“That’s what I told him. I’m surprised I’ve learned as much as I have. I need to catch the morning coach back to London, I’ve stayed over-long as it is. But at least this way I’ll have something that I can tell the man when I return.”
Inspector Ravensgard sipped his small beer as he watched the Bow Street Runner make his way out of the tavern. All things considered, it was odd that the man had pursued the matter as far as Edinburgh. The “brother” who was looking for the murderer must have been known to “Mr. Smith” or have been highly placed in some office or other.Whatever or whoever, Danny Ravensgard isn’t losing sleep over it. I’ve got enough going on right here and in the surrounding countryside, what with French rebels slipping in and taking refuge, locals trying to dodge taxes, and citizens who are worried that the mills are going to take their jobs.
Nonetheless, the Inspector tucked the small notebook inside his greatcoat pocket. Information was information, and you never knew when it might come in handy or connect up with something else.
Chapter 4
Jonathan Harper, Duke of Gwyndonmere, listened somberly as Constable McHenry described the general condition of the maid found in the Lolly Mire. “The doctor has examined her,” the constable concluded, “and he suspects foul play.”
Mr. Ahmlad McAhmladhson quirked one furry eyebrow. “I could have told ye that,” he said, his soft Scottish brogue only slightly softening the clipped English. “Tis a rare few who willingly go for a swim in the Lolly Mire.”
The constable gave him a cold stare. “And I could have easily made the prediction that such a one as that would be with child, for it is sheer desperation that would be needed to drive someone to such a pass. But we need the doctor’s endorsement before we lay her to rest.”
Mr. McAhmladhson nodded somberly. “Can we put it as death by misadventure? She was a pleasant lass, going about her duties cheerfully, even though Gran’ther Tim found her ham handed with the flowers. But she did have an eye for the lads. Mr. Hammonds thought she had gone off with one, not intending to come back.”
“Well, she will not be coming back,” Jonathan remarked sourly. “I find it disturbing that no one missed her for the better part of two days. Since she was in charge of the floral arrangements, their condition alone should have suggested there was a problem. Just look at that pot.” He nodded at the brass tub where a cluster of violets were sere and brown.
Mr. McAhmladhson coughed into his hand. The constable looked gravely concerned. “The thing is, Your Grace,” Mr. McAhmladhson said, “It is not the first time she’s been negligent. Mr. Hammonds concluded she’d found a Protector, and gone off with him. He asked the new abigail if she’d be interested in taking on the chore. That was right before we identified the body.”
“Do we have any idea how she came to be out near the Lolly Mire?” Jonathan inquired gently, turning the conversation back to the inquiry.
“Not for certain, Your Grace,” the constable said. “But the gran’ther in charge of the gardens thought she might have been after catkins, it being the season for them.”
“That doesn’t seem negligent.” Jonathan tapped his chair arm thoughtfully with one, long well-manicured finger. “Let’s keep thinking about it, gentlemen. This is a very unfortunate happening, and we do not want a repetition, particularly since we are so close to time for the spring trade fair. Now, I must go get my wife and take her down to dinner since I have no desire to endure the Cheltenham tragedy she will enact if I am late.”
Chapter 5
Jonathan Harper held out his arm for his wife, interrupting her latest tirade as she exhorted her serving maid to greater heights of domestic competence. Over his petite spouse’s head he exchanged a commiserating glance with the abigail. The poor girl had scarcely known where to look, and he would be very sorry if she left them. She was an absolute gem: bright, funny, and attractive. It would be a miracle if she remained with them even a year before being snatched up by a discerning beau. What a strange coincidence that she had been asked to fill the flower girl’s place.
He had spoken to Margery more than once about the proper treatment of servants, and that they would give better service if treated like hearing, feeling, thinking human beings. But she persisted in treating them like furniture, or worse yet, poorly trained dogs.
Sometimes he wondered why he had gone along with his father’s plan for this arranged marriage.
Margery was beautiful, and he had not thought that being married to her would be difficult. Somehow during the courtship and wedding phase of their existence Jonathan had missed the shrewish temper and the sheer self-centered attitude. He put Margery’s distempers down to youth and inexperience at first. Then he had hoped her tantrums and pouts would wear off in time. Now, he despaired of their relationship ever being any different from what it was now as he retired each night to a lonely bed. Still, a bargain was a bargain, and a contract was a contract. He planned to make the best of it, still clinging to the hope that one day Margery would consent to fulfill her part of the marital agreement, even though her absence from his bed precluded any chance of an heir.
“The cook does a lovely job with the chicken pudding, my dear. I’m sure you will find it quite fine.”
“Oh, he does. But truly Jonathan, I grow weary of chicken, chicken and more chicken. Surely there is a lamb or a piglet that could be spared?”
Jonathan forbore to mention that both a lamb and a piglet had been sacrificed in the recent past, or that the staff had been making do with dried or preserved meats for the month past. The winter had been harsh and they had been forced to cull the animals down back to a minimum herd in order to feed them. Even the deer had found the winter difficult, and he had sledded hay to select deer yards. “I am sorry, Margery. We truly cannot spare any more of our stock until the spring young ones are born. We have a surplus of older hens and a rooster or two. Perhaps you would care for duck?” He did not add that meat of any kind had become exceptionally dear and that Londoners were likely to be eating far less meat than they were here in the highlands. Nor did he point out that some of their surplus had been sold to pay taxes.
Margery pouted prettily. “You make everything so complicated. If we lived in London, we could easily send out for a joint or a leg or whatever and only be obliged to order what we could eat up. Is there not a local butcher from whom we could order?”
“My dear, it simply is not the season. Our local butcher has chickens and the occasional rabbit.”Poached from our woods, but I’ll not tell her that. Nor would it mean anything to her that the staff and villages are mostly subsisting on dried meat and what can be caught in the streams and fields.“He might also have a bit of fish as the summer catch comes in. Would you care for some shellfish?”
He watched her with narrowed eyes as she seemed to consider it. “I think that might be nice. It is said that shellfish are quite stimulating.” She smiled coquettishly up at him, but the seeming truce would only last for a minute or two. “When will we be going down to London for the Season?”
Jonathan repressed a sigh. It was all he could do to restrain himself from reminding her that she was the one who had insisted on separate bedchambers, or that it was she who had shut the door in his face on their wedding night. “I am sorry, Margery, but we cannot afford a London Season this spring. I met with my banker, and our funds simply will not sustain it.”
The visit with his banker had been unpleasant, at best. The memory shook him, even now, three months later.
“Your Grace,” said Mr. Tom Beedle, the banker who was his personal contact, “I do not wish to alarm you, but your investments on the Continent have taken a downturn. While your investments here in Scotland, as well as the uisge distillery in Ireland, have done very well, they will only be adequate for your usual upcoming expenses.”
“That does not bode well. What can I do to repair this situation?”
“There is little you can do about the continent. Either the situation will right itself or it will not. One thing you can do is to go alone or send a proxy to Parliament for the season. While I would not wish to tell a man how to run a household, your Duchess is a remarkably expensive woman.”
Jonathan laughed ruefully. “All a man needs to go from riches to rags is to marry. I have no great desire to attend Parliament and could easily send a proxy this year. My steward, Mr. McAhmladhson, should be able to suggest an able person from his staff. But my wife is not likely to be happy with the news that we are to stay at home for the spring Season.”
