To cutty eye - to look suspiciously, to look askance

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose

 

Ash swallowed, a taste that he now recognised as fear sour in his mouth. It had been bad enough on his own account, but now that Keziah was at risk, it was so much worse.

“Inspector,” he said, his tone anything but welcoming as the sharp eyed Mr Formby entered the foyer. That the man had heard raised voices beyond the door seemed obvious. Whether or not he had heard what they were saying, Ash could not tell.

“You’ve been out of town, your grace?” he said, looking Ash over with interest. “Anywhere nice?”

Ash restrained himself from the desire to give the man an almighty set down for impertinence. His father would have probably had him thrown out, though his grandfather would likely have done it himself with his bare hands, but Ash was neither of those men. Neither did he judge that aggravating the man was in his interests.

“Yes, as it happens,” Ash replied, drawing Keziah closer to his side. “May I present the Duchess of Chartley.”

The inspector gave Ash a sharp look before turning his gaze on Keziah. After a nudge from his constable, the man at least remembered to bow.

“Your grace,” he said, looking up with a grin that Ash could not entirely like. “Many congratulations.”

There was something in his tone, too, a rather caustic note that Keziah obviously heard as she stiffened beside him.

“Thank you, inspector,” she replied, every inch the duchess in her bearing.

Formby stood for a moment, rocking back on his heels.

“Well, if there is nothing else?” Ash said, seizing the opportunity, but sadly the inspector held up his hand.

“Actually, I would like a word with her grace, Lord Ashwicke,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself.

“I’m afraid that is out of the question,” Ash replied, squeezing Keziah’s hand and urging her to keep quiet. “My wife is fatigued after our journey and was about to retire. You will have to return another time.”

“I regret that this is of an urgent nature,” Mr Formby said, not looking like he regretted it at all and more like he was eager to set the cat among the pigeons.

“Then you may return tomorrow, sir,” Ash repeated, his expression hard now. But the inspector was not to be thwarted.

“You’re a fine shot, so I hear, Lady Ashwicke?”

Keziah’s grip on his hand tightened a little, but other than that, she showed no sign of being distressed by the question.

“Did she shoot him?” Hannah shrieked, running forward and clutching the inspector’s arm in a way that had the man taking a hasty step backwards.

“Of course she didn’t shoot Lord Todd,” Lady Margaret replied, with such a look of disgust that Ash could have kissed her in that moment, despite their differences. “She was here, bleeding over our sheets, you foolish girl.”

Hannah, who rarely had spirit enough to withstand a set down from her grandmother, was not to be so easily put in her place.

“How can you be sure?” she demanded, her pretty face flushed with anger and such malice in her eyes that Ash felt he hardly knew her at all. “She could have run here after she shot him. She could have faked her injuries, done it herself, fallen down the stairs, how do we know that he really beat her? Perhaps she has a lover who did it!”

Before Ash could consider his actions he had reached out and grasped hold of Hannah’s arms and given her a firm shake. “You will never, never again repeat such scurrilous lies,” he said, his voice pitched no louder than usual but sounding so utterly furious that Ash could hardly believe it was his. “Now go to your room and do not come out again until you are prepared to apologise to my wife.”

Hannah, who was staring at Ash with obvious surprise and no little indignation, went to open her mouth, but Lady Margaret spoke first.

“I should do as he says, child, or you may find yourself in a carriage heading north,” she said, her tone dry.

Hannah gaped at her, and then sent Ash a cautious look before settling her face into an expression of one who felt herself to have been ill-used by everybody, and ran up the stairs with an audible sob.

“You’ve ruined that girl, Anne,” Lady Margaret said, shaking her head. “Now inspector, if you’ve witnessed enough family drama for one day, perhaps you would do as you have been bid and return tomorrow when feelings are running a little less high. I’m sure Lady Ashwicke would consent to speak with you then, say, around eleven AM?”

Formby’s face darkened, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, your grace, but I ain’t budging from this spot until I have the questions answered. So what’ll it be, Lady Ashwicke?”

Keziah nodded and Ash led them through to the salon, closing the door on his mother and grandmother. It was bad enough doing this in front of the inspector and his constable without them looking on, too. He held Keziah’s hand as tight as he dared, wishing he could protect her by throwing the man out on his ear, but he would only return. How the inspector had come to hear of her talents was a bigger and more immediate concern, though.

“I have a fair hand with a pistol, inspector,” Keziah said once they were alone, and to Ash’s relief, looking quite unruffled. “My father taught me. May I ask why this is relevant and why you ask now?”

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that well enough, your grace,” Formby replied, giving her a smile that was almost sympathetic. “But as it happens, we have a witness what saw you and Lord Ashwicke practising with pistols, over in Smallcombe woods, not long before Lord Todd died.”

“What of it?” Ash demanded, before Keziah could reply. “If we were at Chartley, we would have used our own grounds, but here in Bath, such opportunities are limited.” Ash hesitated, thinking fast and praying he didn’t look like a man in a sweat. “As it happens, it is what brought us together,” he said, pausing to give Keziah a look that could not have been read as anything other than adoring. “We got talking, you see, about this and that, and in truth, I’d suffered something of a ribbing from my friends that day about my lack of skill, and … well, it was embarrassing. So Keziah offered to help me improve.”

Formby’s brows drew together and Ash thought he looked rather less than convinced.

“So you willingly told a lovely woman - who I imagine you was hopin’ to impress - about your poor skills with a pistol?” he said, the scepticism in his voice only too audible.

