Kiss in the Mist by Elizabeth Brady (18)

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“What do you mean gone? Gone where? Ridiculous!” Great-Aunt Celia thwacked her cane against the marble floor.

At the sharp sound, Shelby stopped worrying her hands only to grab her skirts and squeeze those instead. “He was in the study with his books, ma’am. I went to bring him some of Cook’s biscuits and he’d gone. The books were gone too, so I went to his room thinking he needed someplace more quiet. The library, the sitting room, we’ve looked all over but Master Geoffrey is not in the house! I sent the note off to you and lads running each direction, but haven’t heard a thing.”

The group burst into a babble of indiscernible speech.

“Did he run away?”

“Geoffrey? Balderdash.”

“He’s not the sort.”

“I’ve ignored him…”

“Where might he have gone?”

“He’s been so upset about Daniel and I pushed him away and I should have paid more attention and… and… Oh, Geoffrey!”

“Pft!” Great-Aunt Celia’s cane smacking the floor silenced them. “Becalm yourself, girl. Geoffrey is not the kind of boy to go in for that nonsense. However childish, he’d devise a solid course of action rather than have some rash emotional tantrum. That boy makes good use of his grey matter.”

Miss Heatly nodded. “He thinks when he’s upset.”

Amanda took a calming breath. That was true. He wouldn’t run off at random.

“What does he know of London?” Julian asked.

“He knows the park.” Miss Heatly offered. “I took him stargazing.”

Shelby nodded, swiping at her drippy eyes with the back of her hand. “And he enjoyed our walk around the lake this morning. Caught a juicy toad.”

“He knows Number Sixteen.” Miss Heatly said.

“You think he went back?” Julian asked.

“Here, here!” Great-Aunt Celia’s voice commanded. “Susan, gather that wiry footman, oh, what’s-his-name? Rory. Take him and two of the lads to search the park. Amanda, you and this blubbering chit will go back and search the house. Oh, don’t fret, girl, you’ll only get sacked if the older brother’s dead and you’ve lost the family heir. I shall remain here in case he returns. Send any word to me and I’ll notify the others.”

“Mrs. Lidgate, if I could assist—”

“Thank you, Lord Denbigh, I didn’t wish to presume. If you could accompany my niece, I think it more likely he’s gone back to the house. Geoffrey will need a sympathetic presence when his sister finds him.”

What Julian thought of being considered a sympathetic presence, she’d never know. Amanda was torn by worry and doubt. The horses were not fast enough and the streets far too crowded for her liking. The trip did, at least, give Shelby enough time to get over some of her shock. Tears had stopped, though her eyes remained red. Her knuckles were still white from the tight fists she made, but now that she was doing something she appeared less lost.

Amanda’s thoughts swirled, but she found solace (that desperate solace when one is frantic and will cling to the smallest hope) in that Great-Aunt Celia was correct. Geoffrey might run off in the middle of the night, but he only did in an attempt to catch ghosts. Despite Amanda having chastised and ignored him these past few days, he wouldn’t run away. He couldn’t have. He would be at Number Sixteen. Or the park. And her other horrifying thought—that Sir Sinister may have snatched him—would be groundless.

“We’re nearly there,” Julian held her hand.

“Oh, lud, miss!” Shelby gaped, pointing out the window of the jostling carriage. A blast of smoke billowed from the rear of Number Sixteen.

Amanda had thrown open the doors and jumped to the street before the carriage pulled to a stop. She was at a full-sprint when Julian caught up and yanked her behind him.

“Anything that happens, you stay behind me! Do not run charging in!”

At the stricken, haunted expression in his eyes, Amanda nodded. He continued towards the house a bit more cautiously, but Amanda did not move from behind him until they reached the garden and he motioned her forward.

Geoffrey stood—perfectly safe! Thank Heavens!—in the middle of the garden, arms crossed, watching a bonfire extinguish under freshly-dumped sand.

“Geoffrey!”

She rushed to his side and threw her arms around him. Shelby ran to them, expelling a little hiccough of emotion.

“I will send word to Mrs. Lidgate,” Julian said.

