Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

GWINNIE'S STRATEGY

T he footman, Stephen, let Lewis into Malmsby House at 9:00 a.m. Monday morning. "Is His Grace available?"

"In the breakfast room, sir. He said if you arrived, I was to bring you there. Follow me, please."

"Thank you, Stephen."

Lewis had met and learned the names of all of the Malmsby House staff last June, after the betrothal ball for the Dowager Duchess of Malmsby's granddaughter, Anne Hallowell, to Miles Wingate, the Duke of Ellinbourne.

He'd been called in to investigate the shooting of Lord Candelstone during the ball. It was a flesh wound caused by a small-caliber bullet from a petite gun such as a woman might carry. It was during that investigation that he'd formally met Lady Guinevere Nowlton, or Gwinnie, as she preferred to be called. He had known who she was before that, as her father had hired him and others to be guards to keep an eye on her from a distance. She believed she was too tall and broad-shouldered for any man to want to hassle her. Her father, not wishing to squelch her confidence, quietly arranged for discreet guards.

But he didn't formally meet her until he walked into the music room that next afternoon, where she was practicing with her quartet for an upcoming performance. He'd been entranced by her ebullience, wit, and talent. She stood half a head taller than him, her dark red hair coming loose from their pins as she furiously played solo, the other musicians watching her. To this day, he didn't know why he did it; however, he walked over to the pianoforte and began accompanying her. She looked over at him in surprise, then her face exploded into the biggest grin, and they played together until the end of the piece.

Since that afternoon, they'd been friends of a sort— as much as a Bow Street agent and the daughter of a duke could be friends.

"Mr. Martin has arrived, Your Grace," Stephen said from the breakfast parlor door, reclaiming Lewis's attention from his memories.

"Welcome, Mr. Martin! Come in, please, and join us for breakfast," the duke said. With him sat Gwinnie. He pointed to the seat to his left. His daughter sat to his right. Lewis made his way around the table.

"Coffee," he told the maid standing there waiting. After his cup was filled, she set a full breakfast plate before him.

The duke touched his napkin to his mouth and leaned back in his chair. "I sent a letter off to Soothcoor Saturday morning and heard back from him last night. He plans to be at the inquest today."

Lewis nodded. "I know," he said with a smirk. "He is in town now. I saw him briefly yesterday when he brought Daniel down from school."

The duke looked at him with curiosity. "What are you thinking that you smirk?"

"I met with Mr. Gedney Saturday night. He assumes the earl will not appear at the inquest. Based on my conversation with him, he will make the motions of investigating. He said he intends to instruct Dr. Brogan to render a verdict of death by person or persons unknown."

"Really," the duke drawled. He looked toward his daughter. "That will not do, not do at all, will it, Gwinnie, my dear?"

She took a sip of her coffee. "I should protest it if I were at the inquest; however, as women are not allowed, it will be up to you gentlemen to see that doesn't occur."

"Not correct," her father said. He laced his hands together over his stomach. "Women are not allowed as part of the jury; however, they may come as witnesses."

"However, you are partly correct, from Mr. Gedney's standpoint," Lewis said. "He does wish Sarah Knolls to come to the inn prior to the inquest so he may question her then. He'd rather not have her before the jury."

"Why?"

Lewis shrugged. "To corroborate my statement, I suppose. But he doesn't know where Sarah Knolls lives, nor her real identity," he said.

The duke looked at Gwinnie. "Am I to understand by your appearance this morning that you intend to go as Lady Guinevere Nowlton and not as Sally or Sarah Knotts, or whatever name it is you gave yourself.?"

Gwinnie laughed. "Sarah Knolls. Yes, I intend to go as myself. Grandmother convinced me that to try to tell a truth while one is living a lie is not proper."

"I will be going with you," the duke said. "I intended to go anyway in case Soothcoor does not make it in time." He looked over at the maid. "Mercy, request Stephen to fetch me the paper I have on my desk."

The maid curtsied and left the breakfast parlor. "I have prepared a paper to formally request your services to investigate the death of Mrs. Southerland."

Lewis bowed his head slightly. "I was intending to do so anyway. Mr. Gedney will not give her the attention she deserves. He thought her house was a brothel, not a charity house. I informed him otherwise. I don't know if he believed me."

"A brothel," Gwinnie protested.

Her father laid a hand on hers. "Calm yourself, Gwinnie. There are better ways to get one's point across than using a loud voice. Ways that may have a more lasting impact," he finished as he patted her hand. He smiled.

"Oh! You are planning something!" she said. Her expression lightened, and she smiled happily at her father.

He nodded. "Perhaps. We shall see how it plays out before running in with battle cries."

"Should Grandmother be pleased?" she asked.

He gave a shout of laughter.

Lewis looked at them both, confused. "I am missing something, I know."

"Stay around the Nowlton family long enough and you won't be."

"You are wearing heels," Lewis observed to Gwinnie when she came downstairs for their trip to The Thirsty Pig.

"Yes."

He frowned. "Now you are a full head taller than me. Unfair," he complained, but with an appreciative eye. A battlefield Valkyrie!— or for him, Freya. Come to demand Mrs. Southerland's rightful respect, as they did for the dying heroes of war, taking them to Valhalla.

