Death Comes to the Nursery Page 12

  * * *

  Robert signed into his cousin’s club and was welcomed into the dining room by a waiter who led him directly over to where his cousin’s husband was sitting.

  “Good afternoon, Northam.” Robert bowed.

  “Kurland.” Lord Northam offered Robert a seat opposite him. “Would you like a brandy before we eat?”

  “No, thank you.” Robert nodded at the waiter, who disappeared as silently as he had arrived. “How is my cousin?”

  “Henrietta is in good health and is currently visiting my mother up in Northamptonshire.”

  “That is a shame. I was hoping to pay my respects to her in person,” Robert said. “I have a letter from her mother.”

  “Give it to me.” Robert passed it over, and Lord Northam made a face as he stowed it in his coat pocket. “I doubt she’ll want to read it. She hasn’t forgiven Rose for marrying that rector fellow yet.”

  “That ‘rector fellow’ is the younger son of an earl and seems very fond of her,” Robert commented.

  “Well, you would say that, seeing as he’s your wife’s father, isn’t he?”

  “I’d say that anyway.” Robert held Northam’s gaze. “Henrietta should have no fears on her mother’s account. Mr. Harrington is a true gentleman.”

  “Henrietta doesn’t care how Mr. Harrington treats her mother.” Northam waved a dismissive hand. “She’s worried about her inheritance, and quite frankly, so am I.”

  “Mr. Harrington certainly didn’t marry Rose for her money.” Robert had never imagined he’d end up defending his father-in-law, but something about Northam’s attitude toward Rose had always set his hackles rising.

  “But what if she dies first? Will he inherit everything?” Northam complained. “From what I understand, he has three sons and a daughter from his previous marriage left to provide for. Rose’s money would certainly help with that.”

  “I have no idea who she has left her money to. Surely, that is between her and her solicitor?” Robert asked.

  “Not according to Henrietta. She’s deliberating writing to her mother and demanding a substantial sum up front.”

  Robert pretended to look puzzled. “Didn’t Aunt Rose settle a large sum on Henrietta when she married you?”

  “That pittance is all gone.” Lord Northam looked up as the waiter appeared, ordered himself another brandy, and took the suggestion to have the game pie for his dinner, as did Robert.

  Robert had helped his aunt set up the marriage settlement, and he knew that was an outright lie. His cousin and her husband had always treated Rose like their own personal bank, while conveniently looking down on her for being not the “right class.”

  It was hard to bite his tongue and continue listening to Northam’s complaints while he waited for the opportunity to ask some questions of his own. But after Northam’s fourth brandy, and well into his dinner, Robert broached the subject of his cousin’s theater-going habits.

  “I saw you going into the Prince of Wales Theater on the Strand last night,” Robert said.

  “Did you now?” Northam winked. “Good thing my wife is away then, isn’t it?”

  “Was it a good show?” Robert asked.

  “Didn’t see it. I had a more . . . personal quarry in mind in the green room.”

  “Did you ever meet an actress called Flora Rosa there?”

  Northam set down his glass and stared at Robert. “That’s a very specific question, Kurland. Has someone been singing her praises, so you thought you’d go and have a gander for yourself?”

  “Her cousin works in my house. She asked me to deliver a letter to Flora while I was in London.”

  “I can’t imagine any cousin of Flora’s working in a country house, but I’m not going to argue with you.” Northam leaned in closer and whispered, “Lady Kurland not with you on this trip, eh?”

  “Lady Kurland accompanied me,” Robert said as pleasantly as he could. “Our nurse entrusted the letter to her, and I am merely attempting to deliver it.”

  “If you say so.” Northam winked again, and Robert barely managed not to plant him a facer.

  “Anyway, if you want Flora, you’re too late. She’s already found a protector, and seeing as he’s as rich as Croesus, he’s set her up in a nice little house in Maida Vale, and she’s retired from the stage.”

  “Do you have a name for this man?” Robert asked.

