Kinsey’s library was an assault on the senses, crammed with relics from his travels. Stone effigies perched on tables and in glass-fronted cabinets. On the walls shelf upon shelf was filled with aged leather-bound tomes and interesting Egyptian, Greek, and Roman artifacts Jason would like more time to examine. The dry, dusty smell of antiquity was foreign and inimitable. By the window, a broad walnut desk was neatly stacked with papers and books. Against one wall in a corner of the room an alarming, gigantic sarcophagus stood upright, belonging to some long dead Egyptian. Jason wondered briefly how Kinsey came by the coffin and if it should be in a museum. He turned to greet his hostess.
“Unnerving, isn’t it? Kinsey was intrigued to find one so roomy, with a cleverly hinged door. He wondered if it might have been meant for a couple. The mummy, or mummies, have been removed, thank goodness. He only has it on loan. Thank you for responding so promptly, Lord Peyton.”
“I am pleased to be of service, my lady.”
He’d thought Lady Kinsey a self-assured woman when he first met her, but it appeared her cool reserve had been shattered. Her gray eyes were dark and anxious, her hands constantly in motion as she urged him to be seated and settled her garnet-colored skirts around her.
“I thought it best to receive you here in the library where we are unlikely to be disturbed. I don’t want my children involved.” She placed her nervous hands together in her lap. “Now, perhaps you could enlighten me as to why our footman, now deceased, wished to apologize to you, almost with his dying breath.”
“Your footman, my lady? I have no idea.” Jason fought for time to order his thoughts. It was clear that their footman was his contact who had failed to meet him because of illness, and Lady Kinsey, no fool by the look of it, eyed him suspiciously.
“You said you worked for Mr. Nash. Is that true?”
“Why do you doubt it, my lady?”
“The doctor has informed me that my footman was poisoned, Lord Peyton. Systematically. So, as you see, I am determined to get to the bottom of something that obviously involved you in some fashion.”
Jason’s blood went cold. “I wish I could offer an explanation. Set you at your ease, at least. But at this moment, I can tell you nothing. As far as I know, I have never met your footman.”
“Then why did Bartholomew Smyth say to my daughter, Helen, ‘tell Captain Peyton I am sorry’?”
Jason sat forward. “Bartholomew Smyth was your footman? He fought alongside me in Belgium!” He sighed. “Bart’s dead?”
“Yes, poor man.”
An explanation was clearly called for. Jason picked his words carefully. “I do not work for Mr. Nash. But I was acting on his behalf, to perform a duty that he or one of his staff would have done by explaining those changes that we have discussed. I must confess to a more important reason. An acquaintance of mine, a government official, recently contacted me about an unsigned letter they’d received. Someone wished to speak to me personally on a matter of significant importance. As the letter writer did not furnish their name or address, beyond working in one of the houses along the Queen’s Walk, I had no idea who it was or where to find him. He was to approach me at a certain time in that area of the park that faces your property. I’m sorry I could not explain this before, Lady Kinsey, but I had no way of knowing if it was your house I sought. But rest assured I have every intention of looking into it.”
He raked his hair with his fingers. “I wish I’d known it was Bartholomew. He fought bravely and was invalided out of the army after he lost an arm.” Jason shook his head. “I fear this mystery might have died with him.
“Bow Street has been advised?”
“A constable from the Magistrate’s Court called yesterday. He said Bart’s death was likely due to accidental poisoning and saw no reason to draw the magistrate’s attention to it.”
“I’d like to speak to the doctor.”
“Yes, of course. Do whatever you feel is right.”
“May I see your footman’s room?”
“His effects have been removed.”
“Nevertheless, I feel it wise.”
“Very well.” She rose from the sofa. “Better perhaps if I accompany you.”
As they made their way along the corridor toward the rear of the building and the servants’ stairs, Lady Helen appeared from one of the reception rooms, wearing an apron over her gray dress.
Jason eyed her appreciatively as she put a hand to her abundant chestnut locks, becomingly tied up with a green ribbon. She looked upon him with some measure of distrust. He couldn’t blame her. He’d disliked the subterfuge and now had to find a way to repair it.
“Good afternoon, Lord Peyton. I wasn’t aware we had a visitor.” She whisked off the apron and smoothed down her skirts.
Jason bowed. “Lady Helen.”
“Helen, where are Diana and Toby?”
“In the garden playing shuttlecock, Mama.”
“Good. Lord Peyton and I are about to inspect Bartholomew’s room.”
