ANNE ASHLEY - Lady Gwendolen Investigates

‘Well, come on, Northbridge,’ he urged, after a further moment’s silence. ‘What’s the widow like? I seem to remember hearing someone mentioning once that she was young enough to be Warrender’s daughter.’

‘Ha! Granddaughter, more like!’ Joss returned with brutal frankness.

‘Good gad, the old dog! And is she pleasing on the eye?’

Surprising his lordship somewhat, Joss took a long moment to consider. ‘Not a beauty, no, at least not in my humble opinion,’ he revealed at last. ‘But well enough. Got what I’d call a sweet face. Damned disarming little thing, though,’ he went on, his heavy frown descending. ‘Turns out she was well acquainted with that governess I employed. She’s not at all happy nothing’s being done to track down the killer.’

‘You know we did all we could,’ his lordship returned, far from annoyed, though slightly nettled by the accusation. ‘Spoke again to all the usual suspects, but no fresh evidence came to light. No one heard anything; no one saw anything. Even had an extra word with my gamekeeper. I know Furslow’s not liked by most hereabouts. He’s been a prime suspect in many people’s minds from the start, especially as the first girl was discovered only a matter of weeks after he came to work for me. What is more, there’s no denying he has something of a reputation where women are concerned. But there’s absolutely nothing to link him with these murders. In fact, the opposite’s true. Several people have come forward to swear he was elsewhere, attending a prize fight or cockfight, when at least two of the women were first reported missing.’

‘True enough,’ Joss was forced to agree, his heavy frown still very much in evidence. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that more could have been done…should have been done to find the person responsible.’

His lordship watched, appalled, as his guest, quite without warning, tossed the remainder of his wine down his throat and rose abruptly to his feet. ‘Good gad, Northbridge! That’s no way to treat a wine of that quality!’

Ignoring the stricture, Joss began to pace up and down, resorting for the second time that morning to running impatient fingers through his hair as he did so. ‘That damnable female’s got under my skin, so she has!’ he at last admitted, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. ‘Just as I was on the point of departure, she came straight out and said that had any one of the victims been some highborn lady, no effort would have been spared. And damn it, Cranborne, you can’t deny the chit’s right! Then, when I attempted to persuade her not to interfere, she totally floored me with the response. Asked if I’d just sit back and do nothing if a friend of mine had been murdered. And the truth of the matter is I’d move heaven and earth in an attempt to uncover the killer.’

‘So, what are you asking me to do?’ his lordship prompted, when once again his visitor relapsed into a brooding silence. ‘If you’re asking me to start fresh enquiries, I don’t honestly believe it would do much good.’

‘No, I was thinking more on the lines of bringing in someone from the outside, an ex-Runner who has for some years now undertaken private commissions. I happen to know he successfully aided a very close friend of mine in locating the whereabouts of his errant wife. Seemingly he’s extremely discreet. Furthermore, he has the knack of blending in, of going about a community without arousing suspicion, inducing people to reveal more than they might otherwise have done to someone they knew to be in authority. I could send an express to London, requesting my good friend Merriot Markham engages this person on my behalf—if you’ve no objection, that is?’

‘Not in the least, dear boy,’ the Earl agreed, urbanity itself, ‘providing you don’t keep me in the dark if any information is uncovered.’

‘Understood,’ Joss responded.

Deciding it was time to bring the visit to an end, he made his way across the room. As he reached the door, he bethought himself of something else, however. ‘You don’t happen to know if young Gilmorton’s still contemplating disposing of that new carriage and pair in order to pay those gaming debts?’

‘Can’t see him managing to do so otherwise, as his father steadfastly refuses to come to his aid this time. Why? Surely you’re not thinking of making him an offer?’

‘Not for myself, no. But I promised Warrender’s widow I’d look out for a decent carriage and pair for her. And I’ll do it too!’ A look of rock-hard determination momentarily gripped Northbridge’s features. ‘But that’s all I intend to do for the confounded woman!’ he declared vehemently. ‘

His lordship smiled to himself as the door was closed none too gently by the departing visitor. ‘I wonder now,’ he murmured, taking his time to savour the remaining contents of his glass, ‘how long it will be before our friend finds himself breaking that vow?’

Three days later Gwen had once again taken up the day-to-day running of her household. It wasn’t that she had recovered swiftly from the loss of her friend. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Jane was never absent long from her thoughts, and she once again returned to the forefront of Gwen’s mind the instant she had finished discussing the dinner menus for the following week with her now, thankfully, fully recovered housekeeper.

‘Before you go, Mrs Travis,’ she said, forestalling the servant’s immediate departure, ‘are you by any chance acquainted with the housekeeper at Bridge House?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am! Known Mrs Brice for a number of years. We both took up our posts at about the same time, though she’s a good deal older than me. Always exchange a word or two after the Sunday service, we do, and if we happen to bump into each other in town when doing the marketing.’

