The Counterfeit Heiress (7 page)

For two days after the incident, Estella did not leave her house. She retreated one afternoon to the cupboard in the nursery where she still kept her favorite dolls. It was too cramped for her to sit in comfortably now that she was full grown, but she folded herself into it nonetheless, wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling them to her chin, bending her neck so that her head fit beneath the shelf. She confessed everything to her dolls and saw in their green eyes no mocking laughter, the sort she was certain she would find in her friends’ if she told them what she had almost done. She had never before told the dolls a story that had not first belonged to her mother, and now that she had, she felt a release unlike any she had known before. These were her friends, her true friends.

Something tugged at her heart, and she thought of Cécile. Cécile would not laugh at her. Cécile would give her a glass of champagne and tell her this all proved that she was too good and too trusting for most of this world, and that she should be proud to have discovered the fraud before she made her investment. Estella decided to go to the place Saint-Germain-des-Prés, to her friend’s house, and confide in her. She drew herself out of the cupboard and threw a cloak around her shoulders before stepping outside into the crisp autumn sunshine. The day was so bright she had to squint to see. The walk to Cécile’s was not a short one, but still she did not bother to take her parasol. Instead she tipped her head back, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face.

She turned onto rue du Dragon and had not taken more than three steps when she felt strong arms grab her from behind. A rough cloth covered her face, and when she breathed, the air tasted too sweet. She grew tired, so very tired.

And then the world went black.

5

We returned to the Hopwood residence after finishing with the family’s servants, but Mr. Hopwood had not gone there after speaking to us, so we sought him at his place of employment in the City. He looked rather shamefaced when he saw us, and ushered us into a room furnished with a large desk and three uncomfortable chairs. “I should have told you what happened last night,” he said, the moment we had sat down.

“Quite an understatement,” Colin said. “Please do enlighten us now. First, I want to know precisely what happened. Second, I want to know why you did not tell us earlier.”

“I had gone to my club, just as I said, but when I went to bed, I gave strict orders that I was not to be disturbed.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You have met my wife. Living with her has become something of a trial, and more often than not she sets off on nocturnal adventures.”

“This happens frequently?” Colin asked.

“Not in the extreme,” Mr. Hopwood said, “but she has with some regularity ventured out of the house. In the beginning, I followed her in a panic, only to find that she did nothing more than wander for a few blocks before sitting on the pavement, wailing for some time, and then going home.”

“This did not make you think she was in dire need of medical attention?” Colin asked. “I can assure you that if my wife were in such a state, I would not dream of abandoning her to her madness.”

“Madness? Is that what you think it is? I understand why you would believe that, but it does not adequately address her condition. She is not completely unhinged, and I have no desire to see her locked up in some awful place and treated like she has no reason left at all. She is mad, but for a very specific reason, and one that I am certain will pass in time. This is a temporary setback. A serious one, I agree, but not all-consuming.”

“She is a danger to herself wandering around in such a state,” Colin said.

“Yes, yes, I suppose so.” Mr. Hopwood dropped his face into his hands. “It has become so very difficult, all of it. I am grieving, too, you know, though she does not see it. Grieving without a wife to offer any meaningful support. She is too lost in her own pain to care about anyone else’s.”

“So you are content to let her wander the streets at night?” I asked. “One almost wonders if you hope she comes to harm.”

“No, that is absolutely untrue. I swear it.” He rubbed his forehead, his eyes dull. “I realize how dreadful it sounds, that you must think me a monster, but have you ever dealt with a situation like this? At first it consumes you, and you are desperate to fix things. In time, however, you start to realize you have almost no power whatsoever, and you begin to find yourself inured to it. Your helplessness becomes callousness, and before long you hardly remember having emotions at all.”

I wanted to lift him from his seat and give him a stern reprimand followed by a lecture on how one ought to treat one’s spouse if one has even the barest respect for the marital state, but decided, on balance, the current situation did not merit such actions. They would be neither welcome nor helpful. “No one is arguing these are not the most difficult of times,” I said instead.

