Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Freddie waited for a few moments after Miss Mifford"s swift retreat, before he too returned inside. He debated whether he should return to the fray of the gala, but found the thought of watching Miss Mifford from across the room--and being unable to touch her--too much to bear.

Curses, he thought to himself, as he stalked towards the entrance hall, he was in deeper than he had first imagined.

Not once in his life had Freddie found a woman more interesting and absorbing than he found himself, and he was uncertain how he was supposed to proceed. The memory of Miss Mifford"s hand in his, her sweet scent as he pulled her close, and her plump lips ripe for kissing, filled his mind, and when the footman at the door questioned if he should summon his carriage, Freddie was momentarily at a loss for words.

"Yes," he eventually replied, clearing his throat to disguise his embarrassment, "Yes, do."

His driver and carriage arrived in record time and as Freddie clambered into the compartment, he instructed the driver to take him to White"s rather than home.

He had no idea why, as he was usually content in his own company, but tonight he felt he needed to hear the comforting chatter of men, while he nursed a large brandy.

White"s, one of London"s most exclusive gentleman"s clubs, was situated at the top of St James" Street in an imposing building made of Portland stone, with a grand Palladian facade. Freddie"s carriage stopped just at the front door. He disembarked and swiftly climbed the steps to the entrance, where he was ushered inside by a sombrely uniformed footman.

Given the early hour, the club was not too busy. The married male members had no doubt been corralled by their wives to attend this ball or that, leaving the dining room half-empty.

As Freddie made his way through the door, a bunch of young-bloods seated at the famed bow-window glanced up nervously. They occupied the seat usually reserved for the most esteemed club members, and Freddie"s arrival meant that this no longer included them.

Freddie had no wish to quibble over titles, nor command the attention of the room, so he merely ignored them and made for a cosy Queen Anne by the fireplace.

"A brandy," Freddie bid the footman, who materialised at his side the moment his bottom hit the cushion of his chair.

"Actually--make that a decanter," he called, as the footman scurried away.

He was feeling contemplative and one glass of brandy would not do.

The servant returned in the blink of an eye, bearing a tray with a crystal tumbler and a large decanter of the finest brandy a man could wish for. Freddie poured himself a large measure, took a deep sip, and settled back into his chair to mull over his encounter with Miss Mifford.

He hadn"t intended to try kiss her--the urge had overcome him suddenly, as he had held her hand in his. If Lady Wilcox hadn"t interrupted them, perhaps he would now be reliving the taste of her soft lips and the warm feel of her body pressed against his.

Alas, they had been interrupted, and now all Freddie was left with was a sense of longing and mild insecurity--a completely foreign experience for a man of his confidence.

Miss Mifford had dashed off faster than a hot-blood at Ascot; had it been nerves, or had she snapped out of her daze and realised that she found Freddie repulsive?

Freddie took another deep sip of his brandy and tried to talk himself down of the cliff of despair upon which he stood.

Miss Mifford could not possibly find him repulsive; The Belle Monde, that arbiter of fashion and beauty, had only last month described him as London"s most handsome bachelor. The gossip columns in several news-sheets had already declared him the best dressed man of the season. And, just that very evening, as Farley had assisted him into his coat, the valet had professed that he believed Freddie to be the living embodiment of Adonis himself.

No, Freddie assured himself, she could not possibly be repulsed by his looks.

Was it his personality?

Freddie snorted a little at this idea, and dismissed it--there was nothing more charming to women than a self-confident man. He was being utterly ridiculous; Miss Mifford"s flight had nothing to do with him, and more to do with her own nerves, that was all.

"Have you finally given into insanity, Chambers?" a voice called out from behind him, "I did not expect to find you here, giggling to yourself in the corner."

Freddie turned his head and found Delaney, dressed in dark evening attire, standing behind him, his face a picture of amusement.

"Is it a crime to find oneself amusing?" Freddie replied, with a wave of his hand, "If so, lock me up and throw away the key."

"If it was a crime to laugh at one"s own jokes, half the members of this club would be in Newgate," Delaney replied, as he slipped into the chair opposite him, "Now, where"s the footman got to? When I have a bit of brandy in me, I usually find you as amusing as you find yourself..."

The footman appeared, without having to be asked, with another glass for Delaney. The baron helped himself to a large measure of brandy, and settled himself into his chair, before launching into a long, detailed account of his night at the theatre.

"Of course, if Mother had told me that she had invited Miss Hunt, I never would have agreed to join her," Delaney finished, with a grumble, "There"s nothing worse for starting marriage rumours than spending the evening on display in a box with an unmarried chit."

"Surely, at this stage in your life, the tabbies of the ton know that it"s not you who is marriage minded, but rather your mother?" Freddie answered, with a snort of laughter.

Lady Delaney had been trying to marry her son off for at least a decade, but to no avail. The baron was a hopeless bachelor, who was happy to have his title pass on to one of his younger brothers.

"They probably do," Delaney agreed, "Though, it would be helpful if they could inform my mama. Tell me, how went your evening? Not very well, I"d hazard to guess, if you"ve found yourself here at such an early hour."