‘Sounds a pleasant, friendly sort of woman, Travis. Is that so?’

‘Indeed, yes, ma’am,’ she readily agreed. ‘Not a gossip, you understand,’ she added. ‘And very loyal to her master, she be. Mind you, not much goes on at Bridge House she doesn’t know about.’

Precisely what I was hoping to discover! Gwen thought, before her acute hearing picked up the sounds of an arrival, even though she was in her favourite retreat, the snug little parlour tucked away at the back of the house.

She watched Mrs Travis hurry out, and was astonished when the housekeeper returned a few minutes later to inform her that Lady Florence Kershaw and her daughter were now awaiting her in the much larger front parlour.

‘Ordinarily, ma’am, I should have shown such visitors into the drawing room, it being the best room in the house. Except, as you know, you gave strict instructions no fire be lit in there until the chimney’s been swept, and I thought it would be a mite on the chilly side, even though it’s almost April.’

‘You did quite right, Mrs Travis,’ Gwen assured the slightly flustered housekeeper.

Clearly she was unused to inviting such high-ranking persons to cross the threshold, and Gwen couldn’t in all honesty say she was in the least surprised. The late Sir Percival Warrender, having enjoyed a distinguished military career, had undeniably been well respected. His standing in the area would undoubtedly have been reasonably high. All the same, he had been no aristocrat, merely the son of an affluent gentleman. So why had his insignificant little widow been so singularly honoured?

Amazed though she was, Gwen didn’t feel in the least overawed, simply because she had benefited from that recent, close association with one of the most endearing and unorthodox high-born ladies who had, over the years, rubbed shoulders with several crowned heads of Europe.

Consequently Gwen was able to greet her unexpected visitors with all the quiet dignity expected of a young widow, but without experiencing the least trepidation, while at the same time successfully concealing her natural curiosity.

On entering the comfortable, though undeniably faded, front parlour, Gwen experienced on odd mixture of surprise and slight disappointment. She didn’t quite know what she had been expecting to find awaiting her, but she supposed she would have imagined two members of the most influential family in the county to make rather more of an impressive spectacle.

Lady Florence was undeniably dressed in the height of fashion. Sadly the prevailing mode ill suited her thickening figure. The colour puce made her appear slightly liverish, and the ugly turban-styled bonnet did absolutely nothing to improve the strong-featured, aristocratic lines of a face that had long since lost any slight claim to beauty.

Her daughter, on the other hand, neither favoured her mother in looks, nor in stature. Taller than average height, and slender, Anthea Kershaw had been blessed with a good complexion; and although her features were regular, one would have considered her handsome rather than pretty. There was no denying either that her plain, unadorned gown suited her very well, and was undoubtedly of good quality. Nevertheless it was clearly the achievement of some competent seamstress and not the creation of a top London modiste, of which Gwen had seen numerous examples during her sojourn in the capital earlier in the year.

She was instantly drawn to the younger woman as much by the warmth of a full-lipped smile as the completely unaffected manner. As things turned out, it was none other than Miss Kershaw herself who gave the first inclination as to why Gwen had been honoured by the visit, once initial pleasantries had been exchanged:

‘I understand from my uncle that you were well acquainted with the latest unfortunate female to meet her end in Marsden Wood?’

‘That is true,’ Gwen confirmed, realising in an instant from whom Lord Cranborne must have attained this information, while in the next moment wondering just when Mr Northbridge had paid a visit to his illustrious neighbour and, more importantly, why.

It might have been purely and simply a social call, during which he had just happened to mention there was someone in the neighbourhood who wasn’t prepared to sit back and allow matters to rest. But even if this was so, his lordship, surely, would hardly feel so discomposed as to deem it necessary to send two close female relations to pay a visit on the person who just might stir up something of a hornet’s nest?

Thrusting the various puzzling possibilities to the back of her mind to mull over later, Gwen went on to explain the close bond she had enjoyed with Jane Robbins. Although both visitors expressed sympathy, Lady Florence wasn’t slow to change the subject in an attempt to discover more about Gwen’s life, her parentage and family history.

She betrayed a degree of surprise, not untouched by approval, when she learned that Gwen’s father had been a member of the old and very distinguished Playfair family heralding from Derbyshire; and that her mother had borne the name of one of the most influential families in the county of Shropshire before her marriage.

‘So your mother and one of my dearest friends, Constance Blanchard, that was, must have been related in some way. First or second cousins, perhaps?’ Lady Florence suggested, after taking a few moments to work out the possible relationship. ‘An excellent old family, the Blanchards. No title, of course, but worthy, all the same.’

Gwen was just silently debating whether or not to reduce drastically her standing in this aristocratic visitor’s eyes by revealing that her mother had not, in fact, come from the wealthy branch of the Blanchard family that owned a good portion of land in the county of Shropshire, when she was forestalled by Miss Kershaw, who took advantage of the temporary lull in the conversation by returning to the subject of the recent murders.