“It is your duty to look after your wife properly, Hopwood,” Colin said, “and I insist that you start to do it at once. Furthermore, I will call at your club to corroborate your version of last night’s events. Knowing this, is there anything you wish to add to your narrative?”

“No, there is nothing,” he said. “I have given serious thought to what you said to me earlier, Hargreaves, and I cannot believe my wife would hurt anyone, even Mary Darby. Somewhere inside her she knows there is no one to blame for our daughter’s death. She may rail against the midwife, she may be upset with her, but she would not strike out physically against her. Of that I am certain.”

I cannot say that I shared his confidence.

“Disgraceful man,” Colin said as we left. “To allow his wife to carry on in such a manner is unconscionable.”

“I have never believed the primary role of a husband is to control his wife,” I said. “Quite the contrary.”

“You know, my dear, that we agree on this point, but there are times when human decency requires intervention. This is one of them.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I feel fortunate to have a most rational wife.”

“You are extremely fortunate. So fortunate, in fact, that I may even deserve an award of thanks.”

“I shall see to that in the most thorough manner possible later this evening. For now, however—”

“The In and Out,” I said. “Where I, of course, am not welcome.”

“I am certain the navy shall one day come to see the error of their ways.”

“It is unlikely I shall live long enough to see it. There is something that has been nagging at me, however, and I would like to pursue it while you explore the hallowed halls of Mr. Hopwood’s club. Would you collect me at Devonshire House when you are finished?”

“Let’s meet in Green Park instead,” he said. “It’s too fine a day to spend more time inside than necessary.”

*   *   *

Devonshire House and Mr. Hopwood’s club could not have been more conveniently located to each other, being only a few blocks apart on Piccadilly, across from Green Park. We had the carriage leave us both at the In and Out (so called because those words were painted, one on each of the two pillars flanking the double doors) and sent it back to Park Lane so that we could walk home. Colin was right: the day was fine and I reveled in the cool breeze that drifted from the park to the pavement. As I approached the London seat of the Duke of Devonshire, I felt, as I always did, a spate of disappointment, for although the house could be counted among the most grand in town when one considered its interior, the exterior gave no hint of what lay inside.

A tall brick wall, devoid of all ornamentation, lined the perimeter of the property, blocking the house from the street. Once inside the gate, the visitor would see that the façade had little more to offer than the wall. It was plain and austere, but the moment one stepped through the portico and into the entrance hall, one was firmly surrounded by luxury. The butler led me up the grand staircase to the first floor, where the duchess received me in a splendid drawing room done up in crimson silk.

“What a success your party was,” I said, as she embraced me and we kissed on both cheeks. “A triumph that will not soon be forgot.”

“I must admit to being pleased,” she said, smoothing her skirts and sitting. “My husband is of no use in planning such things, you know. I have always said he would choose a pig over a party any day of the week, but at least he has the sense not to hold me back.” Lady Louisa Cavendish, the Duchess of Devonshire, had earned the reputation as one of—if not the—best hostesses in society, a rank that could prove as much of a burden as an honor, as one continually felt the need to top one’s previous accomplishments. She had been married once before, to the Duke of Manchester, who died two years before she decided, at the age of sixty, to wed again. Rumor had it the second duke to earn her affections had been in love with her for years, but she had remained faithful to Manchester until his death. “There was a duel, did you know?”

“I missed that entirely,” I said. “Do tell.”

“Gentlemen coming to blows in the garden over a lady. Fortunately their weapons were limited by their costumes, so there was no question of firearms at twenty paces. The crusader’s sword easily beat his opponent’s rapier. Louis XV’s courtiers weren’t meant for combat, and I am afraid his silk stockings suffered violently.”

“Oh dear.” I laughed. “I am almost sorry not to have seen it.”

