From Pork Pie to Apology

Today, for your enjoyment, here is an excerpt from A LOVELINESS OF LADYBIRDS, which will be unleashed upon the book reading world tomorrow. Get your copy now!

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“I suppose you’ll want to question me first,” she said, striding across the room to greet him, her expression striving for earnest and somber, but her eyes barely able to contain a bubbling excitement. Two, tiny mother-of-pearl hearts trembled from her ears. He was instantly reminded of the first time they met, when she, certain he considered her a murder suspect, had been thrilled at the prospect and completely powerless to hide her excitement.

“Why? Do you have anything of interest to tell me?”

“Detective,” she replied archly, “everything I say is of interest. You ought to know that by now.”

He heard her gown rustling as she followed him across the room.

“While you’re busy detecting, Deverell, I do not suppose you can manage to detect some pork pie, can you?” she said. “We’re all very hungry and you know how I get when I haven’t eaten.”

“Good lord, yes. We hardly need more bloodshed, do we?”

“I did not mean that you were a joke to me,” she exclaimed abruptly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The last time we saw each other. I fear I offended you, and I hope you can forgive me.”

From pork pie to apology all in one breath. One never knew what she’d say next, he mused. Or when she would say it.

He had almost dropped his hat. His fingers went all soft and clumsy. Had their quarrel troubled her as much as it had him then? He was more pleased by that than he ought to be. But such a lift to his heart’s beat and his spirits could only be costly in the long run, for what went up must always come down.

She stood before him, waiting for some response.

How brave she was, he thought; not for the first time. She leapt right in with an apology, frank and to the point. Few folk would do the same. Of course, it had always been easier for her to express her emotions, for she was fearless. Dangerously so. She was younger, impulsive, incautious, ran at life with her arms out to embrace it. Not very good at hiding her thoughts and feelings and desires; never caring about the cost of something if she wanted it badly enough. Sometimes he felt as if he had an unfair advantage, with those eight extra years under his belt and a more taciturn nature.

But what was unfair about it? He ought to make the most of anything at his disposal when it came to dealing with this extraordinary force of nature. She had plenty of advantages over him.

This was not the time to think of Lucy Greenwood’s many attractions, however. Or to confirm them for her. She was already quite full of herself.

“Madam,” he said finally, his voice low and carefully measured, “I am here on business. Let us confine ourselves to the matter at hand, if you please.”

“I wanted to clear the air. I thought you might be dwelling upon our last meeting and—”

“I can assure you, Miss Greenwood, it has barely crossed my mind.”

“—Sinking into an enormous sulk. Not that it is easy to tell from your expression. You often look that way.”

“Men do not sulk.”

“They brood then.”

“Perhaps you think of fictional gentlemen. The sort who inhabit those romances and detective tales that certain ladies like to read.”

“On the contrary, I refer to gentlemen of my recent acquaintance. Stubborn, unromantic fellows. Mardy, as we call them in these parts. Think all women need watching over in case they harm themselves in some stupid way.”

“These fellows sound most wise and sensible. Cautious, circumspect. Led by experience rather than emotion.”

“Gentlemen, who, when they are cross about something, instead of letting the grievance out into the air, tuck it away and hope it will disappear. But instead it festers there, like an infected toenail. Simply because they never like to raise their voice and reveal what they’re truly thinking.”

He shook his head. “I cannot speak for the men whose company you lately encourage, madam, but I have enough to worry about on a daily basis, without relentlessly pondering the follies and whims of unguarded young ladies who insist they can look after themselves. I leave the temper tantrums to them.”

She gave him a distinctly doubtful look, lips pressed together, eyes narrowed.

“Miss Greenwood,” he said steadily, “consider our previous discussion quite forgotten. It is water under the bridge. And none of my appendages are infected. Now, may we get on?”

Although visibly bursting with impatience to say more on that subject, she lowered her lashes, relaxed her mouth and took a breath. “Of course. We are on formal terms today, and there are far more important things happening. I should not have mentioned it.” But it would have killed her not to. He had observed before that she liked getting troubles off her chest; could not stand to have them pressing on her for long. Tolly Deverell, however, wore his secrets as a shield, a heavy breast plate of armor, dented but unbroken. Without it he did not know what he would do; how he would balance. He was accustomed to carrying the weight.

