The Dead Duke Read online

  He could not fault this analysis. “Then I will be very interested to hear what Rabbie learns about Lady Sarah Halsted from the staff tonight.”

  Chapter Eleven

  WHILE MR MacPherson left to persuade his valet to interrogate the duke’s staff, Ishbel attended three university lectures, then came back to the house to find Harriette alone in the drawing room, reading, a lit candle on the table beside her, to illuminate the dim room. Since her cousin’s haughty expression was not overly fierce, Ishbel ventured to join her.

  Without looking up, Harriette said, “You really must learn to wash your hands more often if you cannot write without getting ink over them.”

  Ishbel regarded her hands and observed the brown stains. “I had not noticed. I doubt anyone will care about that in the future. I have applied for a position as a teacher at a local ladies’ school.”

  Harriette closed her book with a snap. “You have done what?”

  “If I am to support myself then I must get a job and this is something I believe I could do well.”

  “You will do nothing of the kind,” Harriette insisted then grimaced and confessed, “I said what I did to scare you into giving up this investigation business. Since that did not work, I suppose I will have to endure it.”

  Hope flared up in Ishbel. “But what about your concern – reasonable concern – over my work having a negative affect on the family reputation?”

  “No one would dare insult me and Lord Huntly’s friends and colleagues are academics who would never notice any scandal occurring outside their books.” Her voice softened and she added, “You are a member of this family and you will always have a home here.”

  Ishbel abruptly found tears welling up in her eyes and wiped them away. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”

  “Hmm.” Harriette picked up her book again. “My point is that, since you are remaining here, it certainly does matter if you have ink stains on your hands.”

  “I will go and wash them,” Ishbel said, smiling.

  * * *

  Rabbie, Mr MacPherson’s valet, was beginning to enjoy helping with his master’s cases. It made an interesting change from his normal work, not that he had any complaint about that, and had brought a certain excitement to his life. The fact that Mr MacPherson and Miss Campbell had actually been able to solve their last case had been a source of much pride and astonishment among the servants and their acquaintances. Rabbie had also now met Miss Campbell and had been relieved to discover that she was a most amiable and distinguished young lady who might, in fact, be good enough to become Mr MacPherson’s wife. Indeed, he could not understand why they were not already engaged.

  He checked in the reflection from the tavern window that his neckcloth was tidy, took a deep breath and entered the building. It was warm and noisy inside and had a golden glow from the various lamps lit around the room. Rabbie made his way through the crowds to the bar and ordered a whiskey. Since he had no idea which people were from the duke’s household, he held up his glass and made a toast, “To Duke Raden.”

  Several faces turned in his direction and a grey-haired man said, “I’ll drink along with you. I was butler to the duke.”

  “Then I’m sorry for your loss. My master was friends with His Grace and was right grieved to hear of his death.”

  “An ugly business,” the butler said, stepping closer and a couple of footman and a gardener joined them and also introduced themselves as members of the duke’s staff. They remained standing as all the tables were full, two men starting a game of dice nearby that got a number of people betting on the outcome in excited voices.

  Mr MacPherson had given Rabbie a generous sum of money to loosen tongues so he bought drinks for them all, which caused them to treat him in a friendly manner.

  “We couldna believe it when we heard he’d been murdered,” Jim, a lanky footman, said. “It was a real shock. You dinna expect things like that to happen to a duke.”

  “Do you think the actress killed him?”

  “We never met her,” Mr McNamara, the butler, said. “No one in the duke’s house knew what was happening.”

  “No, but it was obvious something of that nature was going on,” Jim said. “I mean, with him going out late at night and not coming back until morning.”

  “Surely his family knew about it?” Rabbie said.

  “His only close family is his daughter and, of course, a lady wouldn’t be told of such things.”

  “No. That’s right,” he agreed and took another warming swallow of whiskey. “She must be grief-stricken at losing the duke, particularly in such a way.”