“Amanda,” Geoffrey blinked, “what are you doing here?” His brow furrowed. “You’re supposed to be at that party until at least this afternoon!”

Amanda pulled away from her brother and lightly shook him by his shoulders. “Geoffrey, what were you thinking?! It is nearing four o’clock, you left the house, wandered the city, all on your own, without telling anyone, without—!”

She had no words.

No words.

None!

“Do you know how frantic we have been?” Ah, she’d found few more. “Shelby has been beside herself thinking she’d lost you! Miss Heatly is searching the park, Great-Aunt Celia is pacing the townhouse in case you return, oh, Geoffrey, what were you thinking?!”

“I was trying to help!” Geoffrey said. “I know you think I’d be useless in the investigation, but I can help! You told Shelby about the chemicals which are specifically related in Lord Denbigh’s books with tons, dozens of experiments! All I needed was a little time and space so that I could work—I never wanted anyone to worry, truly!” Tears streamed down his face. “That’s why I chose to work now… Everyone was supposed to be gone from the house for the afternoon—no one should have even noticed my absence. I am most egregiously sorry, Shelby. Amanda.”

He offered a handshake of apology, but Shelby pulled him into a hug, herself, both with drippy noses and red eyes.

When he pulled away, his brow furrowed. “I lost track of time, though I don’t know how as I’ve been checking regularly to track certain tests. They require very specific timing and the sundial indicated I still had—”

Amanda groaned. “The sundial.” She rubbed her forehead. “The sundial is broken, Geoffrey.”

“Father and I placed the gnomon together, it’s quite accurate, it can’t b—”

“I broke it. Accidentally.” Accidentally on purpose. And to think, at the time, she’d said not to worry about time in a garden. She really should learn to bite her tongue.

“Well, I thought to be back long before anyone even knew I was gone. I am sorry, but I was trying to help.”

“By billowing smoking phosphorus around the countryside?” Amanda threw an arm towards the fuming column. Now that the fear and worry was gone, she could berate him properly. “Geoffrey, you know inhaling that is poison!” She was ready to box his ears.

“Phosphorus smoke? Of course that’s poison! But really, Amanda, where would I obtain phosphorus? It’s much too expensive! I’m experimenting with bone ash to make phosphorus, though the chemical process is far too—”

“Geoffrey!” The exclamation had come from Julian. “Oh, you brilliant man, Geoffrey!”

“What, what is it?”

“Say that again!” Julian’s eyes were wide and he had a fantastical expression over his face.

Geoffrey blinked, then started over. “Phosphorus is dashed expensive. Even Father cannot afford it which, I suppose, isn’t saying much. Regardless, I was trying to derive some from bone ash, but because of the sundial I burned the—”

“Bone ash!” Julian repeated, moving from one blank stare to another. “Don’t you see?”

Amanda shook her head.

“Where have we heard about bone ash quite recently?”

Bone ash. Oh. Oh. Something clicked in Amanda’s brain. “Bone china. Lord Darvel’s bone china company, Garton’s. Which burned to the ground, his mine collapsed and he lost his supply of clay, leaving him nothing but a mass of useless bone ash.”

“Which can be turned into phosphorus?” Shelby gaped. “Which was in the little jar. The stuff that glowed upon Victor’s body…”

Julian nodded.

“But how? Why?”

“Miss, we might not rightly know why. But as to how, perhaps we should,” Shelby shrugged her shoulders and wiggled her arms, “act it out? Like at penny theater.”

“Act out the murder?”

“Well, we’re all here, aren’t we? It might help us find something. Like when mum can’t find her tongs, she goes back through the kitchen, repeating all her steps. Finds ’em looped around her apron strings most days, but she finds ’em.”

Amanda looked to Julian. He nodded. She knelt down next to her brother.

“Are you up for that, Geoffrey?”

He rolled his grey-blue eyes. “I’ve been begging to help.”

“You’re still in prodigious amounts of trouble.”

“Heaps.”

“And keep digging yourself deeper.”

“A poor choice of words given what we’re about to do.”

