An Unmourned Man (Lady C. Investigates Book 1) Read online

  She knew what that meant. Oh, she had plenty of experience from her first marriage. It meant being locked up until she conceded defeat.

  She sucked in a deep breath.

  And kneed him sharply between the legs.

  The dragging effect of her skirts meant she lost some of the force but none of the surprise and every man present gasped and groaned at the sight. She stepped back and Ruby was at her side. Her maid’s hand was on Cordelia’s upper back and it seemed to pour strength into Cordelia like magic. Hugo lunged forward, wildly, his hands reaching out like claws to grab her wrists.

  She had expected it. She retreated along the landing, staying by the wall rather than the railings and bannisters. People began to rush up the steps to keep her in view, and Hugo took two steps to follow her, before someone bellowed out, “No!”

  She did not know who it was, but Hugo did stop.

  “I did not agree to marry you!” she shouted again, a public declaration that could not now be in doubt.

  He was puffing his cheeks in and out, and his face was becoming more red as he glared.

  Finally he spoke.

  “Get out of my house. Now.”

  Chapter Thirty

  It was absolutely freezing.

  “What happened to summer?” Ruby complained. “How can the temperature drop so suddenly?” She burbled on, spouting an endless and meaningless litany about the weather. Cordelia didn’t mind. It was something to focus on as they waited, huddled together, just past the entrance to Hugo’s manor. They were standing at the edge of the public road, desperately seeking shelter from the incessant rain. They were wearing nothing but their gowns designed for indoor activities. Ruby was slightly better placed as she had not been a guest at the party, so she was wearing her more-sensible clothing, the usual mixture of modified cast-offs from Cordelia. Cordelia had nothing but her red dress, many skirts, thin gloves and a shawl that a purse-lipped matron had thrust into her hands as Cordelia had fled through the crowd and out the front door, pursued by Hugo.

  He chased them both, Ruby and Cordelia, until they were clear of his land. With more foul invectives and cursing, he stood in the rain for a moment, until he grew bored. Then he turned and half-ran back into his house, shouting that all Cordelia’s staff were to be ejected without delay.

  “I should go back in,” Ruby said. “I must gather your things.”

  Cordelia wanted to ask her to stay, but she knew it was sense, and she let her go.

  Now she was alone.

  * * *

  Carriages and coaches began to pass by as guests left in a hurry. She imagined the chatter within, as she shrank back against the wall and tried to stay out of sight. She and Hugo would be the talk of the locality for many months to come. No one mourned a poor working man’s death, but the public scene was quite the scandal! At least she did not live here, and though the gossip would follow her home, she did not feel as affected as she knew that Hugo would. It would strike him deeply.

  Her feet were cold and she felt as if she were slowly sinking into the mud. The wall offered slight protection and she pressed against it. Above her, a tree dropped slow, fat balls of rain onto her bare head.

  She would never be allowed to be a guest here again.

  And no doubt she would have fewer invitations to go visiting elsewhere, too, once word spread of her shenanigans.

  A succession of three carriages rumbled past, their wheels sticking in the mud and the horses prancing with their hooves high and their eyes wild and rolling. But the third slowed to a stop at the entrance, and she pressed even harder against the stone.

  Oh! It was her own travelling chariot; the bulk of the thing was so different to the light little carriages that people had used to come to the party. Atop the driver’s seat was the spiky form of Stanley, recognisable even under his splay-shouldered oilskin cape. He was peering about him as if he had been told roughly where to find her.

  She went forward. “Here!”

  “My lady!” He jumped down into the dark wet mud, and helped her into the carriage. She tried to keep her filthy skirts clear of the upholstery but it was no use and she shuddered to see the brown trail she had left. One lantern was lit within, and it was enough; even the sight of it warmed her. “I will draw to the side,” he said, “and we will await the others.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They are coming,” he said. He smiled, and in the darkness he met her eyes, and she realised that in the excitement, his stammer had receded. She did not mention it. She thanked him, and let him close the door upon her.

  * * *

  She wrapped herself up well in the furs and blankets of the coach, and settled back, worrying about her staff and her possessions. She wanted Stanley to come in and talk to her, keep her company, but he had his place and it was outside in the driving rain as he, too, waited anxiously.

  The first to appear was Geoffrey. She heard his voice, talking to Stanley in a low gruff way. Then the coach rocked and she heard the boxes on the back being opened and closed. There was another slam, and then silence.

  She poked her head out of the window, but could see nothing in the blackness. “Are you all right up there?”

  Only Stanley answered. “Yes, my lady.”

  Then Ruby and Mrs Unsworth appeared and there was more activity as things were tied to the roof and the back. A chest of clothes was shoved into the main carriage, and Ruby and Mrs Unsworth climbed in after it, their legs shoved up awkwardly against the chest which took up most of the floor-space. Ruby had brought a hot brick wrapped well in old, thin woollen fabric, and Cordelia clung to it.

