“Lord love you, miss, that’s kind, but I’ve the rest of the rooms to see to yet, and Mrs.Brackendale will have my guts for garters if she finds me lounging like a lady of leisure.”
“I understand. Where is Lord Templeton-Vane this morning?”
She rose and picked up the tray. “With the doctor, miss. They’ve gone to have a look at the poor lady.”
“Lady MacIver?” I asked with a start. “Is she unwell?”
“No, miss. The one what’s dead.”
I uttered a word that made Lily’s eyes pop nearly from her head and thrust the bedclothes aside. “The investigation is afoot and I am still abed!” My favourite fictitious detective, Arcadia Brown, wouldneverbe so dilatory in sleuthing out the truth.
Lily beat a hasty retreat whilst I washed and dressed with a speed that would have done any man proud. I was just fitting a few minuten carefully into my cuffs as I dashed from the room. I nearly collided with Tiberius and Timothy Gresham as they emerged from Beatrice’s room.
“Ah, Miss Speedwell,” said Timothy, blinking nearsightedly through his spectacles. “You are a lovely sight upon such a sad morn.” In another man I might have called it a leer, but he was so good-natured about his admiration, waggling his winsome little rabbit nose, I could not take offence.
“Yes, we are all quite distressed over Beatrice’s sudden death. I suppose you were, with your professional acumen, immediately able to determine the cause?”
It was unsubtle enough of an enquiry to make Tiberius cough gently into his sleeve. “If you will excuse me, Timothy, I am afraid I have estate business. Veronica.” He inclined his head, giving me a warning look as he went.
We watched him go, following behind at a sedate pace. The good doctor seemed distressed. He shook his head and made a clucking noise, rather like a frightened chicken. “Poor lady! We had a frank conversation about the state of her health the other evening and it was most distressing. I recognised the signs, you see. A rare and difficult heart condition. She said weak hearts were the curse of her family and that they seldom made old bones. She had visited several spa towns on the Continent for her health, but I cannot think it would have made much of a difference. No, she needed perfect quiet and serenity, and I advised her as much. Rich food, exhilarating company, exciting surroundings—these things are far too stimulating for one of her delicacy. Alas,” he finished, pursing his lips.
I smiled gently. “Surely you are not suggesting the dinner party was in itself fatal?”
Timothy Gresham fluttered his hands a little. “Not at all, my dear. But you must admit, the sheerstrangenessof the setting would be enough to afflict someone with a delicate constitution.”
“The setting was unique,” I admitted.
“And the topic of discussion was most unsuitable for ladies,” he said. He leant near and I smelt carbolic soap and the smoky aroma of fried ham. His breakfast no doubt. “There are folk in the village who say it was less than respectable,” he said in a whisper. “I do not mind telling you, I am not pleased to find my name attached to an event that is being spoken of asdisreputable.”
I wondered if Nanny MacQueen had perchance been discussing the evening’s activities with the villagers. Being even tangentially a part of such an exotic and dramatic affair must surely have proven too tempting a subject for discretion. I put a hand to his sleeve, and his colour, impossibly, seemed to deepen further. His breath came quite quickly and I began to fear for his health if I kept him much longer. “Do not distress yourself, Dr.Gresham. We know the dinner party was unconventional, but even Her Majesty the Queen would have found nothing amiss. At least until the accusations of murder were hurled about.” He fanned himself with a damp handkerchief and I went on. “So, after further reflection, you are still quite certain as to the cause of the contessa’s death?”
“Oh yes, yes,” he said, waving the handkerchief in my direction. “There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever. And since I had so very recently treated her for the same, it may all be handled quietly, with dignity and decency, for which I am very glad for her husband’s sake. Pietro is thoroughly distraught, poor fellow.”
I thought suddenly of the bones upon his mantelpiece at Wren Cottage. The bones of a megalosaur. He had grown up on this coastline, hearing stories of tremendous, history-making finds. Had hecoveted Lorenzo’s dinosaur? A creature of such distinction would bring respect and wealth to the person who discovered it. Granted, Timothy seemed a little lacking in ambition, but that he enjoyed his comforts was apparent in how neatly Elspeth kept their home, making certain everything was just as he liked it. What if he wanted the dinosaur for himself? Might he have ventured out that fateful and stormy night to excavate some of the bones? Could Lorenzo have discovered him in the act? It might not even have been intentional. It was easy to imagine, a quick tussle on the crumbling cliff top, a slip of the foot, and Lorenzo d’Ambrogio, the beautiful and beloved, lost forever.
And I thought too of the fact that Timothy Gresham had treated Beatrice for her heart condition. Did he supply her with a remedy? Perhaps her discussion of her rare heart condition had alerted him to the fact that she was Lorenzo’s sister. Timothy did not have the strongest nerves. Even now he twitched and flinched, clearly overwrought at the circumstances. Perhaps he had found the temptation too great to resist. He was a physician with access to strychnine. He had only to give her a bottle of medicine and recommend she dose herself to strengthen her heart. Even if the mixture were bitter, as strychnine was known to be, she would doubtless swallow it down obediently. And then her death would be a fait accompli, even if he were completely absent from the scene.
I roused myself to find Timothy Gresham staring at me oddly.
“Yes, they were a most devoted couple,” I said, returning to the conversation. We had reached the bottom of the stairs and he put out his hand. “Good day, Miss Speedwell.”
I took his hand reluctantly. It was trembling and a little damp. He left then, scattering the contents of his bag before he went.
“I think you have made a conquest there,” rumbled a familiar voice. Stoker stepped out from behind a statue of some round-hipped nymph with a basket of ripe fruit.
“I mean to marry him and settle down to being a country doctor’s wife,” I said, wiping my moistened hand upon my skirts.
“How touching. May I give the bride away?”
“She would have to belong to you first,” I replied tartly.
But he was smiling, a smile I had not seen in a very long time. It was the sort of smile which said we were once more upon the course of a murderer, sleuthing out a villain in a chase which would engage our instincts and test our wits.
“What did our village physician have to say?” he enquired.
“He maintains that Beatrice died from natural causes and as he had treated her for her heart troubles within the last fortnight, he was perfectly willing to accede to Tiberius’ wishes that it should be officially so.”
I half expected him to indulge in a little profanity at the confirmation that Beatrice’s death was to be formally attributed to natural causes, but he surprised me. He merely gave a grave nod.