“Very well.” She fluffed his hair. “Shelby, where should we begin?”

“Well, miss, not to be too forward… we start with me. In the library. At seven o’clock.”

“Lead the way.”

They followed Shelby past Geoffrey’s still-smoldering pyre, up the garden steps (influenced by Brown and Miller), and, once Geoffrey handed over the housekeys, into the library.

Shelby stood across the room by the French doors. “That night, I swear to you, miss, I’ve been over and over it in my mind, I came in to draw the drapes, regular as sunset.” Shelby walked across the room, secured the garden doors, fastened the curtains, and walked straight back across the room. “I do it every night, and there was nothing else in the room, I know it.”

Julian nodded. “Then what did you do?”

Shelby thought. “Well, the night was howling wind, ready to storm, I sat with my mum by the fire until Miss Amanda needed me for bed, then I went to sleep, sir. I didn’t wake until the commotion.”

“Alright. Hmm. What next?”

“Geoffrey’s room,” Amanda said. “It was a normal evening, we’d all gone to sleep. I’d like to see your view of the cemetery please, Geoffrey.”

They trudged up the stairs. Amanda noticed that even in the day that they’d been absent, the house had grown a musty, slightly unused air. Geoffrey’s room was still and quiet.

“I was in bed. The storm woke me. A bit of branch hitting the window. I got up to see if there was something I could do and I saw… light, movement. Right there,” he pointed. “I thought it was ghosts.”

“Was it raining at this point, Master Geoffrey?” Shelby asked. “Victor’s boots held mud, but his pants were dry as a bone.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “The rain had stopped, but the wind was still howling. I ran to get Amanda and we went out.”

“The movement you saw was between those two trees?” Julian asked, pointing to the V of two, tangled trunks. Geoffrey nodded. “And your room?” Blue eyes turned to question Amanda.

“We don’t need to go into my room,” she gulped.

“What of your view? Could you see me in your room?”

She refused to think about that question. “We didn’t look. I followed Geoffrey.”

“Then let’s to the cemetery.”

“Do we need to actually retrace our steps?”

“I think that would be best.”

Out they went, through the front door, following the route she’d taken that night. The trip to the cemetery was a thousand times better than the time before. It was daylight, the ground was firm, she knew exactly where Geoffrey was, shadows and mist did not twist every wisp into fearful imaginings.

Still, Amanda’s heart beat rattled behind her ribs.

“I went that way,” Geoffrey pointed down a small trail. Amanda was surprised to find she hadn’t been too far from him. If it had been daylight, she’d have seen him in an instant.

“I came along this path,” Amanda picked her way among the tombstones. She stepped over the root of an ancient tree, saw the marks where she had slid in the mud, and finally stopped when she came across a grave with freshly turned earth.

“And I was here,” Julian said.

At the head of the grave, a simple marker read in crisp, new letters:

 

Benjamin Barlow
born 1796 died 1815
in the 19th year of his age

 

Julian cleared his throat. “I was returning something he lent me. It seemed the right night to do it.”

Shelby cast a keen eye over the mound. “You must’ve been out here a time, my lord. That looks near a three-hour job.” Amanda wondered what other trades Rory had under his belt.

“Three-and-a-half. I stopped for a while from the rain.”

“Did you see anyone?”

He shook his head. “I heard some strange things, but mostly the wind and the storm and Remus sniffing about. I heard Geoffrey call you, but no idea where it came from and I didn’t hear you until you were upon me.” He pointed towards the house, barely visible through the trees. “I couldn’t have been your specter, though. Let’s see if, in the light of day, we can find where Geoffrey’s ghosts were, shall we?”

They moved down the path towards the two trees Geoffrey had indicated from his window. Glancing back, it was a perfect line-of-sight to the house. A trail ran straight through the cemetery to the mews. They’d followed it for about five yards when Shelby gave a little “Oh!” of surprise and bent to the ground. Between her fingers, she held up the remnants of a small, glass vial.

