Page 52 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 22

The Haut Ton - those modish people who live at their ease

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

Mr Formby swallowed the revolting decoction that the doctor had given him and shuddered. This damned case was giving him gyp, and his stomach was suffering from it. It was also making him ill-tempered and far less patient than usual, something that Mrs Formby had been rather vocal about this morning. Hence his trip to the doctor. Maybe if he could stop his stomach griping, he’d be able to think clearer and solve this blasted riddle.

On the surface of things, it looked clear enough. Lord Ashwicke had killed Lord Todd and then Martin Snyder. Except that it was too easy, and, in his opinion, too unlikely. Firstly, it was plain enough that Ashwicke was a lousy shot. Todd had been killed at close range, like shooting fish in a barrel, really, so not such a stretch to think it possible. But whilst he was very willing to believe Lord Ashwicke killed Todd in a fit of fury after seeing his beloved beaten in such a way, killing the valet in cold blood … that he couldn’t swallow.

It took determination and a certain amount of sangfroid for an act like that, or the strong desire to protect a loved one. But it was only Ashwicke who had been in his sights until Snyder had died, so Lady Todd had been safe enough. Somehow, the inspector didn’t buy that Ashwicke had killed Snyder to save his own skin when it was likely that a decent lawyer could get him off in any case. Hanging a duke was no easy task, no matter the evidence, and the valet’s testimony was unlikely enough from a man whose character was not that of an upstanding citizen. The watch was a damning piece, too, but once again, the word of a young varlet like Frankie Lightfingers was hardly going to stand against some clever lawyer. Perhaps the idea of such a dreadful scandal - and it would be the scandal of the decade - perhaps that was enough for the duke to do it, to save the family name.

But Formby didn’t buy it.

Hearing that Lady Todd was a crack shot, however … now that made a lot of sense.

If Lord Ashwicke had killed her father to keep her safe, it might be that the young woman had felt a debt towards the fellow. Perhaps, despite her protestations, she did love him? Or perhaps it was simply that she’d found a nice plump pigeon and a soft landing and wanted to ensure she kept them? Either way, he felt certain that Lord Todd’s daughter had the kind determination to do something as unsavoury as assassinate a man who could cause Lord Ashwicke trouble, no matter what her motivation.

That the blasted woman was not around to be interviewed had vexed him not inconsiderably. It seemed all of his potential witnesses and persons of interest had a habit of up and disappearing.

So it was fair to say that the inspector was … just a little peeved.

“What?” he barked as a knock was heard on his office door. Most of his men had been wise enough to keep a low profile over the past few days, but there was always someone fool enough to try his patience.

To his surprise, Constable Greenly stuck his head around the door, grinning broadly.

“You’d best have some good news to match that idiotic expression, lad,” Formby warned him as the young man’s expression held.

“That I ‘ave, sir. Lord Ashwicke is back. I ‘ad a fellow watching the place, and ‘e’s just stopped by to say they arrived home not ten minutes since.”

Formby stared at his constable for a moment before leaping to his feet and grabbing his hat and overcoat. “Why the devil didn’t you say so?” he yelled, catching sight of the man rolling his eyes as Formby hustled him out of the door in search of his quarry.

***

“Your grace, Lady Todd.”

Keziah watched with interest as Ash smiled at the snooty butler who greeted them with his usual formal deference, the footmen taking care of their hats and coats under his beady and watchful eye.

“Good day, Grant,” Ash replied, still sounding in remarkably good spirits in the circumstances. “And actually … it’s Lady Ashwicke.”

Grant froze, his eyes growing wide for just a fraction of a second before his usual, wooden expression settled back into place.

“Indeed, your grace? In which case, may I be the first to wish you happy.”

Privately, Keziah thought he didn’t wish anything of the sort. She had no doubt at all that a stickler like Grant would not approve her new position any more than the rest of the household. She also felt the strong desire to keep an eye on the fellow after Molly’s words, just as much as he, no doubt, would be keeping an eye on her.

“You may,” Ash replied, still smiling and reaching out to take Keziah’s hand. She felt no disinclination to reject it, either. Facing his grandmother, mother, and sister was not something she was looking forward to. Any show of solidarity, she was only too eager to cling to.

“Where is everyone?” he demanded, and now she thought she could sense the tension in him, and also the desire to get any scenes of a confrontational nature out of the way as soon as was possible.

Apparently, Ash had left a note with his valet, detailing his intentions to marry Keziah, to be given to his grandmother forty eight hours after they had left.

Once the deed had been well and truly done.

“I believe Lady Anne and Lady Hannah are in the yellow salon, your grace,” the butler replied. Lady Margaret’s whereabouts were quickly revealed, however, as she came down the stairs at that moment. That the information contained in his note had not been well received was only too obvious.

“Grandmother,” Ash replied, inclining his head a little.

Lady Margaret gave the butler a cool look and he melted away, leaving them alone.