  “Lady Sarah is very different from her father,” the butler said in a careful manner as the other men exchanged wry glances. “She was taught by her mother of the importance of propriety, so this has been a great shock. She and the duke didn’t have the most affectionate of relationships but it was just that they had nothing in common and saw little of each other.”

  “Nothing in common is right,” said the gardener. “He was a kind man who treated everyone generously while she...”

  “... She is the lady we now answer to,” the butler finished, throwing a warning look at the other man.

  “Let me buy another set of drinks,” Rabbie said, but the butler insisted on paying this time. He accepted his new drink with a murmur of thanks and watched the other men drink theirs, hoping to get a more unguarded comment from them, since he felt he had learnt nothing so far that his master and Miss Campbell did not already know.

  “Stabbing a man is not the kind of thing a woman would do,” he said. “My master wondered if a thief or enemy of the duke could have killed him.”

  “A thief maybe,” Jim said, “but no one disliked the master.”

  “He had a falling out with that friend of his,” the other footman said.

  “D’you mean Lord Moray?” Jim shook his head. “He wouldn’t stab the duke over an argument a month ago.”

  “The Lord said Duke Raden owed him money over something and the duke said he didn’t and that Lord Moray had been a fool. Money can make a man act daft.”

  It certainly could, Rabbie thought, satisfied that he might have discovered something useful after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  EWAN FELT like a fraud as he and Miss Campbell stood amongst the mourners at Duke Raden’s funeral. The fact that a number of the people present were probably only here out of curiosity over such a shocking death made him feel no better.

  Standing at the edge of the gathering, as the traditional words were spoken in front of the family vault, he glanced over at Lady Sarah Halsted, dressed in stark black silk with no embellishment or lace, whose only obvious emotion was annoyance. He wondered what thoughts were going through her mind and whether she really was sufficiently cold-hearted to have killed her own father. Behind her were the household staff, whose sombre expressions matched the equally bleak attire their new mistress had given them: the women in black dresses, while the men had black jackets and weepers on their arms. Ewan recognised the description of the grey-haired butler Rabbie had told him and Miss Campbell about this morning, but had no idea which of the younger men was the talkative Jim or which was the helpful fellow who had mentioned the duke’s disagreement with Lord Moray.

  Amongst the crowd were some familiar faces. The unmistakeable features of judge and philosopher, Lord Monboddo, stood out. The Reverend Robertson, the principal of Edinburgh University, was there, leaning heavily on his walking stick and looking rather frail, while several colleagues stood beside him whom Ewan recognised from the times he had visited the university with Miss Campbell. Lord and Lady Huntly had also attended, as had most of the peerage of Edinburgh. Ewan wondered which of them was Lord Moray, if the man was here at all.

  The service came to an end and people headed quickly for their coaches, to get out of the cold and the persistent drizzle. They reconvened at the former home of the duke, now presided over by Lady Sarah Halsted. Ewan and Mis
s Campbell remained in the background, not convinced her ladyship would appreciate their presence.

  “Do you know which of the men is Lord Moray?” Miss Campbell asked her cousin quietly.

  Lady Huntly looked intently around the room and then said, “I cannot see him.”

  “I will ask amongst the men,” Ewan said to Miss Campbell and she promptly responded that she would find out what she could from the ladies present.

  He collected a glass of potent wine, which took away some of the chill that had soaked into him outside, and joined a group of men that contained a few people he vaguely knew.

  “...Never saw him in a bad mood. Strange that he should have raised such a grim daughter,” Mr Anders said. He was a middle-aged gentleman from a wealthy family whom Ewan knew well enough to converse with.

  “That is a highly insulting comment,” a young man objected.

  “Och, do you have hopes in that direction, McEllis?” Anders teased him.

  The young man said, “Lady Sarah Halsted would be a fine wife to any man. Her breeding is impeccable and her manners, flawless.”

  “And her fortune, highly desirable,” commented another man Ewan did not know.

  McEllis glared at him. “You are an impudent wretch, sir.”

  The group watched, amused, as he stalked away, heading into her ladyship’s vicinity, but remaining there unnoticed.