Freddie hesitated before answering, as that strange feeling of insecurity crept over him again. What if he shared his feelings about Miss Mifford with Delaney, and then she rejected him outright? Would his friend forever tease him about his unrequited love?

Unfortunately for Freddie, Delaney--as his oldest friend--knew him better than most, and instantly guessed that something was amiss.

"Lud," he cleared his throat, and set his glass down upon the table, "You were chasing after that Mifford chit, weren"t you?"

"I don"t know what you mean," Freddie spluttered in response, unable to meet his friend"s eye.

"Don"t fob me off, Chambers," Delaney replied, cheerfully, "You got yourself all dressed up for some party, in the hopes of chasing Miss Mifford, and when you failed to catch her, you retreated to here to lick your wounds."

"You make it sound as though she doesn"t even know who I am," Freddie answered, feeling highly offended, "If you must know, Miss Mifford and I have joined forces, in an effort to try solve Lady Hardthistle"s murder--"

"--But you would like to do more than solve mysteries with the lass?" Delaney guessed, with a chuckle.

"She is a very accomplished and beautiful young woman," Freddie cleared his throat, "Any man would admire her."

"And is this feeling of admiration reciprocated?"

When Freddie did not reply, Delaney gave another chuckle. Freddie watched as his friend took a large sip of his brandy and regarded him thoughtfully.

Delaney had the look of a man who was about to impart some great words of wisdom, but wanted to take his time about it.

"Spit it out, man," Freddie grumbled, after a full minute of this carry-on. Delaney could be insufferable, when he thought himself right.

"If you want to make her your wife, you need to make your intentions clear," the baron answered, with a shrug.

"In what way would a man do that?"

"The usual; call on her, dance with her, take her for a ride along the Row, or to the theatre, send her flowers, " Delaney listed, before continuing with a pointed glance, "And be humble whilst you"re doing it."

"Confidence is one of the most attractive traits a man can possess," Freddie argued, though he did see some merit to Delaney"s suggestion--Miss Mifford had mentioned his inflated ego several times. While Freddie did think that a large amour propre was an essential attribute in a gentleman, he did not wish to have one so large that it got in the way of things. He might be able to reign in the worst of it, he decided.

"Now, enough about courting," Delaney continued, with a vague look of distaste as he uttered the word, "Tell me about your investigation--I didn"t realise you"d taken sleuthing up as a hobby. Do you have any suspects in mind, apart from Miss Mifford, that is?"

"Miss Mifford is innocent," Freddie clarified, before he launched into what they had so far learned.

"So, Mr Fitzgibbons was given an alibi by his good friend, Mr Bunting," Delaney surmised, once Freddie had explained all, "Which is rather suspicious, but Sir Cadogan has emerged as another likely contender?"

"Yes," Freddie confirmed, with a nod, "It"s hard to believe that two people threatened to strangle Lady Hardthistle in such a short space of time."

"Is it really?" Delaney muttered, but as the remark was barely audible, Freddie let it slide.

"My money is on Mr Fitzgibbons," Delaney decided, as though there was a wager running in White"s famed betting book, "Hot headed young man, with money woes. He saw her alone and he snapped, just like that!"

Delaney snapped his fingers to emphasise his point.

"Sir Cadogan also has money worries," Freddie pointed out, "And he"s fond of a drink; a drunk man is as likely to snap as a young man."

"So, you agree it was a man, and not Ethel?" Delaney prompted, and Freddie was forced to nod in agreement.

Miss Mifford was correct in thinking that no female was capable of strangling a person to death. Freddie had seen Lady Hardthistle"s corpse, and her mottled purple face; whoever had killed her had done so with violent, brute force that no woman was capable of.

"It most likely was not Ethel," Freddie agreed, though he could not help but add, "Even though inheriting the whole of Lady Hardthistle"s fortune is a rather strong motive to murder her."

"So we return to Sir Cadogan," Delaney sighed, before blinking in surprise at something he saw over Freddie"s shoulder. Delaney"s seat was facing the door, whilst Freddie"s faced the fire, so he could not see what it was that had shocked his friend.

"Well, don"t look now, but look who has just walked in," Freddie continued, in a whisper. "Only the gentleman himself. I had heard that he"d not been keeping up with his accounts here, but perhaps that was just a rumour."

Freddie casually turned his head and sighted Sir Cadogan, with a mustard vest straining against his rotund stomach, making his way across the dining room to one of the tables in the corner.

"Fate has spoken," Freddie sighed, offering his friend an apologetic look, before standing up from the comfort of his chair. He could not allow the opportunity for a quiet word with Sir Cadogan slip through his fingers.

Freddie picked his way through the tables and chairs, to Sir Cadogan"s spot in the corner. The squire was examining a newspaper--the Evening English Herald, which offered the best racing news--and only looked up when Freddie cleared his throat.

"Lord Chambers," Sir Cadogan blinked in surprise, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I would like a word, old chap," Freddie answered, slipping into the seat opposite without being asked.

"Of course, of course," Sir Cadogan blustered, setting the news-sheet aside, "In the market for a filly?"