Through the glass-paneled door he watched a timid breeze moving the pale violet buds of wisteria which framed the arch. Some were already blooming, catching that welcome blast of sunlight. It was rare to find anything more beautiful and breathtaking than a well-established wisteria plant in full bloom. Very few things brought as much cheer to his spirits, he mused, catching sight of her reflection in the glass panes. Very few.

“So here you are, Miss Greenwood. In the thick of it again, as Constable Hastings remarked.” 

“Even you will be forced to admit that I can help you with this investigation, Detective Inspector Deverell,” she said, her tone proud. “Since I was here upon the scene and I am acquainted with Miss Meridies— I mean to say, Lady Hardwicke. Gracious, I must remember that! But it’s such a stern and somber mouthful for someone like little Edie.”

“Is it?” He turned away from the view and back to her. “Why do you say so?”

“Because she’s a dainty, delicate, sweet thing. Not suited to her new name at all. Really, Edie Meridies is perfect for her. It sounds so… sunny. One cannot say it without smiling. It makes me think of a spring meadow full of tiny, wild flowers. What is it? You’re looking at me strangely.” She lifted a hand to her face, running quick fingertips across her mouth. “Is there something stuck to my face?”

“Only a light flush. Too much champagne perhaps?”

“One can never have too much champagne,” she replied airily.

“One can if one is not accustomed to it.”

Up went her chin. “Well, this one means to become accustomed to it.”

Of course, she thought he was interfering again. He shook his head, rubbed the bridge of his nose with one finger and slyly looked around the room. The other guests were a grim bunch: the men impatiently blustering about; the women clutching smelling salts. Some guests seemed affronted that he’d opened the doors to the terrace without their permission. They eyed the outdoors with apprehension, withdrawing into their corners, seeking the protection of cool, secretive shadow.

“I know that Miss Edina Meridies is not capable of murder, Deverell,” Lucy whispered again. “Whatever else has happened here, I can assure you of that much.”

Back his gaze came to her, settling there with its usual caution. “Can you?” That shade of blue suited her very well, he thought. She was aglow with spring today, shining with vitality.

“Of course. If there has been a crime committed here, I will not hesitate to speak as a character witness at the trial.” Fingers curled into a tight fist, she pressed them to her breast and declared, “I shall stand by my friend come hell or high water. Poor Edie has been used as an innocent pawn, a scapegoat in some horrid person’s crime. There can be no other explanation.”

“Don’t buy a new bonnet yet for the court appearance.”

She frowned. “What makes you think I planned to buy a new hat?”

“Experience.”

With a shake of her head she returned to the matter of her friend’s predicament. “People have been arrested and tried before, have they not, without a corpse being recovered?”

“They have. I prefer to compile a solid case before I make my accusations, however. I’m too old and unwieldy to jump to conclusions without endangering a hip.”

She rolled her eyes. Nobody had ever rolled their eyes with quite so much energy as Lucy Greenwood.

“There are, after all, other people present in the hotel,” he said, glancing around the dining room again. “Including you, madam.”

“But we have all been within sight of each other since we got here. Indeed, some have not moved at all. Mattie calls them pincushions, because they remain still even when poked and prodded. A few had to be carried here from the church in sedan chairs, despite this being a lovely day and the distance no more than a pleasant stroll. They look as if they belong inside dusty gallery frames, don’t they? Not a very amiable lot. I know that a killer requires both murderous motive and opportunity, so I’ve been wondering whether any of them might anticipate a mention in Sir Buxton’s will. Although not fit to wield a weapon themselves, they might have procured the services of a professional. Although, if that is the case, why wait to dispatch him until after the marriage vows? Surely, they stood to gain more before he married Edie. Could his mother be next? Is there some sort of affaire de coeur of which we know nothing? A deadly obsession, or a desire for vengeance? Some grievance within the family? Or could it be a political assassination, considering the victim’s seat in the House of Lords?”

“Reading the adventures of Sherlock Holmes again, Miss Greenwood?”

Her eyes flashed. “I read a great many things, Mr. Deverell.”

“Alas.” He sighed. “A dangerous occupation for a young woman with a lively imagination.”

“Is there an occupation you do not regard thus? What would you have me do in my leisure hours? Oh—” She put up her hand. “Do not tell me. I suppose you would put me away in a little box somewhere in a cupboard, so that I cannot possibly get into trouble.”

