Page 21 of The Hazardous Measure of Love
Luc grinned. ‘Not the most restful female I have ever encountered. A stroll in the park?’ He crooked his arm and turned away from St James’s Street. ‘What was your judgment on her truthfulness?’
‘I just do not know,’ I confessed, sliding my hand into the familiar, comforting angle of his elbow. ‘Either she is exactly what she seems, a totally self-centred person who takes no interest in anyone beyond what they can do for her, or she knows far more than she is saying but is exceedingly good at concealing it.’ Luc give a hum of agreement, so I pressed him for his opinion. ‘By all accounts Lord Tillingham was a serious man. Why should he fall for Madame Vaillant, of all people?’
‘Because he was not interested in her conversation?’ Luc suggested. ‘Hewasan earnest and controlled man, by all accounts, but perhaps he enjoyed the complete opposite when it came to his carnal pleasures.’
‘That does seem logical.’ I agreed. We emerged from a narrow passageway onto Queen’s Walk, the wide footpath that ran along the eastern edge of Green Park. ‘She would have to be a very fine actress to carry off that air of high-flown drama all the time and yet be able to stab a man in such a controlled, economical manner. If she was furious because he had discarded her, the manner of his killing does not ring true. If she has some other motive, then I confess, I cannot think what it might be.’
‘Shall we sit and consider what else we can do before the inquest?’ Luc suggested, dusting down a bench for me to sit in the shade of a lime tree.
‘Let’s hope it gives us some more lines of enquiry,’ I said, a feeling of pessimism creeping over me. ‘I just cannot believe Adrien had anything to do with this. What would be his motive? As for his sickly uncle, he appears to have been ill for years and I can’t for the life of me imagine why he should suddenly decide he wanted the title for himself. If it is linked to the inheritance, then we are left to suppose that Adrien’s father committed cold-blooded murder to secure the title. But again, why now?’
‘Because Tillingham was about to marry a heathy young bride who might well supply him with an heir within a year of the wedding,’ Luc said. ‘The timing has to be significant, surely? Unless Alexander has the stomach for slaughtering infants, there goes his hopes of the title.’
‘Hmm. What about the footman who was dismissed without a character? He would know about Tillingham’s habits – working undisturbed for hours, the open window with access to the terrace, which in turn can be reached from the mews behind.’
‘Again, it seems a very calm, considered crime for someone who must have been motivated by anger and resentment,’ Luc said. ‘But I agree, it would be worth tracking the man down to talk to him. He may tell us more about the household than the remaining servants are prepared to.’
‘We haven’t considered them, have we? “The butler did it” is such a cliché.’
‘It is?’
‘Detective novels of the nineteen twenties and thirties,’ I explained. ‘I’ll lend you some to read. But what about the staff? It sounds as though the Viscount was a stickler for proper behaviour. He may have been more of a domestic tyrant than Adrien realised. Or perhaps he was an utter hypocrite and was looking for a meek little housemaid to take to bed as light relief from Madame.’
‘I agree, we should speak to all of them, not just Grainger. But some of them will be called to the inquest tomorrow, so we can build on the Coroner’s questioning.’
‘Who else is there?’ I asked. ‘I suppose Horace the youngest brother and his family are too remote from the title to have that as a motive.’
‘There might be some other point of friction,’ Luc said. ‘But I cannot think what it might be. We can ask Adrien but, if there had been any blazing rows or deep estrangements, I feel sure he would have mentioned them by now.’
‘And Jerald seems to have been indulged with small loans of money,’ I pointed out.
‘True.’
‘I suppose the second son of the old Viscount, the soldier who was killed in India, didn’t marry and have a son?’ I mused. ‘Now that would be dramatic – the true heir turns up brandishing their birth certificate and their parents’ marriage lines and everyone else is moved down the line of succession. What if he is the Mysterious Illegitimate Male who called on Henry last week, and he isn’t illegitimate after all?’ I leaned back, closed my eyes and tried to imagine how that might play out.
‘The military man had kept his marriage a secret, for some reason. His son arrives from India and, before they reveal themselves – not expecting to be the heir, merely wanting to find out about this unknown family before they present themselves – they discover that the current Viscount is about to marry. It makes them think about their own position and they realise that if he dies before he has a chance to father an heir, then they inherit. That would give them an even stronger motive than Adrien’s father has.’
‘How likely is it that an unknown heir is out there?’ Luc asked, clearly sceptical. ‘And why on earth would he be the relative supposedly born on the wrong side of the blanket? Either he’s legitimate or he isn’t.’
‘How long ago was he killed? The General, was it?’
‘Colonel,’ Luc said. ‘The Battle of Assaye. Late September in eighteen hundred and three.’
‘Not quite four years ago.’ I counted off on my fingers. ‘How long does it take to travel from India?’
‘Four or five months would be exceptionally fast,’ Luc said. ‘It can take a year. Bad weather, storms, a damaged or poor ship – I have heard of people abandoning the vessel they are on and waiting in Cape Town for months for one they felt more confident about.’
‘It is possible, then,’ I said, well into my fantasy by now. ‘It would take a while for news to reach his family, if he had one. Then they would be in mourning. Then someone has to make the decision to come to England, make preparations – raise money, perhaps – travel to a port and so forth. And it is possible that they have been in this country for a while, finding their feet. Or plotting,’ I added darkly. ‘That’s why he pretends to be illegitimate to start with, in order to investigate the family.’
‘I think it highly unlikely.’ Luc seemed more amused than scornful. ‘Surely, if there was a legitimate family in India they would have been known to the military authorities – the Colonel would have definitely left a will with his regiment’s clerks. And any legitimate wife would have written to the English family as a matter of courtesy, even if she had been left well-provided for and was in no need of support.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ I said reluctantly, seeing my wildly romantic tale reduced to a heap of improbabilities. ‘It was just such a dramatic theory, especially if he had married an Indian woman. That would have made a stir in theton.’
Luc shrugged. ‘Not particularly. It happens less now, but the East India Company used to positively encourage their senior officers to forge legitimate local connections through marriage. Many of the noble families of England have members who are part-Indian.’
I was theorising based on Victorian and Edwardian attitudes to India, I realised, and, if a respectable Indian bride would have been acceptable, then there went any motive for secrecy. ‘You are right,’ I said with a sigh. ‘If there was a legitimate heir, they would have made themselves known by now.’
We watched as two small children accompanied by a huge fluffy dog and a distracted nursemaid came past, heading for the small herd of cows grazing in the distance. That wasn’t going to end well…