“Victor did come through here! Look at the ground there. Someone fell into this bush. There was a struggle…” They searched the area but found nothing else. A calling card conveniently dropped might have been nice. What they did discover left Amanda more perplexed. The source of Victor’s muddy boots was a dip in the path where a puddle had formed. Indentations in the now dry earth indicated quite clearly that a man had stumbled, slid, and continued. Not deep enough imprints for someone carrying a body.

Only one man had passed this way.

“I… I don’t understand,” Amanda said, staring at the pathway. The trail dipped between a stone wall and nasty underbrush, there was no way around. “If Victor was the only man to come this way, then… then it wasn’t murder?” She blinked. “If Sir Sinister never entered the room…?”

“Oh, it was murder, miss,” Shelby stated, firmly. “Definitely murder. Officer Lowe was certain of it, and that man ain’t the sort to miss the mark.”

They continued down the path in silence until they reached the end which directly faced the garden gates to Number Sixteen.

“When you found him, you said the curtains were open. He had to have come into the library through the garden!” Julian opened the latch and led them down the manicured lawn, up the stairs, and back to the beginning. The library.

“But Shelby locked the library. Through his window, Geoffrey saw Victor and possibly Sir Sinister struggling. We rushed out. Victor came along this path to the house while we were still in the cemetery. Which means he couldn’t have used the front door while everyone was distracted by my injury. But if Sir Sinister didn’t come this way, how did he move the body inside?”

“There doesn’t seem to be a way unless the man walked right into your libra—that’s it!”

Shelby gasped. “Saints be!”

Julian’s gestures were animated as he explained. “Sir Sinister never moved the body. Listen, after I left you at the house, I returned to refill the grave. Remus was nowhere to be found. I think… I think Remus chased Sir Sinister away! You said you heard a howl. What were the contents of Victor’s pockets? Tell me everything!”

He wanted everything? “I didn’t check his vest, but it was burned to a crisp.” Hmm. Everything. What had the man in his pockets? “Your watch, some change, his house key, nuts…”

“What if his house key was a master key?”

“A skeleton key!” Shelby breathed.

Julian nodded. “What if he let himself in?”

“Oh!” Shelby’s mouth dropped.

“Do you still have your keys, Geoffrey? Which one fits this lock?” Geoffrey showed him. Julian compared it with his own keys and selected two. “Some are confounded mazes, but most locks have a simple enough design to use a skeleton key. If the notches are similar, width and length, the teeth should turn freely and catch.” He tried one. Amanda watched with baited breath as he stuck the metal in the keyhole. The lock began to turn, then stopped. He wiggled, tried again.

And the library door opened.

“That was the key to my lower pantry.”

“Which is better stocked than this room.” Amanda stepped forward. The curtains covered the doorframe, so she swept them aside. “That is how Victor got in. Though we still don’t know how he died.” She sighed. “Or why.”

“I think we know why,” Julian pointed to the broken vial Shelby had found along the path. “Someone may have found a cheap and expedient way for massive piles of bone ash to turn into profitable phosphorus. As Miss Sophie said, if that’s the why, that means I think we’ve also found who.”

“Lord Darvel.”

Amanda nodded. “So, after he killed Victor, Darvel realized something was missing—the second vial, perhaps? He did what we did and followed the garden path which led right to our door. Remus chased him away, so he had to come back. He waltzed in the next day, was brought through this very room, realized he needed another look, and claimed there were ruffians about so that he could sneak in at his leisure.”

“Correct.”

“He didn’t find the vial and decided we know nothing. Then, he heard the rumor at the ball about the two of us in the library, believed we had learned something, and invited us to his house to discover how much. Where I revealed yes, we do know about the phosphorus.”

“And, remember, he’s asked to speak with your father about a business proposition. Your father likely knows all about his previous business dealings from his brother. What better way to keep him quiet than blackmail?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that!”

“Two birds with one stone—hide a murder he committed by blackmailing the man in whose library the body was found.”

It all fit. And this time, Amanda was sure, they had enough evidence for Mr. Lowe.

Lawrence had wandered in through the open door, tail whipping from side to side. He took one sniff of Julian’s pant leg and began to hiss.

“He must smell Remus!” Geoffrey exclaimed. “Larry has a wonderful sense of smell.”

