Tasha Alexander - A Fatal Waltz

“What of Fortescue’s current wife?” Cécile asked. 

“Widow. I don’t know her well at all, but she seemed content enough,” I said. 

“They’d been married less than a year,” Ivy said. “Certainly she’s grateful to have been returned to her family’s estate, but beyond that, I’ve no idea what her feelings are.” There was no hint of her usual rosy hue left in my friend’s complexion. “I did think it was odd, though, that Mrs. Reynold-Plympton was not at the party. Lord Fortescue always used to make a point of insisting on her presence. Would refuse invitations if she weren’t invited.” 

“He was clearly carrying on with Flora Clavell at Beaumont Towers,” I said. “I wonder if Mrs. Reynold-Plympton knows what was going on between them?” 

“Oh, I can’t imagine!” Ivy said. 

“Of course she knew,” Margaret said. “She would have made it her business to.” 

“Margaret is right,” Cécile said. 

“You don’t think she was involved in the murder?” Ivy asked. 

“She was at the party at Highwater with me,” Jeremy said. “She could have come to Beaumont Towers as easily as I did.” 

“I can’t believe she would have harmed him,” Ivy said. “Despite their…immorality…she loved him.” 

“Ivy, you are too good,” I said, glancing up at the clock. “I’m off to the Treasury to see Mr. Hamilton.” 

“Want me to come with you?” Jeremy asked. “I rather miss skulking about with you on nefarious errands.” 

“And I very much enjoyed having you with me, my dear, but it won’t be necessary today,” I said. “Perhaps another time.” 

Ivy snapped to attention. “Hamilton! Of course. That’s why it seemed familiar. Isn’t his mother Mr. Reynold-Plympton’s mistress?” 

“I thought he was ancient,” Margaret said. 

“He is. But you’re right, Ivy. My mother told me that they were childhood sweethearts and weren’t allowed to marry,” I said. “She’s been taking care of him in his old age.” 

“Rather sweet, really,” Ivy said. Margaret rolled her eyes. 

“Does it matter?” Cécile asked. “Apart from Monsieur Reynold-Plympton being pleased that someone’s tending to his needs as he reaches the age of infirmity? I don’t see how any of it’s relevant to Lord Fortescue’s murder.” 

“Perhaps it’s not. Mrs. Reynold-Plympton was awfully quick to give up his name despite her initial refusal,” I said. 

“And here I thought it was simply a matter of you cleverly convincing her to trust you,” Margaret said. “I’m crushed.” 

“I wasn’t even there, and I’m devastated,” Jeremy said. 

“You know I adore your confidence.” I finished my port. “But she set it up beautifully, didn’t she? Made us think that she was telling us something valuable.” 

“So you think Hamilton is useless?” Margaret asked. 

“I think Mrs. Reynold-Plympton is as capable as anyone of overlooking a significant detail.”

Of course I was distressed more than you can imagine when I heard about Brandon.” Mr. Hamilton’s office in the Treasury was a comfortable one, full of furniture so elegant I would have expected to find it in the chancellor’s room, not a junior minister’s. “We were at university together, you know.”

“I’m more interested in the time you spent together in Vienna,” I said.

“It was so long ago I hardly remember. We toured the Continent after we’d left Oxford—the usual sort of Grand Tour. I suppose Vienna was one of our stops.”

“I’d think the visit would be rather more permanently fixed in your brain. Or have you so frequently witnessed fatal duels that you’re blasé about such things?”

“H-how do you know about that?” Gone was the lazy Oxonian drawl. His voice became rough and lost its confident tone. He picked up a pen and began tapping it on the edge of his desk.

“I’ve just come from Vienna, where I made the acquaintance of a man called Gustav Schröder.” Mentioning his name immediately conjured up the image of his body in the Stephansdom. It was all I could do not to shudder. “His brother was the one killed in the duel.” 

“Yes, well, it was a terrible business. Brandon never intended to kill the poor chap.” 

“Then perhaps he ought not to have shot him.” 

“Of course not. But he was young and hotheaded, and Schröder had insulted a woman of whom he was fond.” 

I could not picture Robert Brandon as hotheaded. “He wasn’t arrested, though?” 

“No, we fled the country at once. What choice did we have?” Now he was twirling the pen in his hand. “Not an honorable decision, I suppose, but Brandon had his whole life ahead of him. I told him he’d be a fool to stay and face charges. Duels may be illegal, but the fact is, no one’s much concerned with them. He would’ve received little more than a slap on the hand, but that would have been enough to keep him out of public life.” 

