Who's Sorry Now? Page 7

  Or Inspector Hunter.

  Damn. Lucas was a complication she did not need.

  “Do come through. May I get you coffee or tea?”

  “No thanks. I had some awful swill on the train and I may never recover. Why did you decide to stay? Cee might need you.”

  Addie wondered if he was quoting from her mother’s script. She could practically hear her giving Lucas his marching orders over the telephone. “Cee will be fine. Beckett is with her, though I do expect her to return to me once she’s helped get Cee settled. Mama has abandoned supervising her decorating scheme for the Dower House for the moment and is there too. My sister will be very well looked after.”

  “I’m just surprised you chose to remain here alone. You weren’t avoiding me, were you?”

  Goodness, how sincerely blue his eyes were—could a color be sincere? All of him was sincere, from his concerned expression to the pitch of his voice. Addie hadn’t seen him in five months, but apart from the surprise of finding him on her doorstep, she was not feeling…well, anything but slight annoyance. Her heartbeat remained stubbornly regular, her skin was cool, and her breathing completely normal.

  Lord Lucas Waring was every young woman’s dream—handsome, rich, eligible. Addie had had a crush on him most of her life, and last summer he had asked her to marry him.

  So why couldn’t she say yes? Her mourning for Rupert was over, and she considered herself to be a practical woman. Her mother would be pleased if she accepted him.

  “Let your mother marry him then.”

  Rupert! She supposed it was too much to hope for that he’d stowed away in the First Class carriage with Cee and Beckett.

  Another man she could do without this morning.

  Addie ignored him, her nose resolutely in the air as she walked by the bench in the hall. He was sitting cross-legged on it like some snake charmer, minus the snake and requisite turban and pungi. The position did not look comfortable, but perhaps the dead were double-jointed.

  “Come through the sitting room and tell me all about what’s happened in the country.”

  Lucas grinned. His teeth were straight and white. No heart flip. Oh, well.

  “I won’t bore you with how many sets of twin lambs were born, or what we’re planting in which field. Things are much as usual. I’ve been down your way quite a bit visiting Eloise and David. They are very happy.”

  Bully for them—she really meant it. “When is the baby due?”

  “The end of July. David got right to work. I envy him, with three sons already.”

  He sounded wistful. But Lucas was only in his early thirties; there was still plenty of time to pass on the Waring name.

  “How are they? The boys, I mean. Do they miss their mother at all?” David’s ex-wife Kathleen had been murdered, and Addie was partly responsible for capturing the criminal. Her one claim to fame, which would never be revealed. Marquess’ daughters didn’t go about getting mixed up in murder inquiries, at least in her mother’s opinion.

  “They seem fine. Hellions, the lot of them. Eloise has her hands full, but that’s just as she likes it. She always was a managing sort of woman.” Lucas sat down on the white sofa, pushing some colorful pillows aside. “I say, are these biscuits and cake I see? Are you expecting someone?”

  “Um, Detective Inspector Hunter said he might drop by. He’s in charge of Cee’s case.”

  “That Indian chap? What a coincidence, eh? I bet you never thought to see him again.” Lucas helped himself to a slice of pound cake and two ginger biscuits. “I’ve changed my mind about the coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course not. I won’t be a moment.”

  Damn again.

  Addie went into her bijou kitchen, lit the gas rings, put the kettle on the boil for tea and measured coffee and water into the pot. She prided herself being reasonably proficient when it came to coffee, tea, canapés, or cocktails. It was far too early to drink, but she was tempted.

  Inspector Hunter was a very intelligent man. He would not turn over that list in front of Lucas, who would be scandalized to discover that she was helping the police again. She would have to warn Mr. Hunter at the door that she had a visitor who would run right to her mama with the news.

  Addie did not wish to engage in a battle of wills with the Dowager Marchioness of Broughton. For all that she was an adult woman, a widow herself, independently wealthy, and relatively smart, Addie was unsure she could stand up to the barrage. Her mother had had years of practice getting her way.

  Addie heard the doorbell as the kettle whistled. “I’ll get it!” Lucas called.