“Then I won’t offend his nostrils any further,” Julian said, backing away. Lawrence sniffed, then moved to his favorite spot and began to bat at the wall. “He does love that corner.”

“Oh, Lawrence! There you are!” a voice cooed from the doorway. It was a tiny woman, slightly hunched and with a mass of white hair pulled into two braids which fell over her shoulders down to her knees. She wore a colorful dress embroidered in bright and happy flowers and shapes, more suitable for an Alpine farm than the streets of London. She reminded Amanda of a bird.

“Mrs. Bertram!” Shelby cried, moving over to help steady the woman’s arm. She was carrying a box which shook slightly in her hands. Shelby took it for her. “What are you doing over here without one of your footmen?”

The elder woman waved a papery hand. “Fiddle-faddle footmen. They treat me as if I am ancient. I am not a day over ninety-four-and-five-months.” She gave Julian a wink. Then she smiled at Geoffrey. “Oh, young man, would you mind bringing me that chair? I should like to sit and chat.”

Geoffrey scrambled to fetch the metamorphic chair, flipping the hinges as he carried it to her. For a brief moment as he ran it changed into stairs, then back into a chair. The elder neighbour cooed at the transformation. “What marvels! What marvels will they think of next?” She clapped and settled herself like a bird into a nest. She fluffed at her dress until it puffed like feathers, then peered around the room. “Now, deary me,” she blinked. “I have not offered you tea.”

Amanda shared a look with Shelby.

“No, ma’am,” Shelby said, gently. “You’ve come over to Number Sixteen. We should offer you some tea.”

“Fiddlesticks! I have seen this place. There is barely a lick of furniture top to toe and no staff to produce a good pot. I have a house full of staff and a giant nephew to carry the tray. Would you care for some?”

Amanda grinned. How could she decline assistance from a cooing, painted dove? “Thank you, Mrs. Bertram.” She nodded at Geoffrey who immediately ran next door to inform Mrs. Bertram’s staff that tea and a burly nephew’s services were required.

“All is well, all is well. I am glad that I bumped into you, girl.” She pointed to the box in Shelby’s hands. “A boy delivered that here this morning. He left before I could tell him where you had gone to. We were going to send them on, but since you are here.”

Shelby offered the box to Amanda.

“No, no, girl! They were sent to you, not Miss Pruett.” She gave a delicate sniff. “They smell divine.”

Shelby cracked open the lid. It was a box full of apricot delights. She gave a bemused smile and Amanda worried she might burst back into tears. Instead, she held out the confections to their dainty neighbour, “Would you care for one?”

“Oh! Oh. Yes, that would be lovely. Yes, with tea.”

At her pronouncement, a bevy of footmen burst through the door. One wrapped a thick, colorful shawl about the lady’s shoulders. Another propped her feet upon a pillow. A third sat a small table at her side. Geoffrey followed behind him.

“How did you run so quickly?” Amanda asked her brother.

Geoffrey shook his head, “They were already on their way here,” he whispered in awe.

“Auntie, when you said ‘tea in the library,’ I thought you meant your library,” Mrs. Bertram’s giant nephew said as he came through the door.

He stood a head shorter than Julian, barely an inch taller than Amanda, and held a massive silver tray laden with tea and cakes in his arms. The man moved with authority across the room, placed the tray on the table by his aunt’s elbow, and gently kissed the top of her head before addressing the group.

“Lieutenant Evan Bertram, at your service. Not simply for tea.”

They made introductions properly this time, the two military men offered each other a silent understanding, and Amanda took her first cup of tea for the day.

It was perfect. The aroma, the color, the burst of flavor on her tongue. If he weren’t a murdering cad, she would send this to Lord Darvel so that he could taste what a true spot of tea should be.

Conversation was light and frivolous, Mrs. Bertram obviously beloved by her nephew and servants alike. He was to sell his commission and come to live with her until they settled down in the country along the coast. He was not quite ready to give up the sea entirely.

It was when Mrs. Bertram gave a delicate yawn that the library tea wound down.