She laughed. "I am making a statement that I cannot make if I walk in on my father's arm, as he and I are not so different in height, so I have determined I must walk in on your arm."

Lewis laughed. "If we weren't friends of a sort, I should take that as an insult that I am to be used, however, I appreciate the jest. You are taller than me without the heels. Why the extra height?"

"Subtle intimidation."

Lewis sighed. "And I suppose your bonnet will add even more height, like your grandmother's bonnet did when she arrived?"

She beamed at him. "Of course! Oh, come now, I know it won't bother you. You are playing with me."

"As you, I believe, intend to play with Mr. Gedney."

Gwinnie tilted her head from side to side and gave a little shrug. "Merely the first salvo to unsettle him. I leave the rest to Father. He wants him out of the coroner's office."

"And he will be out, one way or another," came the deep voice of the duke, as he too descended the stairs. He looked Gwinnie up and down. He nodded. "Very different from your Miss Knolls attire."

She smiled. "That is the intention," she said, as she accepted her bonnet from Rose. As Lewis surmised, it was a poke bonnet with a tall poke accented with pheasant feathers.

"Mr. Cott," the duke said, "please try to keep the others here until we return."

"Yes, Your Grace," the big man said, bowing with an amazing gracefulness for his size.

"Come," the duke said to Gwinnie and Lewis, gesturing to the door. "Let's be on our way."

Stephen hurriedly opened the door, then ran down before them to assist them into the ducal carriage.

"You are displaying the ducal rank prominently," Lewis observed, as the coach started toward The Thirsty Pig.

"I did not like the attitude you reported displayed by Mr. Gedney toward Mrs. Southerland and her establishment," the duke said.

Gwinnie nodded. "Those women who find their way to Mrs. Southerland's, and who participate as they should, deserve a chance to better their lives. Their past need not influence their future if they work hard enough. And they do!"

"I don't think Mrs. Southerland's murder has anything to do with her establishment," Lewis said idly, as he looked out the coach window. "I would imagine her past has more to do with it."

"Why do you say that?" Gwinnie asked.

He shrugged as he turned back to look at her. "I think she would have offered more information before she left. Remember how giddy she was?"

Gwinnie nodded.

"Typically, she's quite serious about her establishment, and the work she's doing."

"Soothcoor told me when she approached him," the duke said. "She was nervous but had everything thought out. His interests three years ago lay primarily in the children. It wasn't until she approached him that he expanded his activities to include women."

"I didn't know that," Gwinnie said slowly. "I assumed he'd come to her with the idea."

The duke shook his head. "No. And he smiled at the memory when he told me— and you know how seldom he smiled before he married the widowed Mrs. Montgomery."

"She certainly has removed his epithet of the ‘Dour Earl' ," Lewis observed.

Gwinnie and the duke agreed.

A moment later, the carriage drew up before The Thirsty Pig. The duke went on ahead into the building as Lewis assisted Gwinnie to step down out of the carriage and offered his arm to escort her inside. He had to repress a smile as the friendly, ebullient Gwinnie faded away, replaced by Lady Guinevere Nowlton, a queenly woman.

"Thank you, Mr. Martin," she said austerely in her low voice. She disengaged her arm from his and walked over to where her father was greeting the publican.

Lewis looked around and spotted the spare, angular form of Mr. Gedney. Mr. Gedney saw him as well and waved him over to him.

"Is that Soothcoor?" Gedney quietly asked him.

Lewis laughed lightly as he shook his head. "No, that is the Duke of Malmsby and his daughter, Lady Guinevere Nowlton."

"Why are they here?"

"Two reasons. If the earl does not arrive, the duke will stand in at the inquest for his interests in this case."

"There was no communication sent to the earl."

"I believe the duke sent a messenger to him Saturday."

Gedney frowned. "Why is the duke involved? What business is this inquest to him? Did you go to him?"

"No, his daughter did."

"His daughter? I don't understand. What game are you playing, Mr. Martin?"

Lewis spread his hands out. "Me? None."

"Where is Miss Knolls? You were supposed to bring her today so I might question her before the inquest."

Lewis bowed his head slightly. "And I did." He turned toward where Gwinnie stood with her father. "There stands Miss Sarah Knolls." He gestured in her direction. She turned just then to see him, and he bowed to her. She started to walk toward them.

"Martin!" Gedney ground out. "You'll not make a May game of me."

"Lady Guinevere is Miss Knolls. That is what the women at Mrs. Southerland's house know her as."

"Mr. Martin is correct," Gwinnie said coolly. She looked down at Mr. Gedney as she held out her hand to him.

Confused, Mr. Gedney briefly took her hand in his.

"I am Miss Knolls when I am at Mrs. Southerland's."

"Why?"

She raised her chin, her expression haughty. "I should think that would be obvious. It is so the women will be more comfortable with me teaching them."

"Teaching them?" he repeated.