  “Viscount Gravely. Do you know him?”

  “I can’t say that I do.”

  “He’s a widower with two sons. He made his fortune in India and came back to England about three years ago.”

  Robert might not know him, but he was fairly certain Lucy’s aunt Jane would. As a society hostess, she knew every aristocrat in the country, and all their secrets.

  “I doubt he’ll be open to offers for her, seeing as he only just persuaded her to accept his protection.” Northam chewed noisily and finished his wine before wiping his chin.

  “I have no intention of ‘bidding’ on a woman. I am simply attempting to deliver a letter.” Robert also finished his wine and sat back. “Well, this has been delightful, but I have to be going. Lucy’s aunt and uncle are having a dinner party for us tonight, and I need to try on the new coat from my tailor.”

  He was, in fact, heading back to meet with the manager of the Prince of Wales, but that was the last thing he intended to let slip to Northam.

  His companion held up his brandy glass to the waiter. “I know where you’re off to, Kurland, you can’t fool me. But rest assured, I’ll keep mum if I see Lady Kurland.”

  Robert pushed in his chair and fought to keep the loathing from his voice.

  “Thank you for dinner, and give my best to Henrietta.”

  “Right, ho, I will.”

  * * *

  Robert was still seething when he arrived at the theater and was ushered inside the empty building to meet Mr. Frobisher. The manager sat in the front row of the empty stalls, watching what was obviously a rehearsal for his next production. In the daylight, the theater looked as shabby and threadbare as an actor without his stage paint and costume.

  Robert introduced himself and settled into the seat beside Mr. Frobisher, who had the alert face of a terrier and red, bushy whiskers to make the likeness even more applicable. He sent his cast off for a break and gave his full attention to Robert.

  “How can I help you, sir?”

  “I am inquiring about a woman called Flora Rosa.”

  “Not another one.” Mr. Frobisher sighed. “I regret to tell you that she has decided not to continue her career on the stage and has gone off to be a kept woman. Which in my opinion is a waste of her talent and beauty.”

  “So she did work for you, then?”

  “Indeed. I persuaded her to abandon the abominable Corinthian and offered her a chance to shine here instead.” He snorted. “Unfortunately, she shone rather too brightly and caught the eye of an aristocrat, and that was that.”

  “The man who persuaded her to leave was Viscount Gravely?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Frobisher met Robert’s gaze. “Why are you asking all these questions? Is Flora in trouble? Are you a Bow Street Runner?”

  “I am merely trying to establish her identity. Did she have any family?”

  “Not that I know of. She grew up in an orphanage, was placed as a kitchen maid, and swiftly decided her beautiful face and figure would provide her a far more lucrative career on the stage. She was correct about that. If she’d stayed, she could’ve gone on to become one of the greats.” Mr. Frobisher paused. “Has something happened to her?”

  Robert made a quick decision. “May I ask you one more question? And then if you are willing, I will attempt to explain myself.”

  “If you wish.”

  “Do you have a Polly Carter working here?”

  “I did until about a week ago. She hasn’t come in for a while.”

  Robert slowly exhaled. “This is going to sound as fantastic as one of your more lurid plays, but I have reas
on to believe that Flora Rosa, who was masquerading as Polly Carter, is now lying dead in the cellar of the Kurland St. Mary undertaker.”

  Mr. Frobisher blinked slowly and leaned in. “Please, do go on.”

  * * *

  Robert returned to the Harringtons’. He had just enough time to try on his new coat and to proclaim that the fit was perfectly adequate before it was time to dress for the dinner party. He met up with his wife in their dressing room. For a while, there was no chance for conversing as Betty and Silas helped them into their best clothes.

  “Thank you, Silas. You may go now, and please, don’t wait up for me,” Robert said.

  “Thank you, sir.” Silas gave Robert’s sleeve a last brush and went out.

  Robert studied his new blue coat in the mirror and considered the gray waistcoat his tailor had persuaded him to wear under it. Did he look too flashy?