“Do fetch Lawrence with you, Evan. He should refrain from batting at the baseboards. Such a naughty kitten gets no treats! That cubby was Lord Morthland’s favorite spot to hide liquor from his wife—sometimes cakes too, so it is the crumbs Lawrence remembers. The tenant before, dear Pierre, would put his smelly chemicals inside so that Lawrence could not knock them from his tables. He never stopped trying, our little mouser. They must have smelled appealing to a feline nose, eh, Lawrence?”

“That last tenant, Mrs. Bertram, you said was a chemist?” Blood rushed through her ears as she asked the question.

“Yes, a student. Pierre was supposed to come stay with us, but he must be delayed.”

Julian stared at the corner panel which Lawrence still slapped. “Do you know what he was currently working on?”

“You should ask Evan.”

Julian nodded. Amanda, Shelby, and Geoffrey all stared at the little cubbyhole which Lawrence batted.

“Lieutenant, let’s take a walk outside,” Julian offered.

As her servants bustled back into the room and removed her accoutrements, Mrs. Bertram unruffled her feathers and stood.

“It is a rare man who can give a perfect gift at exactly the right time. I speak to both you girls. Now, I will take a stroll in the garden. My garden, I think. It will be good to talk to the flowers and remind them what they should be doing. Flowers sometimes need to be told when to grow and when to bloom. Good day to you.”

As she left the room, Lawrence sat up, licked his paw, and followed.

Julian returned a few moments later. He cleared his throat.

“Pierre Vincent Rudin, a student of chemistry in Paris, currently working with various applications of phosphorus.”

They shared a moment of silence. The young man must have had a brilliant mind.

Geoffrey got on his belly on the floor by the corner. “There’s a screw catch,” he said, “with hidden hinges. It’s very well done!”

“Can you open it?”

He tried twisting the screw with his thumbnail.

“No, I need something thicker and hard.”

“Miss, you said Victo—” Shelby stopped. Swallowed. “You said M. Pierre had coins in his pocket?”

Amanda felt a catch in her throat.

“Brilliant, Shelby! A sixpence should fit.”

Julian stopped him. “No, Geoffrey, back away now, lad. The man dealt with chemicals. I’m sure he was careful in life, but he hid whatever is in there while he was dying and desperate. I’ll do it.”

She didn’t need to tell him to be careful.

Amanda pulled Geoffrey behind her as she and Shelby moved across the room. She held her breath. Julian placed a coin in the groove, stood alongside of the panel, and twisted.

Pop.

Squeak.

Thud.

A little door opened on weighted hinges, hitting the corner of the fireplace dully as it came to a stop.

Nothing hissed, no smoke emerged. Three small, glass vials sat peacefully atop a sheaf of papers. Beside them was a walnut and molding piece of cheese and crust of bread.

“M. Rudin’s life’s work.”

“I will take these to Andrew for analysis.”

Amanda nodded. “And now it’s past time we returned to Great-Aunt Celia. Lord Denbigh’s note may have stopped her worry, but she should see you in person to box your ears properly. Besides,” she looked around the little library, “we’ve found everything we were looking for.

“Oh!” A thought struck Amanda. “Before we go!” she dragged the metamorphic chair to the bookshelves, flipped it, climbed its staircase, lifted on tip-toes, and felt around the top shelf. Dust, eww, what she hoped was the crunchy remnants of plaster from the ceiling, a huge tome which could only be the atlas, and… “Ahha, Debrett’s, I have you at last!”

The trip home was taken at a much more sedate pace than the ride thither. Relief at finding Geoffrey safe and sound mixed with the melancholy of discovering Victor’s identity. The carriage’s slow progress back to Great-Aunt Celia’s townhouse reflected the somber mood of its occupants. Subsequently, when they turned the corner and the townhouse came into view, the images Amanda saw appeared almost as if they were happening in protracted time.

Great-Aunt Celia stood upon the front entrance, a hand gripping her cane. A gruff man (with boots much too nice for the docks) had his elbow locked around her throat. Badcock poised, arm extended, holding a cocked pistol to the man’s head.

The man moved.

BANG!