Death At Epsom Downs

Murray frowned. “D’you suppose Badger actually killed Langtry?”

“Anything is possible,” Charles said. He looked up. “All of these alternatives, gentlemen, might add up to a motive for murder.”

“Damn!” Bradford exclaimed. “So we’re back to the Lily again! Did she kill Badger?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Charles replied. “And neither does Kate. In fact, it is her theory that Alfred Day was killed by a man whom Lillie calls by the nickname of Spider, who visited her on Monday afternoon.” He looked at Murray. “Does that name strike any sort of chord with you, Jack?”

“Spider?” Murray frowned. “Not right off, I’m afraid. What makes Lady Sheridan believe that this Spider person killed Badger?”

“Kate told Bradford and me on Monday night that she had overheard a conversation between this man and Mrs. Langtry in which he alluded to a knowledge of the jewel theft and of Edward Langtry’s death. The next day, Kate learned that a parlormaid had observed this same man in the act of opening the drawer where Mrs. Langtry’s gun was kept-which has now turned up missing. The servants apparently know the man only by the name of Spider.”

“Spider,” Bradford said thoughtfully. “Members of the Marlborough Set take a great pleasure in giving one another nicknames. There’s Billy Stomachache, for instance-Lord William Savernake, the Marquess of Aylesbury. And Harty-Tarty, Lord Hartington. And of course, Hugh Lowther, the Earl of Lonsdale, is Lordy to his friends.”

“Can you think of anyone who might be called Spider?” Charles asked.

“I’ve never heard the name.” Bradford frowned. “The only possibility that comes to mind is Reggie Hunt. He lost a great deal of money on his horse Tarantula, whom he fancied for the Derby. But I’ve never heard anyone call him Spider, and I can’t think that he would’ve been involved with the Lily, for heaven’s sake. He’s so… ineffectual.”

“Lord Hunt,” Murray said slowly. “He’s the owner of Gladiator, isn’t he? He’s here in Newmarket -I saw him yesterday.”

Bradford shrugged. “Come to that, I seem to recall that Suggie de Bathe owned a racing yacht called The Black Widow-yet I don’t quite see him stealing the Lily’s gun to shoot Alfred Day. Anyway, Lillie Langtry’s servants would surely know de Bathe.” He appealed to Charles. “Don’t we already have quite enough suspects without adding more to the list?”

“The trick is,” Charles said soberly, thinking of Owen North, “to have the right suspect.” He pulled out his watch and looked at it. “If you’re going to catch the London train, I’m afraid that you’d best be on your way, Bradford. The lovely Edith wouldn’t like to go without you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Regal Lodge

A Palmist’s Analysis

of Lillie Langtry’s Hand

The hand would be beautiful, were it not for one defect, the crookedness of the little finger. The long thumb shows strong will, obstinate in youth. She has a perfect passion for power which will later be succeeded by a passion for luxury. A restless disposition is shown and a love of social distinction, the social instinct having increased with gratification. She is a thorough woman of the world…

The Palmist, 1898 Mrs. St. Hill, Editor

Kate had passed an uncomfortable night and morning. She was anxious about the note she had sent to Charles along with Alfred Day’s letter, for Amelia had returned to say that his lordship had been out and the message had been left with Mrs. Hardaway. Kate had heard nothing from Charles, so she could only trust that her message had not somehow been lost or fallen into the wrong hands.

But if Kate was worried, Lillie was obviously much more deeply troubled. The morning post had brought a long letter from Suggie de Bathe-not a reassuring letter, judging from the expression on Lillie’s face when she opened and read it at the breakfast table. In fact, she appeared so distressed that Kate thought she might even confide what her lover had written. But at that moment, Jeanne-Marie had come into the room, looking pale and drawn and with an obstinate set to her mouth. She avoided her mother’s eyes, refused to answer her mother’s queries as to her health, ate only a piece of dry toast, and drank only a cup of black coffee. Then she left the room, her back straight as a ramrod, her shoulders expressing her defiance. All the while she had said not a single word.

At midmorning, Lillie invited Kate for a tour of the Regal Lodge stables, where she kept the six or seven horses that were not in training with Jack Robinson in Wiltshire. Jeanne-Marie was twice summoned to go with them. She came downstairs at last and followed along behind Kate and Lillie, but while her mother was lively and vivacious, pointing out the merits of one horse and remarking on the difficulties of another, the girl resolutely said nothing. She did not even reply when Lillie made a great show of giving her a filly named Princess, to take back with her to Jersey. She was silent at luncheon, too, and while Kate made every effort to speak naturally, what little conversation there was seemed forced and awkward.

In the drawing room after luncheon, Lillie flung herself onto the sofa. “What am I to do with that horrid child!” she exclaimed petulantly. “I have apologized as well as I can, offered all the amends I can think of-even given her a horse of her own! And yet nothing satisfies her, nothing at all! What can she want of me?”

Kate felt such a deep surge of indignation that she was struck momentarily dumb. That she could not bear children was a great and lasting heartache, and the idea that a mother could deny her maternity and then wonder why the child was unhappy almost took her breath away.

“I think,” she managed at last, in as even a tone as possible, “that your daughter wants nothing but your public acknowledgment.”

“Acknowledgment!” Lillie cried vexatiously. “If that’s what the child hopes for, she will be sadly disappointed, for that is exactly what I cannot give her!”

“But why not acknowledge her?” Kate persisted. “It can no longer be a matter of Edward Langtry’s possible intervention in Jeanne’s life. And she is no longer a child-she would enjoy accompanying you on your tours. Surely-”

“It has nothing to do with Jeanne, actually,” Lillie said in a sulky tone. “The truth is that Suggie’s father is making a tremendous row about us, and poor Suggie is feeling utterly besieged on all sides. Discovering that he’s about to inherit a stepdaughter only a few years younger than he might tip the balance in the wrong direction. And it would certainly give his father more ammunition with which to snipe at me.” She sighed discontentedly. “It’s not as if there aren’t plenty of eligible young women madly flinging themselves at Suggie,” she added, with an unconscious emphasis on young. “They all want to be Lady de Bathe.”

“I’m sure you love one another,” Kate remarked, “but is it all that important to be married? You can support yourself without leaning on his social distinction, such as it is. Surely, a woman of your experience of the world-”

“Dearest Beryl,” Lillie said, with the patient air of one explaining something to a small child. “Marriage is not at all important-in fact, it usually gets in the way of satisfying one’s needs and deepest desires. And indeed I can support myself, and I intend to. I am not interested in the de Bathe money, not a bit of it!”

“Well, then,” Kate said, “why not claim Jeanne-Marie and let Suggie go. Surely-”