  Lucy glanced over from her dressing table. Betty had just finished arranging her hair and was sliding in some jeweled pins to keep everything secure.

  “You look very nice, my dear.”

  He frowned at his reflection. “Is the color perhaps a little bright?” He fingered the cuffs. “And these silver buttons?”

  His wife’s quiet chuckle made him turn to face her.

  “From a man who used to dress up in a uniform created by the Prince of Wales that included fur, gold buttons, and silver lace.”

  “I suppose you do have a point,” he acknowledged. “Now that I think of it, the colors are rather similar.”

  “You always choose blue.” Lucy rose from her seat and shook out the satin skirts of her green gown. “I think you feel most comfortable wearing it.”

  “After twelve years in uniform, I suspect you are right.” He went over to take her hand. “You look beautiful.”

  “Hardly that.” She made a face. “But I do at least look presentable, and considering the caliber of Aunt Jane’s guests, that will have to do.”

  “You are the granddaughter of an earl and the wife of a baronet, and can hold your head high in any company.” Robert kissed her nose. “I have no doubt that you will enjoy the evening far more than I shall.”

  “Did you find out anything interesting from Lord Northam?”

  “Only that he is a wastrel and doesn’t deserve a penny of my aunt’s money.”

  “I believe we already knew that. What about his connections at the theater?”

  “He knew who Flora was. He said that she recently took up with a ‘protector’ and left the theater.”

  “Did he know who it was?”

  “Yes, a Viscount Gravely. As far as Northam knows, Flora Rosa is living a life of luxury in a house bought for her in Maida Vale.”

  Lucy grabbed his sleeve. “Perhaps Polly is there!”

  “Was she not at home?” Robert asked. “Silas said that you spoke to her mother.”

  “She doesn’t live there anymore, and I can quite see why. Her father is very religious and doesn’t approve of her working in a theater, and her mother seems too afraid of her husband to do anything but agree with him.”

  “Then where does Polly live?”

  “In a house near Covent Garden.” Lucy went over to pick up her gloves, the emerald necklace Robert had given her for Christmas shining in the candlelight. “I went there as well, but no one has seen her for over a week.” She looked back at Robert. “Her mother hasn’t seen her since she got my letter. Polly and her father had an argument over it.”

  “This is somewhat of a hindrance to our plans to speak to her.” Robert frowned. “One can only hope that she, too, has not been a victim of this murderer.”

  “Bert Speers came back to London for three days after Flora disappeared,” Lucy said slowly. “Perhaps he came back to find Polly and make certain she could never share her story with anyone.”

  “It does seem all too likely, but I will continue to hope we can find Polly.”

  “I asked her mother to let us know if she returned home.” Lucy arranged a shawl over her elbows and checked her reflection in the mirror.

  “And I asked Mr. Frobisher to do the same thing if she returned to her job at the theater.” Robert reached for his wife’s gloved hand. “Unfortunately, for the moment—until I get the opportunity to speak to Viscount Gravely—all we can do is wait.”

  Chapter 11

  Robert paused in front of the steps leading up to Viscount Gravely’s house and briefly considered how much money the man had made in trade to be able to afford such a place. Not that he had any issue with how a man created his wealth, unless it was through the slave trade. His mother’s family wealth gained in the industrial north ably propped up his own finances.

  He’d asked Lucy’s aunt if she could introduce him to Viscount Gravely, and as she had already met the man, she had agreed to write a note suggesting he might allow Robert to meet him on a matter of some urgency. An invitation to visit had arrived promptly, and Robert had immediately set out before his wife had returned from her shopping expedition with Penelope.

  Patrick was busy visiting the London hospitals, reconnecting with his peers, and attending lectures about new scientific discoveries, while Penelope was reveling in the social interactions of the very well-connected Harrington family. Robert was rather keen to get back to Kurland St. Mary and could only hope that the viscount would help him reach some conclusions as to the mystery surrounding Flora Rosa.

