Arabella Malibrant chose the early visiting hour to call on her lover's new employer and was shown into Miss Hamilton's personal sitting-room upstairs, a comfortable place full of delicate rosewood furniture done up with ormolu-all very elegant, if a bit subdued to an eye accustomed to the livelier style of Drury Lane.
In fact, Louisa's refined tastes were everywhere; her books lay scattered about, and an easel in the corner displayed a half-finished, and rather heroic, drawing of a young man whom Arabella recognized as Halbert Glendinning. On one wall were two finely executed oils of military men-family members, Arabella assumed-while beside the window was a portrait of Louisa. And what a portrait! Lit by a soft golden light, she appeared almost to glow. Her startling blue eyes gazed out directly at the viewer, shining with such naked emotion that Arabella was almost embarrassed, as if she'd accidentally seen something deeply private.
She had only been looking at it for a few moments when the lady herself came in.
“I do hope I've not intruded too soon,” Arabella said warmly, as they took each other's hands.
Miss Hamilton beckoned to an armchair and sat down on the sofa opposite.
“No, I welcome company just now.” She gave Arabella a wan smile. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Malibrant.”
“And you, Louisa.”
Louisa Hamilton simply and graciously bent her head in response. She seemed not to resent the rapid adoption of her Christian name.
Arabella settled herself. “More important, is there any way I might be of help?”
“You have already done me a real service,” said Louisa softly, “in directing me to Mr. Morton.”
“It was a small thing. I hope his efforts will bring you some peace.”
Louisa Hamilton nodded. “He is not quite what I expected, your Mr. Morton,” she observed.
Arabella wondered about “her” Mr. Morton. “No, he is not quite so rough as his fellow Runners.” She smiled.
“Indeed, I found him reading Byron!”
Arabella felt a tingle of blush in her cheeks as she recalled the circumstances in which Henry Morton had received that volume. And the inscription she had quite forgotten it contained.
“He attended Cambridge for a year, and has certainly made efforts to improve himself. He is his own creation, Henry Morton. As much as any character I have fashioned for the stage.”
“If he was at the university he must be of good family….”
Arabella hesitated. Suddenly she found this interest rather too intent. “His father was of good family,” she said, lowering her voice.
For the briefest second Louisa looked confused. “Ah,” she said, realisation dawning. “But of course such things should not be held against the child. And he seems to have found his way in the world.”
“Exactly my thinking.”
Arabella could not see a delicate way to work into the conversation the fact that Morton's mother had been an unmarried maidservant, so she let it pass.
Louisa Hamilton was looking at her now, head tilted slightly away, the one eye wandering almost imperceptibly. It was a penetrating gaze for all its indirectness.
“I will tell you, Mrs. Malibrant, that there are moments when I cannot believe that Halbert was murdered. Moments when I think I must have fallen into fancy and delusion, just as people are saying. I know that men are murdered in London every week-but not gentlemen. And certainly not gentlemen like Halbert Glendinning, who wished harm to no one.” She hesitated. “My brother Peter thinks I am … that my spirits are…” She did not finish.
Arabella regarded her steadily, thinking of the rumours about Dr. Willis. Suddenly she found she could not quite believe it. But she knew the way people, this brother for example, rushed to conclusions. Always to protect the woman, supposedly, bundling her away into the sickroom. They would no more listen seriously to what a woman told them than they would to a child.
“If Henry Morton believes there was foul play, Louisa,” she said firmly, “then you need not worry that it is a product of your distressed state of mind. Henry Morton has an intuition and skill in these matters that is unrivaled by any but Mr. Townsend himself.”
Louisa looked up with a flash of gratitude, and her hand went out impulsively to touch Arabella's arm. Arabella's hand covered hers, and for a moment there was no need of words.
“Better to concentrate on the matters at hand,” Arabella said, “than worry about things that are illusory. Was there anyone other than Colonel Rokeby who might have wished Mr. Glendinning ill?”
“I can't believe anyone at all could wish it-not even Colonel Rokeby.” Louisa's features contorted suddenly, and her voice began to break. “Whyever did poor Halbert agree to fight that foolish duel!” she cried out.
