“She only said she was distressed. She refused to give me any details. Said it had nothing to do with me, that it was personal. Between her and Kenny. If only I’d pressed her harder to tell me, perhaps I could have done something to save her.”
“You think Gattenger killed his wife.”
“Isn’t it obvious, with something between her and Kenny upsetting her? Scotland Yard thinks so, too.”
“You’ve talked to Scotland Yard about your talk with cousin Clara the night before her death?” I’d have been surprised to learn he’d volunteered any information. He seemed to want to use anything he discovered for his own benefit.
“Of course not. The police would see it as another nail in Gattenger’s coffin. And Britain needs Gattenger alive designing ships.”
“Could your doubts about Gattenger’s warship design have led to her death?” I pressed him, not knowing how much longer I had until we’d arrive in Cheltenham Spa.
“If I thought I had done anything to lead to her death, even indirectly, I’d shoot myself. I adored Clara.” The pain in his eyes spoke of his honesty. I hoped the pain was real.
“When you saw her that last time, did you tell Clara how much she meant to you?”
Sir Henry blinked at my question. “No. Never. Gattenger was the one who wandered before their marriage. Clara stayed true to him, although I told her how much I cared for her while she was still free to choose me. In the end, Gattenger returned to her and I lost the love of my life.”
“I’d imagine Clara blamed Ken for their breakups if she blamed anyone. It usually is the male who’s the pursuer,” Phyllida said.
He glanced at Phyllida. “Not this time. Lady Bennett deliberately came between them, causing Clara to break off their engagement for the second time. That estrangement wasn’t as long as the first one, only a few weeks, but I took the opportunity to court Clara again.”
“‘Again’?” I was beginning to sound like a parrot. Hopefully Stanford would mark my verbal clumsiness down to being a middle-class colonial.
“I also courted her before her original engagement to Gattenger, and then when they called it off the first time.”
“How long ago was that?”
Sir Henry was looking at me suspiciously. “They were engaged eight years ago, and then broke up about three years later. Several months passed before Gattenger came crawling back to Clara. Poor woman forgave him both times.”
“So you’d been courting Clara off and on for eight years. That shows a rare dedication.” I tried to sound sympathetic. Truly, I thought he was a little mad.
“Clara was a very special woman.”
Phyllida interrupted us. “It was Kenny who broke off the engagement both times after Clara refused to set a date for the wedding because of her father. She wouldn’t leave him, and Kenny grew frustrated. Men do, I’m afraid, and so they begin affairs.”
I glanced at Phyllida, surprised at her worldly insight. Either she hadn’t been as cloistered as I’d thought in the days when the queen had a growing family or Emma and I had unwittingly provided her with an education.
“Gattenger’s a good-looking man. He’s always attracted women. Not always high-moraled women,” Sir Henry said.
I’d only seen him in Newgate Prison and at Sunday dinners. He’d always seemed pale and timid. Once I’d met Blackford, I discovered my tastes ran to dark and bold. “He is?”
“Yes, the man has that blond Greek god look that women find impossible to resist. Clara couldn’t believe her good fortune that Gattenger chose her. I wish to God he hadn’t,” Sir Henry said with feeling.
Blackford walked over to us, glaring Sir Henry and me farther apart in our chairs. “We’ll be in Cheltenham in fifteen minutes. Perhaps less.”
“Oh, that is good news,” Phyllida said with the most animation she’d shown all morning.
“We’ll have a few more miles to go by carriage to reach Lord Harwin’s estate.”
As it turned out, Lord Harwin sent only one carriage for us, so Phyllida rode with Lady Bennett and the baron on the first trip. The luggage and the servants followed in a large, open wagon. Emma gave me a half smile as she passed on her way to the wagon, following a porter with our trunks. Being Emma, she would manage to sit on the bench next to the driver while the rest of the servants had to sit on trunks in the back.
The weather was noticeably cooler on the street in front of the Cheltenham railway station than it had been in London, sunny but breezy. While I stood there with the duke, Lady Peters, and Sir Henry, I watched as another coach pulled up. Lady Ormond and a couple I didn’t know ignored us, and each other, as they climbed into the carriage, their faces stiff with suppressed anger. Their servants loaded the luggage into a pony cart that waited a short distance behind the first vehicle.
Looking past them to the opposite side of the street, I saw my parents’ killer. He was here in Cheltenham Spa.
My gasp might have caught my travel companions’ attention, but I didn’t glance their way. I darted out into the street between Tewes’s carriage and a wagon being loaded with crates of fruit off a freight train.
My quarry was almost within reach. I could see his long nose, his thin lips, his silver hair beneath his top hat as he walked along the sidewalk. He appeared unaware of the woman dashing across the wide street as he strode along, a newspaper folded under one arm.
There was a carriage coming toward me in one direction and a wagon carrying barrels lumbering along in the other. This was a busy road, but I’d had plenty of practice crossing busy roads in London. I had time to cross. I’d just hurried out into the middle of the street, glancing down to avoid horse manure, when a sound to my left caught my attention.
A small, chariotlike carriage driven by a young dandy raced around the slow carriage, its horses urged on by shouts and the snap of a whip. It was nearly on top of me. I tried to back up, but not fast enough.
I looked at my parents’ murderer. He’d noticed me now. His cruel, pale eyes widened in surprise as he stared at me.
An arm smashed against my waist and jerked me backward. Something struck my foot as the vehicle raced past.
I was nearly thrown onto the sidewalk. “What do you think you’re doing?” Blackford snarled, staring down at me.
I adjusted my hat, which had slipped over one eye. “You’ve ruined everything,” I snapped back at him. “Didn’t you see him?” I was trying to look past him and the vehicles in my way to view the opposite sidewalk.
“Who?”
“My parents’ killer.”
Blackford stopped and blinked, as shocked as if I’d just slapped him. He spun around and stared across the busy street. There was no one there. “I don’t see anyone.”
“He’s gone now. You ruined it.” I took one step forward and nearly landed on my face as my foot and ankle screamed fire.
By now, Sir Henry and Lady Peters had reached my side. “Are you all right?” Lady Peters asked.
Sir Henry handed me the shoe I’d lost in the street when the chariot raced past. “That was a close call with the curricle. Quick thinking, Your Grace.”
I put my shoe on my aching foot, took a tentative step, and winced. “I’ve injured my ankle. I guess I can’t have that first waltz with you like I promised, Your Grace.”
“Whatever possessed you to run out in the road like that?” Lady Peters said.
I gave Blackford a glance and said, “I’m sure I saw an old friend of my father’s. I was surprised to see him and wanted to let him know I was in the area. I could have had a nice chat with him if that crazy driver hadn’t nearly run me over.”
“Did either of you recognize the young pup?” the duke asked. “I have a mind to have a word with him about his driving.”
“Who still drives a curricle in this day and age?” Sir Henry asked of no one in particular.
Blackford put an arm around my waist and helped me toward a bench by the front of the train station. “If you will sit still, perhaps we’ll be able to continue our investigation,” he muttered into my ear.