“Of course.” I leaned back on the seat and pretended to be wilting from the heat.
“Look after her.” Daniel spun a coin in his fingers and tossed it to James, who deftly caught it. “Do whatever she says, and be quick about it.”
“Yes, sir.” The coin quickly disappeared into James’s pocket, and he leapt onto the back of the landau.
The coach started. Daniel raised his hand in farewell, and I feebly waved back.
It was over. I’d successfully made certain all believed shallow Mr. Lancaster had a fiancée, and now I could return to being Kat Holloway, no-nonsense cook.
I watched the house and gardens disappear behind the trees, knowing it could be many years before I saw such splendor again.
* * *
* * *
I was not able to speak to James until we were seated in a compartment—first-class again—for the return journey. I had the compartment to myself, which I thought entirely frivolous, so I insisted James stay with me. We feasted out of a basket of tea things James had procured at the station.
The cakes were not as good as what I could bake, but I was hungry and I made do. James downed the pasties included in the basket, but I declined, as I feared marring the dress with their juices.
“I do not like that your father recruited you for this deception,” I said as I nibbled a scone that was far too dry.
James shrugged around a mouthful of meat and gravy. “No one else he could trust, was there? He’d have used a constable or some such, but he said with you, he wanted me only.”
I supposed there was sense in that decision. A constable would ask questions about me or report my existence to Daniel’s boss, and Daniel wanted Mr. Monaghan far from me.
“I do appreciate the effort.” I reached across the space of the compartment and gave James’s knee a pat. “Besides, you look fine in that suit.”
It was a footman’s garb, slim trousers and coat with a cravat. It fit James’s form far better than his usual woolen jackets and breeches and made him quite handsome.
James fingered his collar. “It’s stifling. I don’t know how toffs do it.”
“I too will be happy to resume my usual clothing.”
I touched the skirt with my gloved hand, trying to suppress the wistfulness that came over me. I’d never owned something this beautiful.
No reason to be sentimental, I told myself. It’s only a frock.
I forced myself to put aside any regret and continue with the scone. When Daniel and I had traveled down, I had been angry with him, and he annoyed with me, and we’d not had much appetite or opportunity to eat at the garden party. Now I finished off the sandwiches and unwrapped two small seedcakes and passed one to James.
“This basket.” I studied it. “Lady Covington’s family had a large one, a hamper, and a porter took it while they boarded.”
James chewed, listening while I ruminated.
“What happens to bags the porter takes?” I continued. “Are they ever out of someone’s sight? Or does he carry them directly to the compartment? If they are put in a baggage car, are they left alone until called for?”
“I can ask.” James leapt to his feet. He was out the door before I could say a word, air rushing into the compartment in his wake.
I tidied up the things and put the papers and scraps back into the basket. I thought of Daniel still at the duke’s, and Lord Clifford handing the duke a fortune in diamonds. A simple transaction to raise money for Lord and Lady Clifford? Or something more sinister?
The bright, green countryside, meadows awakening from winter, had given way to buildings on London’s outskirts before James returned. He plumped down into his seat, pleased with himself.
“Porter says bags not loaded directly to a toff’s compartment are put aside in a room at the end of the first-class car. When a toff asks for it—usually ringing for it, or sending a servant trotting down to fetch it—the bag is taken out and goes to the compartment. Returned to the room when done. That’s for small things like a food hamper or a lady’s toiletries case. Larger bags go into the baggage car. Baggage car is locked up and guarded, to keep thieves from strolling in and helping themselves, but the smaller room in the first-class car isn’t locked. Porter or conductor is usually near it, but not always. Thieves don’t ride first-class,” he finished.
“Well.” I thought about Mr. Fielding and Lord Clifford. “Often they don’t. Thank you, James. That is very helpful.”
It would have been easy for any member of Lady Covington’s party to move down the car, enter the room at the end, open the hamper, and sprinkle poison into Lady Covington’s food. The fact that Erica ate it instead was their misfortune.
Or was it? A new idea formed. Lady Covington had only ever been slightly ill by the poison, never taking enough to kill her. Sir Arthur likewise had only been ill and was recovering, according to Mrs. Gamble.
Perhaps Erica had been the target of the killer all along. After all, anyone could have eaten out of the hamper that night, but Harriet had said Erica, who liked her food, had eaten quite a lot. If the poisoner had known Erica would, and had even encouraged her, he or she could have chosen that moment to strike. All would assume Lady Covington was supposed to die, and no one would search for a motive to kill Erica.
But why should anyone wish to kill Erica? I wondered. She’d been married to an MP who hadn’t been good to her and had not left her well-off. She scarcely had been a threat to anyone in the family.
A more horrible thought entered my head. Perhaps the killer wished to inherit all of Lady Covington’s money and not share it with any of the others. I did not know what was in the lady’s will, though I could find out, but perhaps Lady Covington had left fortunes to all four children.
George—Lord Covington—had inherited his father’s title, but not his gift for business. What if George, knowing he was losing money, coveted Erica’s share of Lady Covington’s fortune? Or perhaps Jonathan believed that he, as her only son, should get the lion’s share? Or Harriet, who had a secret beau and seemed to long for freedom, would find that freedom if she had a great deal of money.
If I was right, how long before any of the other heirs would die by “accident”?
Then there was the problem of Henry. Was he a man Erica loved, but possibly he did not love her? An affair gone on too long? Did Henry find it easier to kill Erica than free himself from her clutches?
I rubbed my temples. I would have to return to the house and talk further to Mrs. Gamble, who knew much about the upstairs. It wouldn’t hurt to have another chat with Symes either, to find out which of the family liked the garden.
We reached London and the throngs of Waterloo Station. James, acting the part of my lackey, rushed out and waved down a hansom cab. He instructed the cabbie to take me to Upper Brook Street, and climbed in beside me.