Miss Hamilton rose and went to the window, concealing her face from her visitor. The casement was opened to the early summer air, and from the street below came the clatter of carriages and tradesmen's carts rattling hollowly over cobbles. Louisa looked very striking in the light filtering through the plane trees, the darkness of her dress and hair contrasting with the paleness of her braceleted arms and delicate neck.
“I will tell you the worst of it,” she said without looking round, her voice calmer. “I might as well have sent Halbert off to fight that duel myself.” She paused. Arabella Malibrant waited, saying nothing. “Always I compared him…never praising his accomplishments, chary with my compliments, parceling them out as though I had only a few to spare. I was horribly cruel, without ever uttering a word that could be construed as hateful.” Louisa seemed almost to pant out her guilt now. “But Halbert knew. He felt the sting of it. And then he went out to fight that senseless duel, challenging this cad Rokeby, who meant nothing to me, so that he might prove himself worthy. So that I would think him brave. That I would find him worthy of my praise and my affections.”
Arabella could see her shoulders shudder.
“Perhaps I hoped Mr. Morton would discover a murderer so that I might blame someone other than myself.” It was almost a sob.
“But Halbert wasn't killed in the duel,” Arabella reminded her quietly. “He was killed later. The two matters might have no connection.”
After a long moment Louisa turned, her cheeks glistening. “What has Mr. Morton's enquiry uncovered?” she asked faintly.
“He has been to the Otter House in Spitalfields.”
“This is the ‘flash house’ he spoke of?”
“Yes. It seems that Halbert was there that evening, just as the jarvey claimed.”
Louisa shook her head. “And what does that mean, pray?”
“Only that he was there, but we know not why.”
Miss Hamilton did not respond for a moment.
“Did he go out that morning seeking death?” she asked suddenly, “because he despaired of ever winning my favour? Is that why he went?”
It was not a question Arabella Malibrant could answer.
“But what of Rokeby?” pressed on Louisa. “Was I not perhaps too harsh with him, earning his enmity? And look where that led.”
“You take too much on yourself. Colonel Rokeby and Mr. Glendinning were men, making decisions such as men do. If Henry Morton went out tomorrow and were killed in a duel defending my good name I should mourn him, and think him a fool, but I should not take the blame. Mr. Morton makes his own way in the world, as did Halbert Glendinning. And you were likely not so cruel to him as you think. I hardly think you capable of real cruelty.”
Louisa glanced at her, birdlike. “More capable than you think,” she muttered.
Arabella decided to change her approach. “Besides, I always say that if a woman hasn't had at least one duel fought over her she should begin to question her charms. I've had three fought in my name.”
Miss Hamilton smiled bleakly at this attempt to cheer her.
“I suppose one of them,” went on Arabella, “was more about my husband's debts than about me, strictly speaking. But that's another story.” She looked directly at the other woman. “No one died in your duel, Louisa. If Halbert was murdered it was in a less honourable way, and you can hardly take blame for that. Indeed, as I said, it might have nothing at all to do with you. It could have been a case of mistaken identity.”
Louisa's eyebrows raised at this. “You are being very kind,” she murmured, but there was appreciation in her voice.
An uneasy silence settled around them, punctuated by the street sounds echoing up from below.
“May I ask you a question, Louisa?”
Arabella received the smallest shrug in answer.
“Who is Richard?”
Very casually, Louisa put out a hand to the window casing. “Why do you ask?”
“On the stair, that evening at Lord Arthur's …you called out the name Richard.”
Louisa shook her head as though in disbelief. Then she turned and went to one of the military portraits. “Richard Davenant,” she said, her voice warming noticeably. “We were engaged to be married, but he gave up his life at Albuera in 1811.”
“And he is the man to whom Halbert was always compared… ?”
Louisa nodded.
“You must have taken his death very hard.”
For a moment Louisa only stared at the portrait, and then managed a nod.
“It is a fine portrait,” Arabella said, unable to bear the woman's distress any longer. “You have a significant talent.”
“It is my brother Peter's work,” Louisa said, drawing herself up a little. “Richard was his dearest friend, and brother-in-arms. You see, we have both lost terribly….” But she did not go on. Instead, she turned to Arabella. “One can be overwhelmed by grief,” she said firmly, “and not be mad.”