  He went up the steps and knocked on the front door, which was opened by a butler with a turban wearing a distinctly un-English embroidered coat.

  “Welcome, Sir Robert. Lord Gravely will see you in his study. Please follow me.”

  “Thank you.” Robert followed the softly spoken man into the depths of the house until he paused and knocked on a door.

  “Your visitor, my lord.”

  Robert stepped into the room and immediately went still. It was crammed full of souvenirs from a life spent overseas and smelled like the interior of a spice cabinet.

  “Sir Robert?” A frail, wizened man with a somewhat yellowish skin gestured at the chair in front of him. “Please.”

  “Viscount Gravely.” Robert bowed and took the seat, his nose twitching at the trail of smoke coming from some burning sticks on the desk.

  “I appreciate you seeing me on this somewhat delicate matter.” Robert wasn’t one to waste time on pleasantries. “I understand that you recently took a young actress under your protection?”

  “That is correct, although what it has to do with you is beyond me.”

  “Was her name Flora Rosa?”

  His host simply nodded, his distaste for the nature of the conversation more evident with every second.

  “You installed her in a house in Maida Vale.”

  Again, there was no answer, and Robert sat forward. “I do not ask these questions with any pleasure, my lord, but I do wish to know the answers.”

  “I am not aware that I am obliged to tell you anything, sir. This is not a court of law.”

  “I am merely trying to establish that you knew Flora Rosa,” Robert persevered. “When did she leave her house in Maida Vale?”

  “Whoever told you that she did?”

  “You are suggesting that she is still there?” Robert raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Then, if that is the case, perhaps you would furnish me with her address so that I can go and pay my respects to her and clear up the current confusion.”

  Lord Gravely looked down at his joined hands. “You suggested that you had important information to share with me about this matter. If this is not merely a fishing expedition to see if you can persuade her to become your mistress rather than mine, then I wish you would get to the point!”

  Robert gave up all pretense of trying to be reasonable. “I am looking for someone to identify the body of a woman who I suspect is Flora Rosa and who was murdered in my home village of Kurland St. Mary.”

  Because he was looking carefully at the viscount, Robert clearly saw the man’s shock at his deliber
ately harsh words. He rose to his feet.

  “If you wish to discuss the matter or offer me your assistance, please be advised that I am staying with the Harrington family in Portland Square for the next two days before returning to Kurland St. Mary. If you still insist that your mistress is alive and well, and happily residing in Maida Vale, I would ask that I might speak to her, and offer both her and you my apologies.”

  The viscount looked up. “I have nothing further to say to you.”

  “As you wish.” Robert inclined his head an icy inch. “I appreciate your time and consideration.”

  He turned on his heel and walked out, keeping a very tight rein on his temper. He should have brought his wife with him. She was far better at extracting information from people than he was.

  He looked ahead and saw two men in the hallway. They appeared to be arguing about something. Both of them turned as Robert approached.

  “Are you Sir Robert Kurland?” the taller one asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Trevor Gravely, and this is my brother Neville. We understand that you have just been speaking to our father.” Trevor glanced at his brother, who frowned at him. “Would you mind very much if we asked you if this was about his mistress?”

  Robert studied the two young men, who looked nothing like their father, both being tall and fair. He wondered whether they had stayed in England with their mother while the viscount had been occupied in India.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I have information that I think might help you,” Trevor Gravely said. “Would you be willing to accompany us to a coffee shop so we can discuss the matter further?”

  Robert retrieved his hat and cane from the silent butler and came to a decision.

  “Yes, indeed. I would appreciate your thoughts on the matter.”

  He followed the two men out into the square and down toward the river where there were more people around. The fragrant smell of coffee caught his nose as the brothers turned down a side alley and approached the small shop.

  They found a table in the corner and ordered their drinks. Around them, other men discussed business issues and politics, sometimes quite loudly, while smoking clay pipes and eating the meat pies the shop also offered.