“Such precaution would lessen the likelihood of damage, madam.”

“I am not so easily broken. Just because I’m a female you imagine me fragile.”

His reply was solemn. “I said it would lessen the likelihood of damage. I did not say to what. Or to whom.”

Her lips parted in a soft huff of annoyance, but her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I suppose you never played with your toys when you were a little boy, but kept them pristine in their tins and boxes. I wager you were one of those awfully particular ninnies who put things away tidily and did not like other children touching their toys.”

“My brothers and I did not have toys, madam.”

“What did you play with in your day then? Rocks and stones? Fallen teeth?”

“We worked, madam. When we were not away at school, we had jobs to do.”

That stopped her. But only for a moment. “That explains a great deal,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Only my sister was at leisure to play with dolls and, as far as I recall, they all met with rather unfortunate and macabre ends, about which she always proclaimed her innocence. I grew up, therefore, with some knowledge of wicked young ladies and their sinister ability to portray virtue and goodness, even in the face of outrageous evidence to the contrary.”

“I hope to meet your sister one day. She sounds fascinating and without a doubt she would have plenty to tell me about you. Particularly all those things you wouldn’t want me to know. All those terrible things you conceal from me.”

He could only shake his head, appalled by the idea of this woman and his sister ever pooling their resources.

“Tell me about your friend then, madam,” he said briskly. “I am all ears. What would you say in her defense if called to the dock? In your new bonnet.”

“Miss Meridies is a darling girl, who has endured many hardships. She would never harm anybody. I’ve never even heard her say a bad word about another soul and she has surely been entitled to do so in the past, after the way she was treated.”

“How was she treated?”

 A cloud swiftly passed over the sun, darkening the previously bright room and her face, as she looked over at the nearest group of potential eavesdroppers and lowered her voice. “Edie’s former fiancé—an artist—broke her heart when he abandoned her for an affair with a married woman, who then stabbed him to death in a fit of jealous passion. In fact, it happened at this very hotel. We were just remarking upon the awful coincidence when Edie walked in. With the scissors.” She bit her lip. “I suppose that’s what you meant when you said there is a precedent here for missing bodies.”

He squinted as the sun came out again, its rays fiercer this time, as if to spite the cloud. “You refer to the Siddaway case.”

“Exactly. The victim then was poor Edie’s first fiancé. So you see, my friend could have nursed a great deal of anger and bitterness in her heart, and nobody would blame her. But she never did.”

“How do you know she did not? It happened ten years ago, and you said you haven’t seen Miss Meridies in a dozen years or more.”

“We kept in touch with letters, and she never expressed any animosity over the entire grisly affair. Indeed, she grieved for the dead man and pitied Mrs. Siddaway— said it must have been a moment’s madness and immediately regretted. I wish I had kept the letters from Edie. I could have shown you how little anger she had, how generous she was both to the young man who broke her heart and to his lover, the woman who stole him away.”

“Then you believe Mrs. Siddaway to be guilty in that instance, despite the verdict at the trial and the lack of a body?”

“Who else could have done it, if not Mrs. Siddaway? And where is her lover if not dead?”

“I have no answers for you yet, Miss Greenwood, but here is your friend, in almost the exact same circumstance, and you are ready to proclaim her innocence without a doubt.”

She faltered then, her confidence flickering like a flame behind cracked lantern glass. “Yes, but Hywel Ellis has been missing ever since.” She stepped closer to whisper in bemusement, “I suppose you would acquit Mrs. Siddaway too, just like the jury at the trial, solely because she had a pretty face, a fine bosom, and knew how to flutter her lashes. Honestly, men!”

“Sounds as if you would think her guilty for the same reasons.”

“Not at all,” she replied primly. “I would never hold a woman’s good looks against her. But I know how men are so easily led; how they judge by appearances and how some women use that to their advantage. I do not blame the lady for making the most of whatever she had at her disposal to convince the jury that she was innocent. She was fighting for her life. But I would not have been distracted. I look at the facts, not the lady’s face.”

He scratched his head. “And the facts are?”

“She was discovered holding the bloody weapon and her lover was never seen again. If Hywel Ellis were still alive he would have come forward when she was arrested for murder, surely.”

