become. "Jamie wasn't here often, as I said. Less and less the last year. He had a woman in London, I think. Probably more than one." She seemed to catch something in Malcolm's and Roth's gazes. "I'm right, aren't I?"
"Yes." Malcolm said. Softening the truth would do no good, especially when she'd already guessed it. "Her name is Grace. She may be a lady's maid."
"Hmm. He's come down in the world. My first rival was an actress. I suppose I should thank her for taking him off my hands. But in any case, Jamie made one of his rare visits here a week since. The first in almost two months. He left me five pounds and said he'd soon have more. Said he was on to something that would make our fortune."
Malcolm cast a glance at Roth. "Did he say what that might be?"
"No. He was always so full of schemes, I didn't take him seriously. Told him to get along and I'd believe it when I saw it. He said"—she frowned—"Jamie said he'd prove me wrong, but that the children and I should be ready to leave quickly, just in case."
"Did he say why?" Roth asked.
"Not in so many words." Mrs. Blayney swallowed the last of her sherry. "When I asked him if it was so bad he thought the duns were going to throw us out, he said that wasn't it at all. But that it was possible things could get very dangerous very quickly." Her gaze shot between Malcolm and Roth. "Are we in danger?"
"People are looking for the papers your husband had," Roth said. "His rooms in London were searched last night. So was his brother's print shop. Anyone looking into his life would likely know he didn't spend much time here. But it's possible someone would try to search here. I'll assign a patrol to keep watch on the house until we know more. I'll bring him down myself later today."
"Thank you. But if there's such a fuss—what in God's name is in these papers he had?"
"That," said Malcolm, "is what we're endeavoring to discover."
Chapter 11
"Cordy." Philippa Haworth got to her feet and came forwards across her sitting room, both hands extended. "What on earth are you doing here when half of Mayfair will be descending on you in a few hours?"
"I had to get out of the house or drive myself and everyone else mad double-checking things. Harry and the footmen are moving furniture, and Harry told me to get out for a walk while I could." Cordelia took her friend's hands, then after a moment gave her a quick hug, as she would have done in the old days. "I'm sorry, it's been too long. Somehow we get so wretchedly busy."
Pippa smiled. She looked much as she always had, her dark hair twisted into a nonchalant knot that seemed to threaten to escape its pins but didn't, her side curls falling round her face with artful abandon, her green eyes lined with blacking. But for all the elegant bravado, there was something more contained about her expression. "Yes, and you're hurrying about London investigating crimes and all sorts of exciting things," she said.
"Not really." Cordelia hesitated. She was rather tired of playing it all down. "Well, yes, all right. I suppose we are, in a way. I have to say it's very satisfying to actually do something productive."
Pippa grinned, and for a moment looked like the old Pippa. "Yes, I should think so. You don't know how I envy you."
Cordelia's surprise must have shown on her face. Pippa smiled. "Do I seem so shallow?"
"No, of course not. I'm the one who always seemed shallow. I suppose, in a way, I was shallow. I was bored, I think. Restless. I should have realized—"
"That you weren't the only one?" Pippa smiled. "Pity we didn't talk about it, perhaps. Not that I have much patience for whining, but I could have done with more rational conversation. Do sit down and let's have some tea, like in the old days."
They moved to the chairs and sofa round the fire, which, typically for Pippa, were covered in a vivid paisley print that conjured Laura's stories of India but also had comfortably padded cushions and gracefully curved backs that invited one to relax and didn't insist on posture that made stays bite into skin.
The footman brought tea and Pippa poured out two cups. "I'm sorry I wasn't better at writing," she said, as she handed a cup to Cordy across the sofa table. "I was in low spirits much of the time you were in Italy. I know that makes me sound dreadfully missish. But it's true. Not the blue devils, like Caro Lamb. Just—out of sorts with myself."
"I'm sorry," Cordelia said. "I know a bit about that."
"Not so much now, I should think. Your marriage seems very happy."
"Yes, it is. Now." Cordelia took a sip of tea. "I'm beyond fortunate."