  Too late to stop him. Grudgingly, she poured the tea into a pretty china pot and did the same to the coffee, and set both on the tray she’d prepared earlier. Shoving open the kitchen door with a shoulder, she came to a full stop. Across the room, the two men were eyeing each other in the manner of dogs establishing their territories.

  “Prince Andrei! What a…surprise.” She really should come up with better lines.

  “Let me take burden.” He rushed across the sitting room and snatched the heavy tray from Addie’s hands. “To put on table with the sweets?”

  “Uh, yes, thank you.” She’d have to get another cup from the china closet.

  Lucas lifted a golden eyebrow. “Prince Andrei? I don’t believe we’ve met.” He held out his hand, as any gentleman must.

  “Lucas, this is Prince Andrei Andropov. Prince Andrei, Viscount Waring.” She’d been drilled for years on who was to be introduced first to whom, and suspected she’d got it wrong. A prince, even a foreign one, would have precedence over a mere viscount, or so she thought. Her mother surely would know.

  But Prince Andrei didn’t seem to stand on ceremony. He pumped Lucas’s hand with enthusiasm and turned to her. “Excuse intrusion. I have come to ask about Lady Cecilia. And see how my roses is doing.”

  Lucas looked around the flower-bedecked sitting room. “You brought these? Very impressive. Too bad Lady Adelaide prefers the color pink.”

  “I do?” She’d really never given it much thought. Roses were roses. Now if one really wanted to impress her, they’d bring peonies, but it was too early in the season, and the ants would be a problem.

  “I remember next time. How is sister?”

  “Please sit. I spoke to my mother very early this morning, and Cee was still asleep. Dr. Bergman will look in on her later.” Even if their family doctor was retired, he made exceptions for the Merrill family. “Do you want coffee or tea?”

  “You do not have samovar, but I shall take my chance. Tea, please. Lots of sugar.”

  Addie did as she was bid, then fixed Lucas a cup of coffee. She didn’t have to ask how he liked it. That was the thing with Lucas—she knew him so well. She’d never have to ask anything. They had twenty-five years of friendship behind them.

  No surprises.

  “Friends, remember? Not lovers. Your marriage to him would be yawn-inducing. You’d have to stick pins in yourself to stay awake, and that would be at breakfast. The rest of the day would require something stronger and pointier. Arrows, stakes, swords. Maybe one of those jousting lances.”

  Rupert was perched on the arm of the sofa now, not far from where Lucas sat. I don’t need your opinion. Addie thought as hard as she could. Let Rupert pick up on that, puzzle pieces or radio waves.

  “So, how long have you two known each other?” Lucas could not keep the suspicion out of his voice.

  “Just the two days. I had honor of dancing with Lady Adelaide at Savoy when sister got sick.”

  “I did see you in the Thieves’ Den, though. The night before.” The prince had been at a nearby table with his cousin Nadia, Kit Wheeler, Gregory Trenton-Douglass and a few other people she didn’t know.

  Lucas set his cup down with a little crash. “The Thieves’ Den! Don’t tell me you
’ve been spending time there. Why, it’s a den, all right. A den of iniquity. I’ve heard all about it, even buried in the Cotswolds. It’s a wonder you weren’t assaulted and robbed in the dark.”

  “Really? It’s all the rage with young people like Cee. Her friend brought us there. The music is excellent,” Addie said, stealing a look at her jeweled wristwatch. Detective Inspector Hunter should be arriving at any moment.

  Would he think she’d invited the prince and Lucas as a sort of protective barrier? Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “I don’t want you going to such places,” Lucas huffed. “It’s not safe.”

  “But Lord Waring, I am there to protect Lady Adelaide. Is honor.” Prince Andrei straightened his broad shoulders and looked like every girl’s version of a champion. Without a jousting lance.

  Hm. It would be helpful to have a male champion to escort her. If she turned up with Prince Andrei night after night, no one would wonder why an “old lady” such as herself was out and about. His charms were hard to resist.