  The door opened again, as soon as it had closed. Geoffrey stood there, large in his layers, a dark shadow with the rain pouring off his hat. “Are we all fit to go?” he asked.

  Cordelia nodded wearily. “I believe so. It is the journey of many hours to get home; they will be rather surprised, don’t you think?” Surprised at everything, she thought sadly. Particularly surprised at the news we are to leave. Though I suppose most of them will be expecting this. I cannot imagine that the trusteeship was any kind of secret to the staff.

  She could not see Geoffrey’s expression clearly but his face screwed up. Ruby leaned forward and blocked most of the light from the lantern. Now Cordelia could hardly see anything.

  “But we are not going home, my lady,” Geoffrey said.

  “What do you mean? Are the horses unwell? I think Hugo will have a fit all over again if we stayed here.”

  “We are not staying here,” Geoffrey said brusquely. “I have got us rooms at the inn. Let’s go.”

  He slammed the door and the coach shifted on its springs as he climbed up. Ruby sat back, smiling smugly. Even Mrs Unsworth’s face was a little softer.

  “It’s a bad idea,” Cordelia said. “We may as well press on now, and be home by first light. Why bother staying over, just to delay the start before we head home?”

  “As Geoffrey says, my lady, we’re not going home,” Ruby said. “Not tonight and not tomorrow, neither.”

  Mrs Unsworth spoke unexpectedly. “Been there, done that, eh, my lady?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You done that before. Letting the man call the shots. You’re different now. You don’t let ‘em do that, and good luck to you, and all.”

  “What happened before?” Ruby asked.

  Both Cordelia and Mrs Unsworth turned to look at her. Neither was going to speak. Ruby swallowed and dropped her gaze.

  Cordelia turned back to the task in hand. “I do not see the value in staying. I don’t wish to taunt the man. It is all over.”

  “You ain’t staying for that man. You are staying for the other,” Mrs Unsworth said. “Fool’s errand though it is. But you may as well see it through. For him. And for us, and Clarfields, I reckon.”

  Ruby nodded. “You have business to conclude here, my lady.”

  “I do.” Oh goodness, oh no. Cordelia pulled the furs around her as the carriage lur
ched forward, its progress made jerky by the bad ruts that were emerging in the mud. She felt warmed now, from the inside, and it wasn’t just the effect of the blankets.

  But she was also nervous. For now she had to live up to her servants’ faith in her.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The journey through the black countryside was short, but slow. Stanley walked ahead with a lantern, slipping and sliding in the mud, while Geoffrey urged the horses on at a steady and careful pace. With no moon and no stars, the road was treacherous in its darkness. Cordelia held the curtain back from the window in the door, peeping out until the first sight of a yellow light made her smile.

  The lights grew more frequent; now they were entering the outskirts of the small town. The meaner cottages had but one candle, or were lit only by a fire. Some still used rank and smelly rush-lights, due to the proximity to the reed beds of the fens. The larger dwellings had more abundant lanterns and lamps.

  Finally they came onto the main street, and the inn was lit like a beacon to attract all weary travellers. Geoffrey drove the carriage around to the yard, through the wide arch and into a well-lit and active space. The staff of the inn were ready for coaches at any time of the day or night. They also had a regular stage and mail timetable, and were well versed in coping with people of all stations in life.

  Ruby and Cordelia were swept into the inn by a tall, stately woman while Mrs Unsworth, Stanley and Geoffrey set about their various tasks; Stanley and Geoffrey to the horses and thence to the taproom, while Mrs Unsworth directed the unloading of the essential luggage.

  Geoffrey had done his work well. Cordelia found that he had engaged a small suite of rooms to house them all, and she was glad that they were all going to be together and not scattered across the inn. There was a small room for Geoffrey and Stanley, a truckle bed erected in a day room for Mrs Unsworth, and a slightly larger room for Cordelia with another truckle bed in there, tucked half behind a curtain in an alcove, for Ruby. It wasn’t exactly ideal in the normal scheme of things. It ought to have been scandalous. But these were no longer normal times.

  The fire was well-lit. A maid bobbed and curtseyed and fussed until Cordelia assured her that all was well, and paid her to go away. Then they set about stripping out of their wet gowns. Mrs Unsworth soon lumbered in with fresh clothing for all, and Cordelia was curled before the fire with a warm brew in her hands by the time Geoffrey and Stanley came up. They stood awkwardly by the door.

  “Come in,” she said, waving her hands.

  Geoffrey did so, but Stanley was paralysed by impropriety and stayed where he was.

  “Have you ladies all eaten?” Geoffrey asked. “I can recommend the broth. Very hearty.”

  “I am not sure I can face food yet,” Cordelia said.

  She then caught sight of Mrs Unsworth’s face. Her expression of misery was mirrored on Ruby’s. Cordelia smiled. “However, I think these two should go and eat; I can take care of myself.”