"I'm happy for you. A happy marriage is almost beyond my comprehension, but I've seen the two of you together." Pippa poured milk into her tea. "And even when you were estranged, I never thought you were wholly indifferent to Harry. In fact, I thought you were far from indifferent."
"You always were insightful. You're quite right, but I wouldn't have admitted it myself at the time. Not in so many words."
Pippa settled back amid the sofa cushions. "Easier to see it about someone else."
"I was certainly lacking in self-knowledge. Waterloo threw a lot of things into perspective."
"You chose well when you married."
Cordelia felt herself give an unforced smile. "Yes, I did. It didn't feel so at the time. It felt like an act of desperation."
"I think we're often the last to understand our own actions." Pippa cradled her cup in her hand. "God knows I am. But as an outside observer—at least when it comes to you—I can say you chose far better than I did."
Cordelia set her cup down. "I'm sorry. I know I called after, but it's always so hard to know what to say—"
"Thank you." Pippa gave a quick, tight smile. "You were very kind. You understood better than most. Because of course, the truth is, it wasn't a deathless love." She frowned into her eggshell teacup. "It wasn't even a love. Not properly. Even at my most deluded, I don't think I ever thought it was. To own the truth, I think that's part of why I've withdrawn a bit. Difficult to play the grieving widow role that seems required when one isn't grieving as much as one should be. But of course, one can't help mourning someone one's shared a home with. However unlike a home it often seemed. And it mattered to the girls. Though they were never as attached to him as I'd like to think children should be to their father."
"Harry's a good father," Cordelia said without thinking. "It's one of the reasons I fell in love with him. That is, when I saw him again in Brussels. He was good with Livia from the first. Instinctively. Despite rather horrendous circumstances. You're right, I was already far from indifferent to him, but that helped tip me over the edge."
"I used to envy you," Pippa said. "Not having to answer to anyone else in your household. And I confess a part of me likes that now." Her brows drew together. "I even go out less, because there's nothing at home to escape, and an evening at home is much more agreeable if it means an evening with only the girls. They're amazingly good company. Thank God I never quite let myself lose sight of how much that mattered to me."
A hundred questions sprang to Cordelia's lips, but she bit them back. This wasn't the time.
Pippa watched her for a moment. "Why did you come? I mean, why today? There must have been a reason, especially the day of your ball. I don't mean that we aren't friends. But we haven't seen each other for some time. I didn't write. I take the responsibility. So there must have been something about today. Especially with your ball tonight."
Cordelia cupped her hands round her teacup. It was warm through the porcelain. "James Blayney was killed last night. I'm so sorry."
Shock flared in Pippa's gaze. Cruel, perhaps, to have put it so quickly, but Cordelia had learned the advantage of observing surprise. And bad news was sometimes easier to take all at once.
"Dear God." Pippa put her hand to her throat. "Thank you for letting me know."
"I didn't do it very carefully."
"There's no easy way. But doing it quickly is probably best." Pippa took a quick drink of tea. "How did you even know I knew him?"
"His brother mentioned it."
"You've talked to Edmund."
"Mr. Rannoch did."
Pippa's gaze narrowed. "You said Jamie was killed. That's how you know, isn't it? You and Harry are investigating his death with the Rannochs."
"The Rannochs are assisting Bow Street. And Harry and I've been pulled into it."
"Of course." Pippa tugged at the cameo she wore on a velvet ribbon round her throat. "I told you I envied your adventures. And I do. I just never thought they'd touch me personally. A good lesson, I suppose. Everything touches someone personally." She paused a moment, and Cordelia had the odd sense that Pippa, who never seemed afraid of anything, was afraid of the answer to the question she could not but ask next. "What happened?"
"He was found dead in a tavern. The Chat Gris. In an upstairs room," Cordelia added to avoid the obvious assumption that it had been some sort of brawl.
"Good God, Cordy. Are you telling me Jamie was killed by a woman he'd paid for a tumble?"