Just like Lady Hardthistle, Sir Cadogan was in the business of horseflesh. Unlike the late baroness, however, the squire"s stables were not nearly as illustrious.

"No, but I did wish to discuss the mare you purchased from Lady Hardthistle," Freddie answered, thinking to dive into matters straight away, "I"m told she sold you a barren mare?"

Sir Cadogan scowled, and nodded his head so furiously that his jowls continued to jiggle for several moments after he had finished.

"Did she get you too?" he growled, banging a clenched fist against his thigh, "The old witch--I"d like to buy whoever strangled her a drink. They did the world a great favour."

Freddie, who had not been expecting such a strong outburst, paused for a second before he replied.

"The night before Lady Hardthistle"s murder, you were overheard threatening to strangle her," Freddie commented, keeping his tone mild, "Might I ask where you were that night, during the firework display?"

A stunned silence greeted him, as Sir Cadogan turned a rather alarming shade of purple. He looked, Freddie thought, to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit. Freddie knew of a physician in Harley Street, who could perform miracles with bloodletting leeches, but perhaps now was not the time to mention it.

"I have never been so insulted in my life," Sir Cadogan eventually replied, opting for outrage rather than answers.

"As a man who frequents this club, I highly doubt that," Freddie replied, with feigned joviality. The members of White"s were notorious for their high-jinx and brandy-fuelled excesses; on some nights it reminded Freddie of his years at Eton, such was the level of maturity shown.

"Never so insulted in my life," Sir Cadogan repeated, belligerently.

"Where were you during the firework display, Sir Cadogan?" Freddie pressed, determined to have an answer.

There was another silence, in which the squire scowled murderously across the table, as Freddie waited for his answer.

"I do not have to justify myself to you," Sir Cadogan eventually replied, snatching up his copy of the Herald and pushing back his chair, "I shall be writing a strongly worded letter to the board, my lord. You cannot just go around accusing other members of murder, willy-nilly."

"It"s hardly willy-nilly when you were heard threatening to strangle the woman days before she was strangled," Freddie replied, cheerfully, but Sir Cadogan had already left.

Once the older gentleman had gone, slamming the door behind him, Freddie let out a sigh.

His quiet word with Sir Cadogan hadn"t gone as well as he would have liked, but his refusal to answer was rather revealing.

If Sir Cadogan was innocent, he would have been able to offer an explanation as to his whereabouts on the night. It was looking more and more likely that the old squire was the guilty party--Freddie just needed more proof.

"That didn"t go well from the looks of things."

Freddie had been so lost in thought, that he had not noticed Delaney approaching until he was standing right in front of him.

"Better than it appeared," Freddie replied, "But not as well as I would have hoped."

"There"s always tomorrow," Delaney consoled him, "And, speaking of which, I"d best be off. I have a meeting with my man of business in the morning, and for some reason the chap thinks I get up before noon."

"How you suffer," Freddie responded drolly, and waved his friend off.

He sat for a few minutes, pondering Sir Cadogan"s telling refusal to answer his question, until a large group of braying young-bloods entered the room. Their shouts of laughter were a tad distracting, and threatened to get only worse, so Freddie decided he"d had enough of White"s for one night.

He made for the door, but as he approached it, a pair of familiar young gentlemen blocked his way.

Mr Bunting and Mr Fitzgibbons--the former supporting the very drunk latter--paused mid-step, to prevent a collision.

"Lord Chambers," Mr Fitzgibbons slurred, as he caught sight of Freddie, "Here to accuse me of murder again? I should have called you out for that, you mangy cur."

Freddie raised a bemused brow; Mr Fitzgibbons had reached the piratical stage of drinking, by the sound of things.

"He doesn"t mean that," Mr Bunting whispered, as he struggled to keep the stumbling Mr Fitzgibbons upright, "He"s just in his cups. Please accept my apologies on his behalf, I shall remind him tomorrow of what he said, so he remembers to feel remorseful."

"He"s lucky he has such a good friend in you, Mr Bunting," Freddie answered evenly, before neatly sidestepping the pair and making for the front door.

A footman summoned his carriage and driver, and Freddie was soon ensconced safely inside for the short journey back to Pall Mall, where his family had kept a town house since the street"s inception in the sixteenth century.

Farley was waiting up to assist him with undressing, and Freddie allowed his mind to drift as the valet chattered on about this and that. The murder investigation should have been at the forefront of his mind, but it was Miss Mifford who kept his thoughts occupied.

It was going to be a long night, Freddie thought with a sigh.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, my lord?" Farley queried, as he gently placed the dinner jacket on a hanger and began to brush it down.

"No," Freddie yawned, longing for the comfort of his bed--but then a thought struck him.

"Actually, Farley," he said, wrapping his silk banyan tightly around him, "Could you check which play is showing in The Theatre Royal tomorrow?"

Farley"s eyebrows knitted together in surprise, but he was too well trained to ask just who his employer would be attending the theatre with.

"Of course," the valet replied, smoothly, "I"ll let you know in the morning."

"Thank you," Freddie nodded his head in gratitude, before slipping from the dressing room to his bed chamber--where, no doubt, a night of tossing and turning awaited him.