  “You insult me to say that,” Ruby said tartly as she got to her feet.

  “I’m sorry, Ruby. I mean to say, I should be lost without you. Now, go, the pair of you. Geoffrey, Stanley; do not feel obliged to attend on me. Go back to the taproom. Drink, relax, don’t lose too much at cards or dice or whatever it is you may play there.”

  “Push-penny,” Geoffrey said, “And I am the master at it.”

  “Go forth, then, and dominate,” she said.

  Stanley was reluctant to go back down. He would be happier with a quiet space and a book, she thought, but Geoffrey grabbed him and steered him back onto the landing.

  As soon as she was alone, she felt energy beginning to seep back into her bones. She watched the fire for a while, poking sticks onto it from time to time. There was a coal scuttle nearby and she threw some coals onto the flames, damping it down to a solid, steady heat. She thought briefly about where the coal was delivered from, but realised she was trying to distract herself from the real business to which she had to attend.

  She was growing hungry, now. It was around ten o’clock and she could hear laughter and occasional distant shouts from elsewhere. She was gripped by the desire to prowl and explore. This was where Mrs Hurrell had been held; she decided, on a whim, to sally forth and discover the room for herself.

  She pulled a grey shawl around her shoulders, and did not pay attention to her still-damp and now-frizzing hair. She did not want to terrify any maids who would not be expecting a well-bred lady to be abroad in the corridors; better it be that she seem to be a more middling sort. She spotted a woman in black who was running with a tray of food, and Cordelia stopped her to ask where Mrs Hurrell had been kept.

  The maid looked alarmed. “Why do you want to know?” she demanded.

  Why, indeed? Cordelia rounded her shoulders a little and hoped she didn’t look too haughty. She said, “I bet a lot of folks have been pestering you, wanting to see the woman.”

  “Not really. Everyone’s seen her before anyway. Are you a guest here…?”

  “Yes, yes, I am. Sorry for keeping you from your work.”

  As the maid turned to go, Cordelia said, “Oh, and the room?”

  Rolling her eyes, the maid nodded down the hallway. “At the end. It’s a store room usually. No windows, see?”

  Cordelia waited until the maid was out of sight, and then went along the corridor. The carpet ran out and became bare floorboards as she turned a corner, and the lamps along here were sparse. The few lamps there were seemed to give out a light that was almost beige. She spotted the correct door instantly; it had two heavy bolts on it, at the top and at the bottom.

  She would not have been able to explain why she felt so compelled to see the room. Perhaps she was just another gawper like those at a hanging, delighting to witness another’s dreadful fate.

  But then, she reminded herself, Mrs Hurrell had escaped the noose.

  Cordelia reached the door. All was quiet. There was a wooden chair by the door, presumably for a constable or watchman to use. Only the top bolt was shot home, so she jumped up onto the chair, holding her skirts with one hand and steadying herself against the wall with the other. It was a quick and simple task to drag the bolt back; its recent frequent use had kept it supple.

  And then she was able to swing the door open, and look in.

  Nothing. There was simply nothing unremarkable about the room. It was dark and unlit, but by the filtering light of the lanterns in the corridor, she could see it was small and had a narrow bed along one side. That was all. The maid had been wrong; there was a small skylight, narrow and high. For some reason, Cordelia found herself relieved to see that. Perhaps she couldn’t quite bear the thought of anyone being kept in total darkness from day to day.

  So, the coroner and the sheriff were done with the case, were they? It was to be ascribed to a “wandering vagrant” and done with it.

  No. He was killed deliberately, she was sure of it. Someone came to that house, sent Mrs Hurrell away with a note, and knocked him out.

  Cordelia stood bolt upright then and her heart thudded in surprise as a fresh idea struck her.

  If the note did exist, had it really been part of it, all along?

  Or was it an unrelated event that she had ascribed a meaning to – a meaning that it did not have?

  Was the killer, in fact, seeking Mrs Hurrell all along?

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The next day began slowly, and Cordelia kept to her rooms while her servants went about their tasks. She sent Stanley and Mrs Unsworth out to gather gossip from their respective social groups, and Geoffrey lingered in the stables, seeing to the coach and talking to travellers. She set Ruby to attend to a particular objective, and the maid went off to fulfil that willingly.

  Cordelia flicked through her notebook, stared at the fire, drank an awful lot of tea, and thought about the crime.

  She was sure that she was close.

  Always, she asked herself, who benefits?

  * * *

  �
��At last!” Ruby cried as she burst into the room where Cordelia still sat. “I am sorry I took so long.”

  “It is no matter – you are here, now. Sit, take a drink.”

  Ruby thrust the bundle of letters at Cordelia. “You see,” she said, “now aren’t you grateful that I got to know those footmen so well?”

  “Footmen?”

  “Eggs, baskets, you know,” Ruby said airily. “But they were easily persuaded to keep your correspondence hidden from Hugo and pass it on to me.”

  “Marvellous.”