  But after Rupert, she knew better. Much better. Charm could only go so far.

  Across the room, Rupert raised his hands in submission and mumbled, “Mea culpa.”

  Damn it! He was eavesdropping in her head again. It was most aggravating.

  Addie smiled and let her mind wander. It was a true shame that Inspector Hunter couldn’t escort her—she’d seen him dance very creditably, and he was as handsome as any man of her acquaintance.

  “Even me?” Rupert covered up his mustache with two fingers.

  Even handsomer than you. And much nicer.

  “Ouch,” said Rupert, reading her loud and clear.

  “As to that, I plan on staying at my club for a few days. I can escort Lady Adelaide wherever she wishes to go,” Lucas offered with a scowl.

  “Dogfight,” Rupert murmured. “The prince weighs less, but is probably more agile due to his youth. However, Waring has been pushing that plough for a few weeks to impress his tenant farmers. It might be a draw.”

  “Gentlemen, there’s no need to argue!” Addie said quickly. “I’ll be delighted to spend time with both of you.”

  And then the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Ten

  Addie would have to give Mr. Hunter credit. He didn’t bat a dark brown eye when he entered the drawing room. If he was surprised to see Lucas and Prince Andrei there, one would never know it. And he got rid of both of them with panache that Addie would not have believed possible.

  Taking out his thick notebook, he said “I’m here on confidential police business relating to Lady Cecilia Merrill, I’m sure you gentlemen both understand.” Firm. A little fierce. The men swallowed their pride and their cake as fast as they could and left Addie’s flat in minutes. Only Rupert lingered, twirling the cufflink on his custom-made shirt, pretending not to listen.

  “I hope you don’t think—” Addie began.

  “I hope you don’t mind—” Mr. Hunter said at the same time. He gave her a dazzling smile. “You first.”

  “I didn’t invite them. Prince Andrei just turned up. And my mother sicced Lucas on me. She wants me to go home.”

  “And quite right she is. I had hoped you might have had a change of heart.”

  “Oh, no! I’m eager to get started. And both Lucas and the prince have volunteered to keep me company.”

  “I’ll come too,” Rupert grumbled. “I’d be much better company than those lugs. Lucas has that stick up his arse, and Andrei is just a gigolo. Plus, I can be stealthy and useful. Not that you seem to care.”

  Addie squelched the urge to put her fingers in her ears.

  “You didn’t tell them of your hare-brained scheme! Andropov’s a suspect!”

  “Told you,” Rupert said smugly.

  “It’s not hare-brained. And no, of course I didn’t tell anyone. Lucas is so old-fashioned—he thinks women belong at home playing bridge or arranging flowers or doing needlepoint, not working with the police. He’d have a fit.”

  “So he should. Lady Adelaide, while I appreciate everything you’re trying to do, you must be aware the person—or persons—we’re dealing with are dangerous. Evil. If anything happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “Neither could I—but then I’m not exactly living anyhow, am I?” Rupert interjected. “Look, Addie, maybe Hunter is right. We should pick another challenge to get me into heaven. I—I could ask to get reassigned. If I knew who to talk to.” Rupert looked serious, for Rupert. He’d slipped from the sofa arm to the window and was staring out pensively.

  “It’s a good challenge! I mean, no one should die before their time, me especially. If I can stop the next attack just by being observant, how can that be a bad thing?” Addie asked.

  “And how observant can you be with so much going on in the dark? I know what these places are like when they’re in full swing. Have you thought this through at all?”

  Addie nodded. “If I know who to focus on, it shouldn’t be too difficult. You have the list?”

  Mr. Hunter pulled it from his jacket pocket but didn’t pass it over. “We’ve pretty much ruled out the Thieves’ Den and Savoy staffs, although I suppose we should keep an open mind. Death isn’t good for business though, and people need their jobs.”

  So much for Trix Harmon, Addie thought. How convenient if she could pin this on the pretty blonde despite her cheerful innocence and that appealing dimple.