“Yes,” Ash replied with a shrug. “You see, Lady Ashwicke is the kind of woman you can speak to about … well, anything,” he said, tugging her a little closer. “Or at least, I can,” he added, a soft tone to his voice, as he hoped Keziah realised that in this, at least, he was being perfectly honest.

Formby gave him a hard look and Ash forced himself to meet his gaze; after all, he wasn’t lying about what he’d just said, not entirely. The inspector turned back to Keziah.

“Where was you the night Martin Snyder was murdered?” he demanded, and with such force that Ash felt Keziah flinch in shock.

“That will be enough, Mr Formby,” Ash shouted, before Keziah could reply. He stepped in front of her, the strong desire to plant the inspector a facer thrumming in his blood. “How dare you barge into my house and accuse my wife without a shred of evidence?”

Formby snorted, his narrow gaze unwavering, though he eyed Ash with interest, apparently surprised by his fury. “No evidence?” he replied, his tone dark. “Oh, I got evidence building up, my lord, and I know you and your lady ‘ere are up to yer necks in it. I have a witness that will swear they saw a cloaked figure with blonde hair running from the scene. So I’ll ask again. Where was you, Lady Ashwicke?”

“She was here, with me,” Ash replied, finding it surprising just how easily the lies came to him now. “I had asked her to marry me. You don’t tend to go out and murder people directly after a proposal, inspector,” he said, ignoring the blush that was scalding Keziah’s cheeks and praying she’d forgive him for it. “So you see, we were celebrating.”

Formby was staring at him, looking rather like he’d swallowed a wasp.

“I tell you now, your grace, that I don’t believe a word of it,” he said, his voice low and angry. “An what’s more, I reckon there’ll be someone else out there who’ll remember a lovely blonde woman, running through the dark with a pistol, and they’ll will be able to give me a better description, and you can be damn sure I’m going to find out about it.”

“Why so eager to see me hang, inspector?”

Both of them turned, and Ash felt his heart clench at the fear in his wife’s voice. The inspector’s face softened and he shook his head.

“I ain’t lookin’ to get you hanged, your grace, but I do intend to discover the truth o’ what is goin’ on ‘ere,” Formby replied, sounding almost apologetic. “I got two men dead, see, and no matter they won’t be missed, you can’t just let folk go around murderin’ each other without a by-your-leave. The world’s in enough trouble without folk’s knockin’ each other on the head.”

“My father was a monster, sir.”

Ash squeezed Keziah’s hand, begging her to keep quiet and say no more, but she looked deathly white and afraid, and he feared that she might lose her nerve. He glanced at Formby and knew that he could see it, too.

“I know it, your grace,” Formby said, his voice low. “An’ I ain’t judgin’ any who decided to pay ‘im back for it, but I’m bein’ led a merry dance, and I don’t like it. I will find out what’s goin’ on here.”

“No matter who pays for it?” she whispered.

The inspector said nothing, but replaced his hat, bowing briefly before showing himself out of the room.

They watched him go as terror curled itself around Ash’s heart. He would not let this happen, he would not let the inspector discover the truth. Reaching out, he pulled Keziah into his arms and she came to him, holding onto him tightly, and Ash knew he would do anything, anything at all, to keep her safe.

***

Keziah stared out of the window and cursed, as the man the inspector had left to watch the house was very obviously still there.

“I have to get out of here,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air with frustration.

“Let me go, miss,” Molly begged for the fifth time. “I’m less conspicuous than you, I can get past ‘im.”

Keziah returned to her pacing and shook her head. “No, Molly, I need to speak to him myself. I need to understand what’s going on.”

Molly paused in her tidying, laying a silver backed hair brush down on the dressing table and giving Keziah an impatient look. “But I told ye already,” she said, folding her arms. “The daft bugger tried to blackmail Martin and almost got ‘imself killed.”

Keziah rolled her eyes at her maid. “But don’t you see, Molly, if he has evidence that he could use to blackmail Martin, that same evidence could clear Ash’s name.”

Molly sighed and gave her a sceptical look. “And why would Martin want your father dead? You answer me that,” she said, nodding with satisfaction as Keziah faltered and sat down on her bed with a thud.

“I have no idea,” she admitted, feeling utterly dejected. “Martin was as keen for him to marry Lady Anne as anyone. His fortunes were tied to ours. It makes no sense.”

“Aye, well, if it makes no sense to you, reckon that Formby fellow won’t swallow it neither.”

Keziah got to her feet and resumed her pacing. “I’m not sure it matters, though,” she said, clutching at her hair and gaining herself a look of irritation from Molly as she messed up her carefully arranged style. “The point is,” she carried on, “is that Martin was frightened enough to kill to keep that information quiet, and now he’s dead, anyway. It’s not as though I’m pinning the blame on a blameless character. He was a nasty, scheming devil and up to his neck in my father’s plans. If I can give evidence that Martin was involved, surely any jury will believe him the murderer rather than convict a peer of the realm?”

“No one will convict my grandson of murder.”

Keziah and Molly both shrieked in alarm as they turned and saw Lady Margaret framed in the doorway.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Keziah replied in fury, enraged that the woman should just barge in as she pleased.

“Not always, no,” she replied, looking perfectly serene as she settled herself on the edge of Keziah’s bed. “I listen at keyholes on occasion, too,” she added with the slightest lift of one eyebrow. “So tell me, Lady Ashwicke, what the devil have you been up to?”