“Why? Perhaps he wanted her arrested.”

“And hanged over a lover’s tiff?”

“But she did not hang, did she? It did not progress that far. The lady was acquitted.”

“Well, I say he must be dead,” she insisted. “Where else could he have gone? A living person does not simply disappear for ten years.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“It is impossible.”

“Not impossible, but not simple. If it were easy, a great many men would probably try it.”

“Yourself included, I suppose,” she remarked dourly.

“There are moments when invisibility would be a relief.”

She squinted against the renewed glare of sunlight. “From all that I ever read about Mr. Hywel Ellis, he was a very different sort of man to you. The last thing he wanted was to be invisible. A man like that can never have enough attention, no matter how many hearts they break in the selfish pursuit of it. No, he would never vanish. He would be incapable of it.”

“But you never met him when he was engaged to your friend?”

“I did not. She wrote to me all about him, though. Edie was utterly besotted the moment they met. I could tell from her letters. Later, of course, after the scandal with Mrs. Siddaway, I read more about him in the newspaper. He was evidently an inconstant fellow— so many other lovers came forward after it happened. Hywel Ellis was a man who lived for the attention of ladies, did not feel whole without it, and was searching for something he would never find.”

“Such as?”

“A woman to please him forever, in all his moods. A woman to prevent him from looking at any other.”

“And he would never find that?”

“Of course not. He was incapable, a selfish sort of man who could never love anybody more than he loved himself.”

“But you decided all that just from reading about him in the newspaper?”

She replied drily, “Men, Deverell, are generally not complicated creatures. Present company excluded.”

“Did you advise your friend of all this?”

“No.” She exhaled a fraught sigh and looked down at her hands. “I did not know of his many shortcomings and infidelities until later. All I knew of Mr. Ellis, in the beginning, was that his portrait paintings were much admired and great success was predicted for his future. We did not have the proof of his wandering eye back then. Had I known from the first, I would have tried to warn Edie and save her, if I could, from that heartbreak. She deserved much better.”

“Would you say that the Right Honorable Sir Buxton is better?”

“Well…” She shrugged. “He is not, or was not, a ladies’ man, at least. There are not likely to be scandals with other women.”

“You can tell that too, can you?”

She gave him a look he could only describe as salty. “Edie always wanted to be married and Sir Buxton can— or could— give her security. After the drama of her first tragic engagement, I’m sure it was a relief of some sort.”

“You mean to say that your friend settled this time?”

“Not every woman must have excitement and a life full of thrills. The older we get the wiser we become.”

“There’s hope for all of us then,” he muttered.

She looked at him from under half-lowered lashes. “A good, true, kind man is hard to find, Deverell. A sensible woman who finds one, ought to hold onto him and be patient that he will eventually see her worth. And not let silly quarrels get in the way, for example.”

Spring shone warmly upon him through the open doors again now, and it was pleasing after a long, harsh northern winter. The healing kiss of that heat on his skin made him feel rejuvenated, his leaves unfurling, his buds sprouting. He could not frown, even if he wanted to.

“What is it now? You look at me in that odd manner again,” she exclaimed. “Did you not have breakfast before you came out?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve seen that drawn expression on the faces of hungry hounds and tired horses, but seldom on a grown man. You do not take proper care of yourself, Deverell. We are quite concerned about your irregular eating habits.”

“We?”

“Constable Briers, his wife Elsie, and myself.”

“Miss Greenwood, I must ask you not to discuss my eating habits with my constables.”

“With whom should I discuss it then? It is a subject in need of airing. Somebody has to be concerned about you.  Especially since you aren’t even concerned about yourself.”

“Oddly enough, madam, I seem to recall saying a similar thing to you recently and being roundly admonished for it.”

Briefly, she closed her lips and tried to look indignant, although she could hardly afford to be so, considering his reminder was entirely justified.

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What’s next for Detective Inspector Deverell and Miss Lucy Greenwood? Find out tomorrow in A LOVELINESS OF LADYBIRDS and in the next Bespoke novel, A DEADLY SHADE OF NIGHT.

(Images used here - A painting curiously entitled "Seventeenth Century Lady" by William Merritt Chase c. 1895; a Victorian Wedding cake advertisement; my cover, and "The Tea" by Mary Cassatt 1880)