  “He can wish all he likes,” Anders commented, watching his lack of progress. “Lady Sarah will be fixing her gaze a great deal higher than the likes of McEllis.”

  “Is there any gentleman she favours?” Ewan asked.

  “Lord Glaister and Lord Stillman have both been buzzing about her, but I cannot tell if she likes either of them. The lady has an unreadable face. Why, do you want to be added to the list of suitors?”

  “Hardly,” Ewan said. “I mean no disrespect to the lady, but I would want a kinder, warmer disposition in my future wife.”

  “Sensible man,” Anders agreed.

  “Do you see Lord Moray? I understand he was a particular friend of the duke’s.”

  “Not much of a friend,” the younger man said. “He is noticeably absent. I gather there was some kind of falling out recently.”

  “Over what?”

  The man shook his wigged head. “No idea.”

  “I know what your interest is!” Anders said to Ewan, grinning. “You are conducting another of your scandalous investigations. I have been wanting to ask the details of how exactly you discovered that Viscount Inderly was responsible for that pretty maid’s death.”

  “Oh, that was you!” the young man said, getting out an eyeglass to look Ewan over, as every gaze was fixed with curiosity upon him.

  “I cannot deny it.” Ewan introduced himself and Anders gave the names of the other men present, including the young man, whose name was Lord Renford.

  “Is it true that you intend to give testimony in court that may get him hanged?” Renford asked.

  “I intend to tell the truth, as I understand it, over what happened to the maid. It is the jury who will decide Viscount Inderly’s fate. While I feel the greatest sympathy for his family, he behaved in an unlawful and immoral manner and must pay for it.”

  “Then we must all watch our behaviour around you or there could be dire consequences,” Renford suggested, looking half serious.

  “Indeed,” Ewan said in a light tone. “Should any of you have gambling debts or look lasciviously at any young lady, I will insist you be taken away and hanged!”

  “But, damn it, that excludes no man alive,” Anders said and they all laughed, their momentary unease around him vanishing. “So are you looking into Duke Raden’s death? I thought there was already some woman arrested for that?”

  “An acquaintance of the duke does not believe that Miss McNeil is guilty and has asked us to find out if someone else could be responsible.”

  “So how is this Miss McNeil accused?”

  Ewan glanced about, making sure Lady Sarah Halsted was not close enough to hear him. Leaning forward and speaking in an undertone, he said, “She was the duke’s mistress. She is an obvious suspect, but not necessarily the guilty one.”

  “And who is this partner who is looking into the murder with you?”

  Ewan had not wanted to mention Miss Campbell’s name and did so reluctantly, not wanting to set in motion any unpleasant gossip about her. “Miss Campbell is Lady Huntly’s cousin and she is working with me to solve the case. She is a highly intelligent young lady who has an interest in seeing justice done in such matters.”

  “I would not have thought Lord and Lady Huntly would permit Miss Campbell to look into such indelicate subjects,” Renford said.

  “I believe they are reconciled to her desire to help others in this way.” He had been given to understand from Miss Campbell that she and Lady Huntly had now settled their disagreement and, indeed, Lady Huntly’s attitude towards him today had been less censorious than recently.

  The men exchanged glances over this that Ewan was not entirely happy about. Since his purpose here was now out in the open, he asked, “Can any of you think of anyone who might have a reason to want the duke dead?”

  “I always found him to be an amiable man,” Anders said. “Not the kind to make enemies.”

  The others agreed. “I heard a rumour that the disagreement with Moray was either over money or a woman,” Mr Ritchley, a stout, round faced gentleman, said.

  “That is hardly helpful,” Renford told him. “Nearly every disagreement between men is either about money or a woman.”

  “Perhaps it was over the duke’s mistress,” someone else suggested.

  “That could be a cause for murder,” Anders agreed.

  It could, Ewan thought, but no one seemed to know any definite facts. “What kind of man is Lord Moray?”