“You are here, I presume, not simply to discuss the pleasures of the evening—I am glad, though, that you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did, very much so, thank you,” I said. “You are correct that I must address another subject, one far less pleasant. We have identified the woman murdered after she left here. I am certain she was not among those who received an invitation, at least not in her legal name.”

“No, I had never heard of Mary Darby until your husband sent her name over today. Furthermore, I did not invite Estella Lamar to the ball. It never would have occurred to me to have done so as she is rarely in London. When she appeared without an invitation, I thought that the Jubilee and its festivities must have tempted her to come to England, and I told my butler to admit her at once. It is wretchedly embarrassing to have been so taken in by a charlatan.”

“You had no way of knowing she was not who she claimed.”

“Unfortunately not,” she said. “Have you any notion why this other woman came in her place? I feel as if I’ve been wound up, and I can’t say I much like the joke.”

“At the moment we’ve not the slightest idea. We are trying to reach Miss Lamar, but have as yet been unable to make contact with anyone but her solicitor. He believes her to have recently been in Siam, which suggests it would have been most difficult for her to organize the scheme, if that’s what it was.”

“I am aware that my husband has communicated as much to your own dear spouse, but I must implore you to please keep this matter as quiet as possible. I do not want our ball in the queen’s honor to be overshadowed by scandal and death.” She snapped open a lace fan and waved it quickly in front of her face. “Do not think me callous, Lady Emily. I am most grieved that this Darby woman has been killed, but at the same time I am indecently relieved that it did not happen in the confines of my home.”

“Of course you are. That is nothing of which to be ashamed.”

“I’m afraid I have nothing else that could be of use to you,” she said. “I must, however, compliment you on your costume. You made a lovely Artemis.”

“You are very kind, Lady Cavendish,” I said. “The House of Worth has never let me down. I would be nothing without them.”

“Yes, the sons are doing an admirable job continuing the work of their father, aren’t they?”

“Quite. They made yours as well, did they not?” The duchess had presided over her party with supreme regality, dressed as Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, and had entered the ballroom on a litter carried by servants dressed as slaves, each of them with an enormous fan. “I can’t think when I’ve seen any garment so spectacular.”

“The dreadful thing weighed a ton, but it was worth it,” she said. “I only wish I could wear it again.”

“Speaking of costumes puts me in mind of the other topic I hoped to discuss with you. During the ball, an auburn-haired gentleman dressed as an ancient Greek approached me and addressed me with half a line of Homer. At the time I had assumed this was because of my own choice of costume, but when I answered him back, he balked, and scolded me fiercely for not being at all what I had claimed to be. It was exceedingly odd, and I can’t help but think he expected, because of my costume, that I was Mary Darby. He had on a mask—one of those theatrical ones, representing tragedy. Have you any idea who he was?”

“Greek…” She looked up at the ceiling, closed one eye, and chewed on her bottom lip. “There were so many guests, I’m afraid I cannot recall what each of them wore. His, I am sorry to say, did not make an impression on me. He sounds a horrible man! Have you tried the photographer?”

“I was hoping you could tell me how best to reach him.” The duchess had organized for a photographer to set up a makeshift studio in the garden so that he might capture the guests in their spectacular costumes.

She crossed to a table, pulled out a sheet of paper, and scribbled on it. “The Lafayette Studio. Here are the details. I do not believe everyone sat for a picture, but many did. I do hope your mysterious Greek was one of them, as I believe Mr. Lafayette was quite thorough about recording the details of each sitter.”

I took the paper from her. “I am most grateful, Lady Cavendish.”

“It is good to see you, Lady Emily. Your mother is well, I hope?”

“Always,” I said. “It grieved her to miss your party, but my father insisted on traveling abroad this summer. He felt the Jubilee rather more festivity than he could tolerate with equanimity.”

She smiled. “How like the earl. He is a dear man. Do send my best to them both.”

*   *   *

Leaving the duchess, I made my way to Green Park, where Colin was already waiting, leaning against a tree, reading the
Times
. He folded the paper the moment he saw me, pulled me close, and gave me a kiss.