"No, it doesn't seem that way. The woman he'd gone upstairs with had already left the room." Out the window and into her husband's arms, but that was another matter.
Pippa reached for her tea but stared into it instead of taking a drink. "It sounds so sordid. I mean, one knows it goes on, but—who on earth did kill him?"
"That's what we're endeavoring to discover. Do you know if he had any enemies?"
"I'd scarcely seen him in years." Pippa took a drink of tea. "It's odd with the people one's known as children. They seem so important somehow. Even years later, when one's gone off in quite different directions. Some of my memories of Jamie are so vivid I'd swear they were yesterday. Whereas I can scarcely recall the color of the eyes of the last man I danced with. Come to think of it, that was a bit ago, but not that long."
"When did you last see Captain Blayney?"
"Last spring, I think." Pippa leaned forwards to refill the tea. "At Somerset House. No, I saw him a bit later in the park. I was driving with the girls and he rode by. He always managed to have good horses. He was a good judge of them too, I'll give him that. And treated them rather better than he treated people. We stopped to exchange greetings but we only said a few words." She set the teapot down. "We hadn't talked properly in years."
"Since he joined the army."
"And I married Haworth. And then, after his father died, there wasn't really any reason for him to go back to Shropshire, and I didn't go back so often either. As I said, one's lives go in different directions."
"But he stayed closer to your sister Sophia."
Pippa's fingers stilled on the handle of her teacup. "You know."
"I don't know anything. We've heard rumors."
"From?"
"Captain Blayney's brother."
"Oh, God." Pippa drew back as though the cup had burned her. "I suppose Edmund did know."
"You can't think I'd be shocked by any indiscretion, Pippa. You know my history."
"No, not shocked. I suppose it's just—" Pippa set her cup down. "It's not my story to share."
"No, of course not. But that's the ghastly thing about a murder investigation. Private secrets aren't private anymore. I learned that when I found myself investigating my own sister's murder."
Pippa's gaze locked on Cordelia's own. "I'm so sorry. That's worse than anything I've been through. I should have said—"
"You wrote and said everything anyone could. Julia's not the issue now. It was horrible, and I'll never be over it, but it doesn't haunt me. I've learned to live in the present. What matters now is James Blayney. And your sister's relationship with him could be connected to that."
Pippa's dark brows drew together. "You think Sophia's affair with Jamie is to do with why Jamie was killed?"
"Not necessarily. But anything about his life could be relevant."
Pippa turned her cup by its handle, staring into the milky depths. "I didn't see it when they were young. I'm not even sure there was anything between them when they were young. Oh, Jamie is—was"—her brows drew together—"indecently attractive, so I suppose Sophia couldn't have but noticed, and she did flirt with him. But I never thought they were star-crossed lovers. She seemed quite pleased with herself when she snared Prescott. God, that's a ghastly word, isn't it? Snared. I should be kinder. To my sister. To another woman. But Sophia wanted a secure establishment and a position in society. And she got them. And unlike me, she seemed quite content with her choice. For the first two or three years. I never really noticed she was dissatisfied. Perhaps I was too busy being dissatisfied myself."
"It's easy to be self-involved when it comes to a sister," Cordelia said. "And I speak as someone who regrets the loss of her sister every day. But it's amazing how rivalries and jealousies from the nursery can linger."
Pippa met her gaze, her own weighted with understanding and regret. "Yes. Sophia always struck me as being idiotishly content with life, and so damnably sure she had everything worked out. So perhaps it's no wonder that when I was wretchedly unhappy with my own choices and trying to work out what I'd done wrong and how to sort myself out, I thought Sophia had everything sorted. I remember seeing her come off the dance floor with quite another gentleman and smile at Jamie—just smile—and suddenly all my assumptions about my perfect sister were blown to bits." Pippa frowned. "In one way it was oddly reassuring. If Sophia wasn't happy in this life, the life she'd always wanted, it was no wonder I wasn't. On the other hand, if she couldn't be content in this life we were both supposed to aspire to, how could I ever hope to be so?"