  “He certainly has been known to appreciate a beautiful woman,” Anders said, “and he has a temper. I recall one time a horse lost a race and cost him a bet, and he had the poor animal shot.”

  “Is he your main suspect then?” Renford asked Ewan and, once more, all eyes turned in his direction.

  “Not at all. We have only just began our investigation and have no idea at present where it will take us.”

  “Money or a woman,” Renford said in the tone of one imparting a piece of great wisdom. “Always a good place to start.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  MR MACPHERSON returned to the house with Ishbel and her family after the funeral and they all sat in the drawing room, drinking cups of tea or chocolate and eating sandwiches. She and Mr MacPherson had been too busy talking to acquaintances of the duke to consume the refreshments provided and warming drinks were needed by them all. Harriette also ordered the housemaid to build up the fire, which helped thaw the ice that felt as if it had got inside Ishbel’s bones while they were standing outside in the graveyard.

  After ten minutes, Lord Huntly took his leave of them to give a lecture at the university. Ishbel had no lectures she wanted to attend for once today so she wanted to make progress on the case.

  “What further scandals did the two of you uncover at Duke Raden’s funeral?” Harriette asked in a tone that only held the usual amount of derision and mockery. So that was an improvement.

  “I fear I ended up being the subject of questions rather than being the one asking them,” Mr MacPherson said, sitting in a comfortable but upright position in an armchair. “When someone recognised me as one of the people who had caught the Viscount Inderley, the others guessed at once that I was there to look into the duke’s death.”

  “Did you at least keep my cousin’s name out of your comments?” Harriette asked as she reclined on the chaise longue.

  “I fear not, but I certainly mentioned the admirable qualities that give her aptitude in such investigations.”

  “I am sure that will be a great comfort to Isobel when she is no longer received in good society.”

  “I know such an outcome would vex yo
u,” Miss Campbell said to her cousin, “but it would cause me no grief.”

  “In any case,” Ewan said quickly, not wanting to see another argument start up between the ladies, “I am sure many members of Edinburgh society would recognise that we only seek justice, and would not censure either of us for it.”

  “You have an odd view of people,” Harriette told him in a tone that made it clear she would not dream of expecting tolerance or kindness from her peers.

  “Were you told that Lord Moray did not attend the funeral?” Ishbel asked Mr MacPherson.

  “Yes. No one knew what the basis of the disagreement between Lord Moray and the duke was. There was talk of money or a woman, but it seemed no more than conjecture. Lord Moray was said to have a bad temper and, if he had shown an interest in Miss McNeil, it could make him a suspect, but no one knew anything certain.”

  “It might be worth looking into.”

  Mr MacPherson added the names of several gentlemen who might be interested in wedding Lady Sarah Halsted, saying, “If she wanted her father dead, she might have turned to one of them to commit the deed.”

  Ishbel agreed. “The ladies I spoke to felt Lord Glaister stood the best chance of winning her, but more because of his wealth and good name than any feeling of affection. No one spoke ill of the duke and no one spoke kindly of Lady Sarah.”

  “She has just inherited a significant fortune,” Harriette observed. “Of course none of the ladies like her. She can have her pick of any man in Edinburgh.”

  “Hardly that,” Mr MacPherson disagreed. “The men I spoke to thought little of Lady Sarah’s cold manners.”

  “They may have said that but faced with the chance to gain control of so substantial an estate, I am sure most of them would suddenly find her a good deal more appealing.”

  Ishbel finished her cup of bitter chocolate and placed it on its saucer, the refreshments and the dancing flames in the ornate fireplace causing a feeling of satisfaction. After their recent arguments, it was even pleasant to have Harriette’s taunting comments added to the conversation between herself and Mr MacPherson. “I learned that there has never been much affection between Lady Sarah and her father. She spoke to her friends of him in a critical manner, condemning his gambling, his appreciation for low entertainments and the character of his friends. Apparently he was not sufficiently discerning for Lady Sarah’s taste, often mixing with tradesmen and others she did not consider to be gentlemen.”