"Proper speech and etiquette, primarily." Her expression hardened as she looked down on him. "Not what you insinuated to others that they were taught!" Anger flared in her eyes, her voice louder. "That you should even dare make that statement judges you poorly, sir, and I address you as sir with considerable reservations," she finished with a drawl. She cast another haughty sneering look at him then left them to return to her father's side.

Lewis rocked back on his heels. "I guess she told you!"

"Boot-licker," Gedney sneered at him.

"No, just one of her guards," Lewis returned, watching her. Bloody hell, she was glorious! Then he turned back to Gedney. "Use your head, man. Do you think the duke would allow his daughter to go about her charity work in all parts of London alone?"

To Lewis's amusement, Gedney's mouth worked against what he wanted to say. Finally, he said: "You should have said something Saturday night. You should have immediately said who Miss Knolls was."

Lewis shrugged. "Was not my secret to share." He walked back toward Gwinnie and the duke.

The door to the pub opened again to admit the Earl of Soothcoor, followed by Dr. Brogan. Dr. Brogan went immediately to talk to Mr. Gedney.

Gwinnie curtsied to the earl. "Good to see you, my lord."

"Have you grown?" he asked.

She laughed and surreptitiously lifted her skirt a bit to show the height of her heel while raising a finger to her lip with the other hand to shush him."

Soothcoor shook his head. He held his hand out to the duke. "Good to see you, Malmsby. Thank you for your note Saturday."

"Nasty business," the duke said, as they shook hands.

"Agreed. Any clues to who would have done this?"

"Not that I am aware of, but perhaps Mr. Gedney will be able to provide more information at the inquest. If not, I have retained Mr. Martin to pursue the investigation."

Soothcoor nodded. "As I was intending to do." He looked back at Gwinnie. "Lady Guinevere, you will be glad to know I have brought Mrs. Southerland's sister-in-law to take over the establishment temporarily. She does not want to do it full time— nor do I wish her to— however, she is happy to assist at this trying time."

"Her sister-in-law? The same woman who worked for your stepmother?" Gwinnie asked.

"Yes, she was the housekeeper at Soothcoor Mansion. Now that we are selling that property, she is available for other work."

"Father said you were selling the mansion."

"It was Miss Southerland who encouraged Mrs. Southerland to approach me with her idea. She assured her I was a much nicer person than my ugly phiz would suggest."

Gwinnie laughed. "You have never been ugly, my lord, just a might frightening with your dour expression all the time," she teased him.

"I know. I don't know how society put up with me. I'm sure all of society is thanking Lilias for taking me to task."

They smiled at each other.

Soothcoor turned away to look over the assemblage of people. "Dr. Brogan, can we begin yet? Is everyone here?"

"I believe we are just waiting on Mr. Jeffrey Simmons."

"I'm here," called out a paunchy gentleman wearing a bright-blue great coat. He stood at the far end of the bar nursing an ale. "Though I don't know why I am."

"And you are?…"

"A neighbor," Lewis told him.

"Ah, you must be the gentleman who does not wish Mrs. Southerland's establishment to be on Green Street," Gwinnie said austerely.

"That's right," he said pugnaciously. "Doesn't belong here."

"We will discuss all this at the inquest. Shall we all go downstairs for the proceedings?" Soothcoor politely asked.

"I suppose that means I'm to come, too, as Mr. Gedney wanted me here for my testimony and he hasn't taken it yet."

Mr. Gedney cleared his throat. "That won't be necessary, my lady. I understand you were with Mr. Martin last evening. He can speak for both of you."

"I beg your pardon," Gwinnie said, drawing herself up to her full height, "are you inferring he and I…"

"No, no!" Mr. Gedney turned red. "Of course, not, Mr. Martin's much too short?—"

"What?" Lewis asked, slouching against the wall, playing into Gwinnie's giantess attire.

Fire leaped in Gwinnie's eyes. She planted her hands on her hips.

"Mr. Gedney," Dr. Brogan broke in. "Stop before you go any further. I suggested Lady Guinevere join us at the inquest. After my statement of findings, she can provide her deposition and leave, and then we can continue."

"But— but— ladies, society ladies, don't attend inquests," he protested.

"Is that recorded anywhere?"

"No, but everyone knows?—"

"Tradition. These are modern times, Mr. Gedney. Sometimes circumstances change and we must accommodate," Dr. Brogan told him.

"After all, the fault is yours," said the duke. "You did not take her statement when she arrived."

"And you would allow her?"

"Lady Guinevere is not recently out of the schoolroom, Mr. Gedney," the duke said.

"Oh, thank you, Father, now I'm an anecdote," Gwinnie complained, but with a glint of humor in her eyes.

Lewis stood away from the wall. "Gentlemen, I suggest you drop the discussion. Lady Guinevere will continue to find a way to hoist you on your own petard." On a sharp intake of breath, he quickly looked at her. "Don't say it, don't even think it," he said, compressing his lips against a laugh.

Gwinnie had opened her mouth with another suggestive retort, but instead, she compressed her lips against another laugh. "Very well, Mr. Martin— this time."

The duke shook his head. "I need to get her married off," he muttered.

"As I was attempting to say, let's begin the inquest," Dr. Brogan said.