The Devious Duchess by Joan Smith Page A

to get together.”
    “You go back to Fernvale and the one arranging things will be me. Your funeral is what I’ll be arranging. And don’t expect me to go to Fernvale for you either. Old Charney will comb my head with her cane. No, Dick, what you’ve got to do is get deducing and figure this thing out.”
    When Pronto saw Belami begin to pace about the room with his hands hooked behind his back, he knew that Dick was heeding his advice. He allowed him to make a few trips back and forth before demanding to know the results of his deductions. “Well, what have you come up with?” he asked.
    “Two excuses for Sir Nevil’s trip to Bath. He told us at Fernvale that he’d gone for a Bath chair, which he didn’t buy. But why invent a pretext when he had a perfectly good reason? Lord Dudley had asked him to bring Adelaide to the Grange.”
    “Killing two birds with one stone. Why would he make two trips to Bath?”
    “Then why didn’t he deliver her to the Grange instead of carrying her here to the inn?”
    “You know the ladies, Dick. Wanted to rouge up her face or put on that new bonnet she bought—the one Réal mentioned.”
    “Adelaide’s worried about money. She wouldn’t waste money on lodgings and meals at an inn when she could stay at the Grange gratis. In fact, she’d been invited. And Sir Nevil’s pockets are usually to let as well, so I don’t think he’s paying the shot.”
    Pronto considered this for a long moment. Then he began rubbing his stomach and finally delivered his conclusion. “Only one thing to do, Dick.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Order dinner. I’m ready for fork work.”
    “You’re not the only one. I’ve been staying at Fernvale. I haven’t had a decent bite in two days.”
    Dinner proved as effective as Deirdre’s fingers in allaying Belami's headache. When he went to his room, he felt wonderfully restored. There was a new clue waiting for him there. Réal had left him a note.
    “Sir Nevil Ryder is returned at the inn. He is renting the room here. C'est étrange, n'est-ce pas ?”
    Belami did indeed find it not only strange but highly suspicious that Adelaide and Nevil, neither of them well to grass, should both squander their money on paid lodgings. He got rid of Pronto and spent an hour in deducing from his store of clues before he felt tired enough to retire. But sleep didn’t come. His mind kept going back to the inevitable fact that whatever he might discover about Sir Nevil, it was only the duchess who had at her fingertips the motive, opportunity, and method to murder Lord Dudley. Some more active investigating was necessary, and the wake tomorrow seemed a good time for it. Deirdre would be there, too . . .
     

Chapter 8
     
    “This was to have been Dudley’s birthday, and instead of fêting him, we’ll be attending his wake,” the duchess said as she sat with Deirdre at breakfast the next morning.
    Deirdre observed that the night had not been kind to her aunt. The face across from her had been gaunt and pale for as long as Deirdre could remember, but it hadn’t used to be quite so ravaged. The hollows under the eyes had sunken deeper and were ringed with dark circles. The food in her bowl was untouched.
    “I’ll handle everything for you, Auntie,” Deirdre said. Her voice was hard, not for any lack of sympathy but because the only way she could hold herself together was by stifling all emotion. It was there, just below the surface, waiting to gush forth. “I’ll go over to the Grange this morning and see what’s been done. What do you want to serve the funeral guests? I don’t think a hot, sit-down dinner is necessary. It will be mainly neighbors.”
    “When my husband died, the averil consisted of three courses and four removes” was her grace’s unhelpful reply. “Of course, he had a great many friends, unlike poor Dudley. The government picked up the bill for the whole of it."
    “The girls at the Grange have been baking sweets. I’ll see what