  “We’ve cross-checked everyone who was present on the three nights in question, and narrowed it down to eight people, including the alleged victim Christopher Wheeler. He didn’t imbibe, so it’s perfectly possible he knew the drink was tampered with. I think the Savoy was an anomaly, though—we tested Mr. Wheeler’s cocktail. Even if your sister had drunk the whole glass, she wouldn’t have died. This time, it wasn’t cyanide that was added, thank God, but ipecac syrup. Ironically, it’s often given to people who have been poisoned to purge the system. Wheeler’s cocktail was intended to make one violently ill.”

  “Could it be some kind of copycat scheme?” Addie asked. The murders had been hushed up, but it was possible someone had cottoned on to them and was deliberately trying to confuse the police.

  “We’ve considered that. But we’re hoping that the murderer has run out of the truly deadly stuff. It’s damned difficult to get hold of cyanide.”

  “Could the poisoner be having a crisis of conscience? Maybe the first deaths weren’t meant to be deaths at all.”

  “It doesn’t matter what the original intention was. The person who did this is a murderer and will hang.” Mr. Hunter sounded as if he’d like to tighten the noose himself.

  He pressed the folded paper into her hand and Addie felt a pleasant little zing. “It goes without saying that you not share it with anyone.”

  “Of course not! I’ll…I’ll memorize it and then burn it. Or should I eat it?”

  Mr. Hunter grinned. “Just like in a spy thriller. I don’t think you need to go that far. But don’t leave it around where anyone might see it. I take it Beckett has gone to the country with your sister?”

  Addie nodded. “She’s coming back in a few days, so I’m camping out alone.”

  “More dinners from the Connaught?”

  Golly. So he remembered the embarrassing night when he’d put her to bed. It was the last time—almost the only time—she’d overindulged in wine or in any sort of spirits. She blamed Rupert, getting underfoot and under her skin.

  “Don’t blame me! I was only washing up the dishes, trying to be helpful.” Rupert was now plumping a cushion on a chair, as if he were some bloody parlor maid. Addie wished he’d stay put. This fading in and out of corners was disorienting.

  “I like being alone,” Addie said pointedly. If only Rupert would take the hint.

  “Oh. Then I won’t ask you to dinner one night.”


  “Oh! Gosh, I didn’t mean you! I’d love to have dinner with you.” Rupert blew her a raspberry, which she ignored. “It probably should be here again, though. If someone sees us in public, they’ll know I’m in cahoots with the police.” She had an awful thought. “What about the prince? He’s seen you here with me.”

  Mr. Hunter tapped his worn leather notebook. “I’m here to follow up, aren’t I? Your sister was a victim, and I’m asking you pertinent questions.”

  “I wish I had pertinent answers.”

  “Maybe you will. We’ll give this idea of yours two weeks. The perpetrator has struck once a week for the past three weeks. If he or she takes time off for some much-needed good behavior, nothing much may happen this week. Let’s discuss the list. I’ve dubbed them the Great Eight. A little lame police humor.”

  Addie unfolded the paper.

  Prince Alexei Andropov

  Lady Lucy Archibald

  Philippa Dean

  Roy Dean

  Bernard Dunford

  Nadia Sanborn

  Gregory Trenton-Douglass

  Christopher Wheeler

  Millie Avery wasn’t on it, which was a relief, at least in terms of validating Cee’s judgment. “Alphabetical, I see. And typed.”

  “Bob is an efficient lad. He knows my handwriting leaves something to be desired. It’s conceivable we’ve missed someone, but to the best of our knowledge, all eight were present at each event, though not necessarily sitting with each other or the victims.”

  “I assume you’ve interviewed them all.”

  “Oh, yes. Some after the Bickley boy’s death, and the rest Sunday night and into Monday. Miss Hardinge’s demise didn’t immediately arouse suspicion.”

  “Did they know her?”

  “Only in passing. Not one of them claimed to be very friendly with her—she ran in a wilder circle. They don’t even seem to realize she is dead, and I did nothing to alert them.”

  Addie frowned. “What do they have in common? I mean Penelope Hardinge, Tom Bickley, and Kit Wheeler.”