“So did Lord Fortescue hold your involvement in all this over you?” 

“I’m not sure what you mean, Lady Ashton.” He pulled his brows close together and returned the pen to an elaborately carved cup on his desk. “What has Lord Fortescue to do with any of this?” 

“He was blackmailing Mr. Brandon over the duel, a fact that will undoubtedly come into play during his trial,” I said. “I wonder if perhaps you, too, were being blackmailed.” 

“My role in the fiasco wasn’t worthy of blackmail. I didn’t kill anyone. But what are you suggesting? That I was involved in Fortescue’s murder?”

“Of course not.” I smiled sweetly. Mr. Hamilton’s eyes flashed bright, and I knew at once that he was a man who could be charmed in under half a second. “But Lord Fortescue had files on everyone. He was a staunch supporter of yours, and I don’t believe he bestowed that distinction on anyone over whom he did not have power.” I pulled my chair closer to the desk and leaned forward. “I do hope I’m not offending you.” 

He picked up the pen and began twirling it again, faster this time. “I… I can’t say that I’m accustomed to ladies discussing these sorts of things with me.” 

“You seem to me enlightened enough to welcome lively discussion.” It was appalling, but I actually fluttered my eyelashes.

“I—I certainly hope so.” 

“So what did Lord Fortescue hold over you?” I asked. 

“It has to do with my mother. I will say nothing further.” 

“Then I will not press you on the subject,” I said. This revelation made me even more disgusted with Lord Fortescue. I ran over the facts of the duel in my head again, grasping for anything that might help Robert’s case, although it seemed an increasingly unlikely prospect. “One more question. It strikes me as odd that Josef Schröder chose an Englishman as his second. Were he and Albert Sanburne close friends?” 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Now he leaned forward. “Sanburne had only been in Vienna a week or so before the duel. He’d left London on the heels of a scandal. All very hush-hush, of course.” 

“What sort of scandal?” 

“Oh, dear. Well, I never heard the details, and it was only a rumor at any rate.” He stopped and tugged at his collar. “It’s not the sort of thing to which a lady should be exposed.” 

“Come now, Mr. Hamilton, you can tell me.” He did not respond immediately, so I tilted my head and gave him a look of earnest, sweet interest that I’d not pulled from my arsenal since the first season I was out in society. 

“Well.” He coughed. “You’ve perhaps heard some mention of the Cleveland Street scandal? More than two years ago, I think.” 

“I can’t say that I’m familiar with it.” It must have occurred when I was in deep mourning for Philip, before I’d begun reading the newspaper on a regular basis. 

“If I may be candid, Lady Ashton, I’m relieved to hear that.” 

I could find out the details of the scandal on my own. “So what was Mr. Sanburne’s connection to Josef Schröder?” 

“Suffice it to say that Schröder was sympathetic to Sanburne’s involvement in the scandal. Please don’t ask me to say more.” 

I did not think it possible that my opinion of Lord Fortescue could be lower than it was, but knowing that he had held over Mr. Hamilton his mother’s relationship with a man she’d loved since childhood sickened me. I had no interest in tormenting the poor man, so I thanked him effusively and excused myself, amused by the way he tripped over himself to escort me from the building. From the Treasury, I went directly to the offices of the London Daily Post and asked to see Sir Julian Knowles. 

The burly newspaperman greeted me with effusive affection and paraded me through the building as if I were a trophy he’d won in a sporting contest. “Lady Emily Ashton, boys. Aspire to earn a formal introduction to a person of her stature.” He ushered me into his office, a cozy room full of walnut paneling and leaded glass windows, the unmistakable odor of pipe tobacco oozing from every corner. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” 

I perched on the edge of a leather chair. “It’s a bit embarrassing, really. I was hoping you could give me some information about the Cleveland Street scandal.” 

His eyebrows shot up, and he burst into a fit of coughing. “Not a topic fit for a lady.” But then he leaned forward. “Why do you want to know? Have you learned that someone connected to you was involved in it?” 

“No, not that. But…” I hesitated, wondering if I should continue. “I have some information that’s related to it that may be significant to Robert Brandon’s defense.” 

“How so?” 

“First you must tell me the nature of the scandal.”

“Well.” More coughing. “It was…you see…the Metropolitan Police shut down a…er…house of ill repute that counted several high-ranking aristocrats among its clients.”