“No, my lady. She left almost immediately.”
“Oh.”
“Who? What?” Charlotte was urging Robert to sit down but she turned her head at the mention of Mrs Dymchurch’s name.
“She came to let you know she would be pleased to attend your dinner tomorrow.”
“Heavens, that dinner is of no consequence! It’s the least of our concerns. I ought to cancel it. Papa, Robert – what has happened? Should we send for a doctor?”
Robert sat awkwardly on the armless padded chair and another was brought for Theodore. He lowered himself stiffly onto it. Another maid was there with a tray of every type of food, drink and potential tonic while a manservant carried a table into the hall so that they didn’t need to get up and move the few yards into a sitting room.
Robert hung his head. “We are both fine. We will recover. There is no real damage done. Not to us, at any rate.”
Theodore grimaced. “Mr Wiseman, however, is now back in the hospital though I think he will be out within the day.”
“A day? I don’t know about that. I heard something crack when that fellow brought his club down upon him.”
“What is going on?” Charlotte wailed. “Who has done this?”
Theodore told them. “Robert and I went to speak with Mr Wiseman. The three of us sallied forth to a public house – no, no, dear, I am not sinking into daytime depravity but we sought a more congenial atmosphere for our deliberations. On the way, we were accosted by four armed men. They wanted to send a warning to Mr Wiseman and had been paid to make this warning very physical and memorable. They must have been waiting for him close to his house. We were unavoidably in the way.”
“Who sent them?” Adelia gasped.
“Someone who clearly no longer wants his involvement in any way.”
“Octavia Dymchurch!” said Adelia.
“Er, no. It can only be Lady Purfleet,” Robert said. “For the men advised Mr Wiseman that he should consider going into another business and to get out of the art world. Why would Mrs Dymchurch warn him of that?”
So we are back to considering her as the main enemy then? Adelia could barely believe it.
“Grace was right,” said Adelia. “That woman is truly a snake.”
Twenty-two
Adelia insisted that Theodore take a hot bath with salts and herbs, and have an early night. He protested a little, but she knew it was only out of habit, and he was soon tucked up in bed. He groaned and grumbled as his stiff bones and bruises were now clamouring for his attention, but Adelia played the part of doctor for a change and dosed him thoroughly with a little of everything that she found in his medical bag, and hoped for the best.
He was soon asleep.
Adelia stayed up late. She thought about her conversation with Charlotte; she still didn’t think she believed her daughter was truly innocent with regards to the man in the hooded cloak. What more was being hidden?
And she thought about Octavia Dymchurch. The woman knew that she was under suspicion. She didn’t realise that they had decided not to pursue the matter. That meant she was guilty, no matter what Robert and Theodore now believed about Lady Purfleet. If she weren’t guilty, she wouldn’t be worried.
One other person was pursing things. Her. William Wiseman had asked too many questions and drawn the very bloody wrath of Lady Purfleet down upon his head.
Adelia closed her eyes and shook her head in the candlelit darkness. What was the connection? She could have thought that Octavia was under Lady Purfleet’s protection but surely that was no longer the case.
She was missing something obvious, she was sure of it. What of Beatrice Hutt, the maid? Sally Spencer, the model? Mariana da Costa, whatever she was?
She hoped that Octavia would still attend the forthcoming dinner party. Not that she was investigating anything, she told herself, as if the sleeping Theodore could read her thoughts. No, no.
She just wanted to tie up a few loose ends.
And she was determined to get some answers.
CHARLOTTE TRIED TO speak to Adelia about their previous conversation, and Adelia took great and rather childish delight in evading her daughter. The day of the dinner party was a busy one as they grappled with organising the menu, the table decorations and the servants they would need to hand. A mere dozen or so people were to be dining so it was hardly to be a lavish affair, but everything needed to be perfect nonetheless. Charlotte seemed to be unsettled by the fact that Adelia had swept out of the conversation about the mysterious stranger.
“You do believe me, don’t you?” she pressed at every opportunity. “I told you the truth.”
“Oh, I am sure that you know best,” Adelia would reply lightly and move away swiftly. She knew that such behaviour was petty and she did not care. She had had enough of running after Charlotte and trying to prise the truth out of her. Perhaps the man in the hooded cloak was Lord H; perhaps he was not. Perhaps he was a lover; perhaps he was a friend. Perhaps he was the murderer. Perhaps, by annoying Charlotte, her daughter would be forced to spill more secrets.
Adelia had grown so sick of Charlotte’s half-truths that she could not think clearly about it all. She chose to walk away from the matter, at least for a while. Anyway, she was concerned about Theodore and Robert. Their injuries were minor generally although Robert appeared to have a cracked rib, but nothing could be done about that. “No wrestling matches for the time being,” Theodore had joked, and Robert had laughed then winced, clutched his chest, and stopped laughing abruptly.
Grace had agreed to come to the dinner, as it made the seating plan more even with the addition of the unaccompanied Mrs Dymchurch. Along with the hosts, and of course Adelia and Theodore, three more couples had been invited. They were all of the
